Friends Always

He lifts a finger under her chin. "Respect, always," he says, and then kisses her. "You taste like bubble gum."

She grins. "I've chewed it since I was a kid, since I was little Alan in grade school. My sex might have changed but not my preference for what goes in my mouth. That includes bubble gum and other things." Mouth agape, she swishes her tongue seductively.

He can imagine what things or thing she refers to. "Is that an offer?"

"Could be." She's the picture of sexy, little girl coyness. "If you're nice to me."

*****

He's more than nice; he makes good on what he said and becomes her friend. What's more, he makes no attempt to conceal the friendship. They sit together in class and in the cafeteria, much to the surprise of his classmates and much to the dismay of his football buddies, most of whom shun him in the locker room. That doesn't stop them from setting the social media gossip mill ablaze with crude jokes, led by—who else?—Steve Haskins and Jimmy Crenshaw. Chip, ever the master of self-restraint, lets it slide. Their "fun" eases up at the end of football season, and ceases altogether by the start of winter break. Chip figures they either got bored or inured to the situation. Whatever the reason, he doesn't care, not with Ashley giving him the best blow jobs he's ever had. He thought that Bonnie, his last girlfriend, was good. But Ashley takes it to another level. "It takes having a cock to know a cock," she quips. The sex—and it doesn't go beyond Ashley's blow jobs—is confined to his parents' Chevy Impala, usually at night parked on some lover's lane. He still can't bring himself to return the favor, though he has no problem jerking her off. Unlike the girls he's been with, Ashley comes like most guys, fast and hard. A few minutes of sucking on her nipples and her glorified clit gushes forth its sticky, salty juices. Chip still can't bring himself to lick it off. Someday, maybe, he tells her.

Their area gets its first snowfall a few days into winter break. Chip's parents own a ski lodge in the mountainous region of their state, and give the okay for him to use it. As far as they know, he's going with a girl. The truth, he knows, would make them freak. Chip's been skiing before. Ashley's never skied but looks forward to the experience.

The lodge is a modest, two-bedroom, Swiss chalet type affair that stands among a group of similarly designed buildings. It's laid out like a typical two-bedroom apartment with like amenities. Plus, there's a fireplace, Oriental type scatter rugs that cover the hardwood flooring and big windows that afford great views of the peaks and valleys, now blanketed in a half-foot of snow and ice. There are also sets of skis in various sizes and a five-foot American Flyer sled. They brought enough food along to stock the kitchen and fridge with a two-day's supply, plus bottles of wine that Ashley managed to wrangle from her parents.

"Welcome to the Zirkin winter wonderland," Chip says when they enter.

Ashley sets her packages down and gives a quick look around, admiring the Scandinavian style furniture, picture windows and classy woodwork. "Wow, it's beautiful, Chip. When did your parents get this?"

"A few years ago, after they took up skiing," he says, unbuttoning his blue ski jacket. "They figured it was cheaper than always renting skis and places to stay every year. Dad thought it was a worthwhile investment that can only appreciate. It doubles as a summer retreat also."

After putting away the food and drink, they collapse on the sofa, weary from the long drive. Facing one of the big windows, they can see the partly cloudy, purple-tinged sky, darkening in the peaceful winter slumber of late afternoon. After throwing his arm around her, Chip pulls her close to his body and kisses her. He loves her hair, the silky softness and baby-like smell of it, and the way she now wears it, parted in the middle and long, so long it nearly brushes her waist. Ashley hasn't had it trimmed since late fall because she knows that Chip prefers long hair on girls. He didn't think it would happen—that he'd ever think of her as All Girl as opposed to one that's transitioned. But sure enough, he's starting to think that way. Cuddling with her seems so natural, as natural as it would be with a "real" girl. And now, with his emotions deepening and his cock beginning to stiffen, he wonders if he's capable of going the whole route, could do what she's requested and thus far failed to get. The idea of anal sex still makes him cringe. "Just think of it as another hole," she's told him. Well, maybe, he reasons—a little K-Y and he probably wouldn't feel the difference. But for him to be the buggeree, for her to ram her cock up HIS ass, a glorified clit, granted, but still...

Such thoughts meander in his head as they smooth on the sofa, then fade with the sunset and then vanish altogether over a romantic dinner of veal scaloppini that she fixed with a side of spaghetti and Caesar salad, washed down with iced tea and glasses of Merlot.

Dinner over, he gets the fireplace going and pops in some Manheim Steamroller on the Sony mini stereo rig his dad set up in the living room. Overhead track lighting gives the room a dim, warm glow. A more perfect setting for winter romance would be tough to find. With Manheim's mellow music wafting through the air, he kisses her with a newfound passion. He moves his fingers through her hair and then reaches under her sweater, feeling the soft, smooth skin of her belly. He then snaps open her bra, first rubbing his fingers over her nipples, and then his tongue, taking pleasure in her pleasure, her moans and coos of delight.

"Let's make things easier," she says, and then proceeds to lift her sweater over her head before tossing it aside.

After easing her down on the sofa, Chip takes topside and resumes working over her breasts with his tongue. Even though they're both wearing jeans, he can feel her hardening cock as well as he can his own. After a few minutes of dry humping, she says: "Keep this up and you're gonna make me cream in my red thong that is now soaked with pre-cum as I speak. Just thought I'd let you know."

Another thing he knows is that language is a huge part of sex, and what Ashley just said and the soft, seductive way she said it, ramps his desire up a few notches. He wastes little time in slipping off her pants and then his pants and then pushing the crotch of her thong aside and putting his mouth around her cock, a first. He doesn't think about it, he just does it, bobbing his head up and down on her little thing of a penis, alternating with his hand, working her up to where she's reduced to barely comprehensible monosyllables. By this time, had Ashley been BORN an Ashley, he'd be slipping on a condom in preparation for entering her. Instead, he prepares for another first and grabs the bottle of K-Y from an end table that Ashley had brought along, "just in case you lose your inhibitions," she had said.

Her groans aren't unlike what he's heard from the girls he's been with, nor does the orifice where his cock now resides feel any different than those girls' vaginas. Blindfolded, he'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference, if he could tell at all. Watching Ashley work her cock isn't much different than what he's seen his ex-girlfriends do with their clits. In fact, he finds it more erotic because her sex organs are the same as his—he can feel what she's feeling. He waits for her to come, then pulls out and let's her take him the rest of the way. It doesn't take much, for he's so hot, so turned on, that Ashley needs only to stroke him a few times before he climaxes.

They hold each other awhile, then meander into the bedroom. Totally naked, they cuddle and kiss under thick blankets, watching the light snowfall through their large window. He loves the feel of her bare, cotton-soft skin against his. "I'm not sure this could get any better for me," he says. "Even if you had a pussy."

"Ah, but I do, or at least you make me feel as if I do, because I feel so feminine around you." She starts to fondle her cock. "Chip, my clit's rock-hard again, in case you didn't notice." He can't help but notice, because her "clit" is pressed against his cock, rising in response. "Can we do something about this before calling it a night."

"We can and we will," he says. He then proceeds to pull her on top of him. He sucks on her tits awhile before applying the K-Y, then gently lowers her onto his cock. Holding her butt cheeks, he lifts her up and down, adding additional energy to her own. Tough as it is for him to admit, he's turned on by the sight and sound of her cock flapping with the motion. The thought of doing this with a straight guy is enough to make him puke. But doing it with Ashley, so erotic and girlish in every way, is different. It drives him wild, watching her touch herself, watching her rub her titties and jerk her cock. There's nothing masculine about her; she's all woman. And now, in the warm, cozy confines of this ski lodge, she's all his, springing up and down on his stiff shaft, her feet planted on the bed, her hair draped seductively over one eye.

"Don't pull out," she says excitedly. "When you're ready, shoot your hot jizz into me, up my butt hole." And so he complies, shoots his cum right into her, his oohs and ahs music to her ears. Seconds later, she climaxes onto his stomach. Then, after cleaning up, they collapse next to each other, tired and sated.

Sated for the night, that is. There's more great sex over the next couple days. They spend the daylight hours outdoors, snowball fighting, sledding, skiing. Chip takes her on the beginner's slope for the latter. She falls a lot, then gets right back up, game for another try. Sledding comes easier. They share the American Flyer on one of the hills, taking turns with the steering as they whizz to the bottom of the fifty-yard drop. After their last ride, they roll off the sled and smooch passionately in the snow.

*****

By the time he drops her off at home, Chip's feelings for Ashley have reached a new level. He adores her. She loves him, she says, which makes it tougher to follow his rational side, the side that tells him that their relationship, at least the romance part of it, is fated to end. The last thing he wants over the final months of high school is to cement a reputation as a pervert, a reputation that could carry over to his freshman year in college, perhaps beyond. Plus, if he's to get involved with someone long term, a tranny won't do. He tells her that on the last day of winter break, the Friday before the Monday when school starts. Having very different expectations, she's devastated. "We'll still be friends," he pleads in an effort to soothe her pain. "Friends always."

"Sure, friends always," she responds, choking back tears.

Those are the last words he hears her speak. On Monday, the entire school knows of her suicide by hanging. Chip can barely function, hardly taking consolation in his classmates' condolences, including those from Jimmy and Steve. The ski lodge trip, scene of their brief romance and one he wanted to keep secret, comes to light through Ashley's suicide note. Her parents call his parents and threaten to sue.

Nothing comes of it. Life goes on, and the following year, Chip is in college, involved with a cute, athletic girl he met in the school's student union. She's an experienced recreational skier, and over winter break they head for the slopes of Stowe, Vermont. The Zirkin ski lodge is more convenient and cheaper. But Chip can't bring himself to go. Memories of that exciting, loving, blissful time with Ashley, with all the inherent emotions, remain in his heart and mind, raw and fresh. Perhaps he'll go next year. Then again, perhaps never.