To Be a Friend

Author's Note: This is the companion piece to my story "Friends Like These." Because this is Rebecca's POV, it's a little bit longer; there's some backstory, as well as her description of the events during Ginger's "nap." You don't need to read "Friends Like These" first, but this story will make more sense if you do.

I would be thrilled to get your reviews. Please let me know what you think!

-ck

*****

It was my idea to go to The Dry Dock, but I didn't have to convince Ginger as much as I'd thought. I think she was on the same page as me, realizing that she needed a change in routine. Ginger still thought of herself as an undesirable fat girl. A new outfit, a night of dancing and drinking -- and maybe more -- with people who didn't know she used to be fat. . . I was hoping it would knock her out of her growing depression. I had been getting worried about her, especially when it came to her sexual health.

Ginger and I had known each other since middle school, when she still went by Virginia. Once we hit our junior year in high school, we were really close friends, close enough that when we both got accepted to the same college, we pulled every string possible so we could be dorm mates. And Ginger and I got to know each other even better. I told her I had lost my virginity at fourteen. She told me she was still a virgin. We went out to celebrate her 21st birthday, and she got sloppy drunk on screwdrivers and threw up smelly orange juice all over my Converse low-tops. We went out to celebrate my 21st birthday and I got so sloppy drunk I don't even remember getting back to the dorm. The first thing I remember is lying on the bathroom floor, too hung-over to even flush the toilet after I'd puked.

Just last month, I told Ginger how I'd stolen some of my mom's Ambien the last time I'd been home. She told me she'd masturbated with some of her dad's tools the last time she'd been home.

It was a little over six months ago when Ginger finally decided she'd had enough of the dating restrictions that came with being overweight. I had helped her with her diet. When she'd really struggled that first month or so, often breaking her diet and binge eating on fast food or snacks, I had taught her the best way to purge. Ginger had her own tricks, too -- if she was prevented from puking right after overeating, either because she didn't have enough time or because she was in a bad location, she'd take a laxative. She tried a couple of different brands and types before she found one that was efficient and predictable.

But even after Ginger had lost the weight and was looking fine -- and I mean fine, sometimes when I wasn't expecting it I'd look at her and feel stirrings down there -- she still had problems dating. She went out with creepy nerdy guys, or insecure Mama's boys, and I think she picked them specifically because she knew they were too chicken to try and lay her. (Chicken, lay, get it? Damn, I'm funny.) I knew she'd been felt up and finger-fucked and had gotten her cunt lapped, and that she'd done hand jobs, and that she and one of her dates had masturbated in front of each other. She hadn't given a blow job yet, and I had offered to give her some pointers on how to go down on a guy, like my mom had done for me. I'd even gone so far as to bring home some insanely huge bananas from the market. But Ginger had declined, saying she didn't know if she was ready yet to do the ol' spit versus swallow. I'm pretty sure she stuck one of the bananas in her pussy, though. I found a slightly mangled one in the bathroom garbage can.

It was hard to see how much it bothered Ginger that she still hadn't had her cherry popped. She felt like she was partly to blame, being stuck in the fat Ginger's head.

"I swear, Becks," she told me one night after another date ended without a home run, "I'm beginning to think the only way I'll ever get laid is if I get raped."

And that's when I came up with my brilliant idea. . .

When Ginger came out of the fitting room in the sheer white top and the short black skirt, my heart skipped a beat. I complimented her when she seemed unsure of the outfit choice, thinking the skirt was too short. When I took her arm to drag her in front of the mirror, it was like an electric shock passed from her skin to mine.

Two days later, when Ginger was studying in the campus library, I called Jack and revised our plan.

"Tell Darius he's out."

Jack was quiet for a moment. "What, are you calling it off?"

"No!" I was immediately defensive. "No," I started again, a little softer, "I just don't want him there. You gotta get rid of him."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Jack laughed. "Guy has chicks inviting him over practically every night. The ladies all want a taste of his big black dick." Jack paused again, and then asked, "What, you think it's too much for her?"

"I don't know. Maybe for her first time. But she's freaky; you know she stuck a curling iron up her vag?"

"No shit."

"Yeah. So I really think she'll surprise us. But I still want Darius gone. You can tell him it's off, or that we decided two guys would be too rape-y, I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Jack pressed. "I thought you were really pumped for her to lose her cherry to Darius. You know, vulnerable, innocent virgin defiled by big, bad, black wolf?"

I smirked at Jack's depiction of Darius. I'd met his roommate, and the main impression I'd gotten was that he was a sweet, attentive guy. One of the reasons I'd wanted Darius to fuck Ginger first, before Jack, was because I thought he'd be more gentle with her, while at the same time "preparing" her for Jack's turn.

Although there was Darius' indifference to Jack's proclivity for sexual assault. Not to mention that Jack indicated Darius was often his wingman when he went hunting at The Dry Dock. Maybe the big, bad wolf description wasn't too far off. My smirk waned.

"I was kinda looking forward to it, too," Jack continued. "Thought we could make our own fun while we watched, you know . . . So you could get me ready for my go at her."

"I know," I said, "but we can still have fun. We don't need Darius. You do the deed."

"I'd be happy to." I could hear the appreciation, as well as greed, in Jack's voice. "Okay, that takes care of me, but what about you?"

"I want to be the second."

"You -- you said you just wanted to watch. That you could get your rocks off that way." Now it was incredulity that tinged Jack's words.

"I changed my mind."

Jack huffed, but I went on. "Don't you see, it works better that way. You pick her up at the Dry Hump, she gets 'over-served,' and we have to get her home. It won't look so much like she's been roofied if her best friend is helping her get home safe."

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" Jack responded dryly.

It had been all I could think about, after going shopping with Ginger and watching her pull the clothes on and off in the fitting rooms, looking at her newly flat tummy and her (now) perfectly-sized breasts. Her nipples had showed through her cotton bra, as well as through the material of the new blouse I'd convinced her was "perfect." The perfection of the "cold shoulder" top lay in the fact that the thin material exposed her hard nipples, and the open sleeve tops exposed her smooth creamy white shoulders.

I redirected my thoughts, knowing Ginger would be home soon. "Hey, don't bust my chops," I said to Jack. "You know you still want to do it."

I had been "seeing" Jack for a couple of weeks, since he'd tried to pick me up at The Dry Dock. He'd kept attempting to bring drinks to me, and while I was fine with him buying me drinks, I would only take them from the bartender. After I caught Jack dropping something in my third Lolly, I'd dumped the drink out on the floor, grabbed Jack by his crotch, and had growled that if he'd really wanted to have sex with me that bad, he should've just asked. After we'd fucked that night, he had told me how he'd planned to blindfold me, tie me to the bed, and use me. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been a little turned-on. And, possibly, a little disappointed that it hadn't happened that way. He'd offered to tie me up, but honestly, without the danger and mystery that would have come from the drugging and the blindfold, just having my arms tied up didn't seem as exciting.

"And you still think she'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I told you -- she's ready for this. She needs this." And so do I. "But I don't want her blacked out. I want her to remember it, to know what's going on. That's the whole point."

"Well, I don't usually want them to remember," Jack mumbled. "I thought you said you had something for her?"

"I do. . ." I had already sliced one of my mother's Ambiens into the smallest possible piece. "Just a little something, a tiny dose. It'll put her to sleep, but not all night." At least, that's what I hoped.

"If she freaks out or OD's, it's on you."

"I know, I know. So you're gonna tell Darius he's out?"

Jack and Ginger had been dancing and drinking for at least an hour, and I had been getting jealous. I knew Jack was just playing his part, but damn if he didn't look like he was enjoying it, enjoying her.

The funny thing was, as I watched Ginger dancing and kissing and getting felt up by the guy I'd been seeing, I wasn't jealous of her. I was jealous of Jack.

I had gone to the bar for another Lolly, and to grab a beer for Jack. As I'd waited for our order, I'd seen a girl sitting on a bar stool, with slow tears dripping into her untouched drink. As I'd looked at her, I had realized she was one half of the lesbian couple Ginger had been staring at when we'd first arrived.

"Um, you okay?"

The girl had shaken her head sharply. She had long dark hair and caramel-colored skin and slightly oval eyes. She had a stud in her eyebrow, and a tattoo around her neck that looked like a choker necklace. Later, when I was feeling her up in the booth, I'd gotten a closer look at the tattoo and seen that it was a ring of thorns.

The bartender had delivered my drinks. After paying him, I'd turned to go back to our booth, but then turned back again to the silently crying girl.

"Hey, why don't you come sit with me?"

ooOoo

Ginger is on her third (or is it fourth?) drink when I get back to the table. It's the Lolly I'd dropped the Ambien into, right before I'd gone up to the bar. She's only had a few sips. She looks up blearily as the two of us approach the booth.

"This is Zara," I say, indicating my guest. "Her girlfriend got a call from her ex, and she needs a friend." I direct Zara to the other side of the booth, and she scoots into the far corner. I scoot in next to her, purposefully near.

"Ooh, that sucks," Ginger says. Only her words slur a little, and it sounds like, "Ooh, zhat shucks." She is snuggled so close to Jack she is almost in his lap. He does not seem unhappy with this arrangement.

I look at Jack pointedly. He nods at Ginger's nearly full drink. I sigh. Better enjoy the wait.

Over the next twenty minutes, Zara and I get to know each other. Like, intimately. She finds out that I'm not wearing a bra, and I find out that she's not wearing any panties. We are mutually surprised with the pleasant discoveries. But while it is harder for Zara to play with my tits without anyone seeing, I can finger her twat under the table and the only one who notices is Ginger. She's been pretty heavy with Jack for a while herself -- it might even be the reason I am so horny for Zara. Watching Ginger get French-kissed and fondled has gotten me totally aroused.

"Becks."

"Mmm?" I am almost done fingering Zara. We are both panting pretty heavily, looking into each other's eyes.

"Rebecca!"

I force myself to look away, glaring at Jack. I see that Ginger is out cold, her head lolled on Jack's chest.

"Shit!" I pull my hand free, wiping it on Zara's skirt. "What the fuck?" she swears.

Jack is rising from the booth, pulling Ginger with him. I get up and go around on the other side. I look apologetically at Zara.

"My friend. She had too much to drink. I gotta get her home."

Zara rises from the booth as well, tossing her hair. She comes close to me, leaning in.

"After you get her home, come back here, and we can finish." She grins at me, then opens her mouth wide and waggles her tongue. I can see the glint of the silver stud in the middle of her tongue.

"Becks!"

I tear myself away from Zara, and take Ginger under one arm. As Jack and I half-carry, half-drag her to the exit, I chance one last look at Zara. She is watching us, watching me, and when she sees me look back, she raises her shirt to flash me.

She isn't wearing a bra, either.

ooOoo

I sit outside on the curb, holding Ginger up, while Jack gets his car. When he pulls up, he gets out to help me hoist Ginger into the rear seat, laying her on her back. I climb in the back as well, and I lift Ginger's head to place it on my lap. Jack gets back in the front, then drives away from the club.

Ginger stirs. "Jackie?" she moans, "whr'you?"

I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. "It's okay, Ginny. Sleep."

We drive on. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, dozing on my alcohol buzz.

In my half-doze, I don't immediately hear the strangled, gurgling sound. When I finally come to my senses, I look down at Ginger. I don't know when she started vomiting, but she is now choking on it.

"Jack! Jack, pull over!"

Jack glances into the rear mirror, curses, and then hits the brakes so hard Ginger tumbles off my lap onto the floor. The sudden change in position is apparently all that was needed. As soon as Ginger is no longer on her back, the puke explodes out of her mouth. Her body lurches as she projectile vomits. The puke sprays on the floorboard, on the base of the seat, on my legs, on her clothes. It's everywhere.

Jack had opened up the back door, and he now pulls back in horror. "Jesus, Becks!"

I fall on the floor next to Ginger, not caring that I'm kneeling in vomit. "OhmyGod. OhmyGod. She was choking. She wasn't breathing! Ginger? Ginger!"

Jack is holding his hands out in front of him. "Don't ask me to give her mouth-to-mouth. Not with that shit all over her."

I look up at him quickly. "Fuck you." I turn back to Ginger. The overhead light in the car had turned on when the doors were opened. It's not much, but it's enough. I can see Ginger's chest rising and falling normally. I see her eyes open. They are glassy and unfocused. They look at me without really seeing me.

"I puked."

I pull Ginger into an embrace, sobbing with relief. She doesn't respond, and I see that her eyes are closed. She's out again.

My whole body is trembling with shock, but somehow I drag Ginger back up onto the seat. Jack watches, repeatedly shaking his head. He slowly walks back to the front of the car, climbing in behind the wheel. "All I gotta say, Becks, is this better be worth it. Because I'm never gonna get that smell outta my car."

ooOoo

We need to strip Ginger once we get to Jack's. Jack and I had initially thought about leaving some of Ginger's clothes on, for Jack to rip off during, but the puke bath necessitated a change in plans. Hell, I need to strip, too. The puke had even soaked through to my underwear.

Jack finds a garbage bag for me to throw my and Ginger's clothes into. I wonder what I'm going to wear when we leave. I'm not even sure I want my puke-splattered clothes back. Right now I grab an old tee-shirt of Jack's, pulling it on over my head.

Ginger is laying on the bed, still out cold. I look at her critically. "She needs a shower."

"That'll wake her up. Just do a whore's bath." Jack heads for the door. "I'm gonna try to hose down my car. I won't be gone long."

You would think that Darius and Jack's apartment, being a bachelor pad, wouldn't have a lot of girly amenities. But both guys entertained women a lot -- mostly separately, sometimes together. Either way, there was a bin of definitely feminine products in their bathroom. Tampons and liners, scented body soaps, clean washcloths and sponges, even a bottle of expensive perfume, left behind by a random paramour. Before I get a warm soapy cloth for Ginger's sponge bath, I spray some of the perfume on myself. It is a heady, musky scent, a little heavier than what I usually wear. But it seems right for tonight's activities.

I approach the bed with the washcloth. Ginger is still asleep. I sit on the bed next to her and begin to wash her. I start with her face, and even dampen her hair a little. Then I move down her body. Her shoulders, her arms, her jiggly breasts. A drop of water glistens on one of her nipples, and I bend down to lick it off. I linger at her breasts, fitting one into each hand and massaging them until her nipples harden, even in her sleep.

I go back to the bathroom to refresh the cloth, then return to Ginger. I wash her stomach, her yummy thighs, her lower legs and her feet. I save her genitals for last. One more trip to the bathroom, one more re-wetting and squeezing out of the cloth. Then I'm between her legs. Down to her anus, poking my finger in just a little. And on to her pussy.

A little over a week ago, when I had the rough outline for this night, I took Ginger to a spa as a late birthday present. We both got our muffs waxed. For me, it was just a touch-up. I'd been basically hairless down there since I started getting my period, something my mother had strongly advised. For Ginger, it was the first time she'd been landscaped. She was a little nervous about getting a complete waxing, like me. We reached a compromise -- everything gone except for a small design, typically called The Bermuda Triangle. The pubic hair that remained was in the shape of a "V." V for Virginia.

I touch her little "V" now, watching as the hairs curl back into shape after I stroke them. I part her lips with one hand, the other hand holding the cloth. I stroke her, gently and reverently. Around in little circles. Along the sides, back and forth, my head and face lowering closer and closer . . .

"Becks." Jack has come back inside.

I stop stroking Ginger, but I don't move.

"Becks. Stop it. She's clean." Jack moves forward. "I'm going first. We agreed."

I straighten myself with some effort. I'm aware that I'm wet; not having any underwear on, I can feel my juices oozing out and onto my upper thighs. I take the washcloth and swab myself.

Jack watches with a leering grin. "Damn, Becks. You got it bad for her."

"Can you blame me?" I look at Ginger lying naked on the bed, nearly spread eagle. Her arms, not yet tied, are resting above her head. Her legs are parted from when I was washing her vag. She is young and fresh and clean and nearly virginal, and oh-so-fuckable. As Jack and I stare at the vision before us, Ginger begins to moan, marginally moving her head.

"Shit. She's gonna wake up. Help me get her ready."

Jack has his toys in the drawer next to the bed. He pulls out three scarves, tossing one to me. I drop the washcloth, grabbing the scarf to tie up Ginger's right arm. Jack binds the left. I see his hands are shaking as he pulls the knot tight.

It seems he has it bad, too.

The last scarf is darker, and Jack folds it several times until it is opaque. This scarf goes over Ginger's eyes.

Then we both sit down, me in the chair and Jack on the edge of the bed. And we wait.

ooOoo

When it is obvious Ginger is nearly awake, Jack strips. He then leans his naked body down near Ginger, and runs his fingers over her, light and nimble. He plays with her breasts, lowering his head to suck on her erect nipples. I watch in aroused envy. Ginger mumbles unintelligibly, and Jack sits up, moving away. "What are you doing?" I ask.