Treehouse Rules

This is an offering for the Literotica Valentine's Day Story Contest 2025. I reserve all the usual rights in relation to copyright etc. All persons are figments of my imagination. None of this ever happened! Anyone being rude is over 18. And surprise, surprise, it's set in Australia. You might be alarmed to learn that romance here is pretty much the same as everywhere else in the world, with the singular exception that we get more kisses 'down under' where it really counts.

**^**

Best Friends Forever Act. 1985.

Registered Valentine's Day, 14 February 1985.

Volume one.

Section 1. Best Friends Forever Act. 1985. Don't be a cunt.

a) A friend must not be a cunt to another friend.

b) Ever.

c) Not even over boyfriends and girlfriends or music.

Section 2. Best Friends Forever Act. 1985. Other people being cunts.

a) A friend does not let any other person be a cunt to their friend.

b) If a friend brings their friend's attention to the fact that another person is being a cunt to them, the first friend may limit or suggest appropriate action but must accept anything that the second friend does in their protection. If bitches get stitches, you can't hate on your friend for it.

c) If a person uses friendship to manipulate a friend into hurting someone by misusing this section, then the friend is absolved from all obligations under the act. Refer to section 1.

* Excerpt only. The act is reproduced in full below.

**^**

Have you ever loved somebody like muscle memory? That's how it felt every time she rang.

"Greg?"

"Char! How are you spunky?"

"Oh god..."

"Hang on. Sounds like you need to talk. I'll just grab a beer." Charlotte doesn't often ring so any chance for a chin wag is a beer-worthy moment. I left my phone on the outdoor setting, grabbed three beers, an old Tupperware container and some ice and hurried back to where I'd been doing 'homework' (training modules on my week off about new steer-by-wire systems).

"You there?" I asked and cracked a beer.

"Yeah." Damn. She sounded despondent. After all these years, I knew her well enough to know this was going to be a 'big' talk.

"So, at the start, spunky. Give me the skinny then let me ask some questions."

"I knew you'd say that arsehole. You're so autistic."

"We use the word, 'spectrum' these days, Judgie McNamecallerson."

Her laugh was welcome.

"Faaaarkin... hell." she sighed, and I waited for her to launch. "Justin and I split up. He was such a fucking narcissist. And his willy... My god... I've had more fun with a Tampax mini. Fucking shallow bitch, right Greggy?"

"We all have healthy limits and expectations... Section seven if I recall. Limits and boundaries." I giggled. "I'm assuming he didn't meet the hundred points?"

"Not even close. Fuck." It sounded like she was scrabbling in a bag of snacks, so I waited like best friends do.

The one hundred points rule was one of sheer measurement. At the very least a hundred millimetres long and in circumference. And at least a hundred dollars spent on a first date. She had a list of dating rules just like she had rules for everything else. Section seven of our Best Friends Forever act had a similar section.

Section 7. Best Friends Forever Act. 1985. Limits and boundaries.

a) All signatories to the act are expected to communicate healthy limits and boundaries according to their personal needs.

b) Friends will respect the personal limits and boundaries communicated without being petty cry-babies about them.

c) Limits and boundaries may be negotiated to ensure fairness and understanding.

S7. C) .1 Section 7 part c) does not preclude a friend from demanding a hard limit or boundary.

As she said, her dating rule was probably shallow but in my own reckoning, it was more likely a matter of bringing the wrong tool to the job. Charlotte was a very tall girl. At five-ten and a bit, she was taller than me by at least an inch. I admired the gentleman's ambition but perhaps he should have done the math.

As you have probably gleaned, we have a strange friendship. We grew up as neighbours and have very few filters.

We had whiteboards, wipe-off markers, and bedroom windows that faced each other. Long before mobile phones, we had our own text system well in place. She was the lanky, awkward girl, and I was the boy with glasses and wonky legs, who didn't play football. We shared everything.

I was even there when she 'lost' her virginity. She was too scared about going all the way with her boyfriend, on the off chance she ever got one and whether it would hurt like her friends said it had. Her solution was to make me wait with a whiteboard in hand while she deflowered herself with the handle of her hairbrush. It had been a massive anti-climax. The ambulance was not required as she had feared they would be.

That kind of friend.

And it hurt so damn hard for me because with every shred of my biology, I loved her.

I couldn't help it. I met her. I loved her. That was it.

She was six at the time I met her. That was the whole goldfish at the beginning of my world. She had ringlets of strawberry-coloured hair, the cutest freckles and dimples you could kiss all day. I was seven and had a brass arrangement of scaffolding from the waist down. Anti-vaxx might be all the rage now, but I was one of the last polio kids. Remember that scene in Forest Gump where he runs out of his orthotics? I never did.

Even at the time of this story about us back in ninety-two, I still needed a cane. I was the youngest man you'd ever see at some event stumbling around clutching a walking stick. I tried to make it elegant.

"So..." she grumbled in her signature growl. "Valentine's Day."

"What was Justin's disorder?" I prompted. "Clearly, his eyes. You are the most aesthetically perfect arrangement of female parts on the planet. If he couldn't appreciate that then he was beyond salvation."

"Screw Justin. Let's not talk about ancient history. I'm invoking section 8."

"Oh fuck, Char... I'm so... so much on. What do you need, spunky?"

Section 8. Best Friends Forever Act. 1985. Attendance at formal events.

a) A friend (as defined by the act) who may be required by tradition, invitation, social expectation or other circumstances beyond their control to attend a formal function, is permitted to require signatories to the act to accompany them.

S8 .1 - This requirement may be made in person, by way of telecommunication or by such other forms of communication available, not excluding interpretive dance. In fact, interpretive dance makes the requirement more binding in the eyes of the court.

S8 .2 - A best friend who is presently involved romantically with another person is not bound by Section 8 but may comply at their discretion.

S8 .3 - The requiring party is responsible for financial encumbrance upon the required friend.

In year twelve social studies, we'd been learning about legislation and the legal system. Our assignment was to write a legal document that bound members of a club or social organisation. Of course, when told to buddy up with a partner for the assignment, Charlotte and I didn't even need to consider working together, it was granted. I laughed when she suggested writing a set of legal rules for best friends.

I still signed it when we'd finished. We got a B+. The teacher loved the theme and the structure but objected to some 'contemporary phrasing'.

Section 8 was how we solved the problem of our senior formal. Neither of us had dates. Back then I think people simply assumed we were together, and we didn't show up on their romance radar. Weird because Charlotte was insanely hot.

She got lots of attention from all the wrong dudes, but it creeped her out. Seriously, she was in every fashion parade the suburb held. She even did some professional photography. It was marketing and magazine shoots mostly. She hated it but loved the portfolio she was assembling.

It was torture to my testosterone-twisted teenage self and my swollen heart. She just didn't see herself as anything other than a gangly tomboy despite the swimsuit shoots and glamour stuff. Still, it was not as painful as my legs, surgery and the continued physio, and gave me something else to emotionally distract myself from physical pain with.

And I got to go to the graduation formal with the hottest girl on earth. I still gloat about that internally when I see old pictures pop up on social media groups.

"So... Char darlin, what are we doing?" I relented under the weight of section 8.

"You're so easy." She giggled and gladdened me. "It's a desperate and dateless Valentine's party that work has organised."

"Baby, I'm dateless but I'm hardly desperate. Both hands still work a treat."

"It's... Gnnnrrgh..." She sighed. "Work has a Valentine's party every year and you have to bring a plus one. If you're a couple, easy. If you're not, then you bring a friend and well... on the off chance that the friends of friends meet people and ugh... gross. They even have silly games for the singles."

"Sounds fun actually." I grinned. "I can tell all the Fabios that drool on you about how you lit a fart in the treehouse once."

"Ha! You fucking dare!" She snorts delicately, like a baboon coughing up a second-hand furball. "I'll tell the Sharon's and Michelle's about how you got caught with your willy in the yoghurt."

"I got chilli on it!" I laughed. "Not fair."

"Neither is telling fart stories! You're the only boy I ever farted in front of. It was funny back then."

"Still funny now."

We both convulsed in chortled reverie.

"Section 3, spunky. Full disclosure." I felt like she was leaving information out.

Section 3. Best Friends Forever Act. 1985. Non-Non-disclosure agreement.

a) A friend (as defined by the act) who is asked directly by a signatory to the act to tell the truth will share as much information as they have to hand, freely, honestly and without hesitation.

S3 .1 - The required discloser may protect their dignity and tell little white lies but not cop out all together.

S3 .2 - The required discloser must be considerate of their best friend's feelings and fore-caution if a likelihood of emotional support may be required. Eg. If they have information that a person's significant other is cheating, they must warn first.

S3 .3 - The friend cannot be angry or a judgemental baby about any truth shared and has to shut up and listen before asking questions.

S3 .4 - Interpretive dance is not acceptable disclosure.

"Oh, you dog. I hate you right now!" She grumbled. "So... Hang on. I need more wine."

I listened as she told the cat off and banged the fridge door closed more solidly than it probably deserved.

"Look, Greggy..." I heard the wine bubbling out of the bottle as she topped herself up and I dragged the phone to the end of its cord so that I could pee off the back stairs while I waited for her to talk again. "This thing with Justin... It got kinda real and big, and I just need you. I need your bullshit for a distraction."

"I just don't get it, baby. You and Justin seemed like... suburbs, a minivan... You know? Kinda gross, really. How'd it go from that to Section Eighting your besty?"

"Hmmph. You're a shithead. You just don't let me throw one past, do you?"

"Isn't there a clause? I'm just asking because my heart hurts a bit for you. Both of you. You seemed so good for each other."

"Pleading section three point one. There's a little girl in me I'm gonna have to protect. I'll just tell you that he was ready for all of that. Just I wasn't."

"Cop out." I scoffed. She was a total Cinderella big puffy wedding dress girl growing up, as well as a skin your knuckles fist fighting and race people on your bmx bike type of girl.

"You're leaving out the key. You're not telling me why you weren't ready."

"Fuck you. You know me too well. So, section three point three. Do you remember?"

"Don't be a judgy prick?" I giggled.

"We wrote it a little more formally than that but, yes. Greg... The truth is, I was in love with someone else and totally unavailable to Justin for all of his dreams."

"Horry shet! Who? What the fuck? Were you cheating? You fucking hate cheaters. Who is this dude? What the fuck, Char?"

"I know."

"You sound so defeated, right now. I just want to hug you better, baby."

"Hah. Next weekend hey. Can you get time off?"

"I'll work it."

"You're a pushover."

"Are you gonna leave me hanging?"

"Oh... Just. He's a guy I've known a long while but he's... fucking oblivious. He couldn't take a hint if you wrote it on a brick and smacked him in the face with it. Also... He's just not available either. Fucking career and money..."

"Damn, that sounds like the story of my life. You're gonna tell me he's married next." I joke.

"Fuck that. No. He's just... Greg?"

"Char?"

"I love you. Thanks for this. We'll have fun, okay?"

"We always do."

"Night Rickety Splits." I earned that nickname the first time she saw my braces unbuckle and I ungracefully dismantled in a heap doing the splits.

"Haha. Night Stilts." She earned that one with her long perfect legs.

**^**

The drive south to her place in Beenleigh took almost three hours. Traffic was a bitch on the highway; stop-start all the way. It was a Friday afternoon and despite leaving early I was still only just going to make it on time. I pulled into her driveway a little after six-thirty and was flustered and cranky after the drive.

Her place was in Cooran Street, not far from Oddie Street where we'd grown up and where our parents still lived. I brushed my slacks off from a hasty sausage roll snack on the way down and grabbed the cheap roadhouse flowers from the passenger seat to make for her door. Her yard needed mowing like always. I'd get that done in the morning.

I dropped my keys and bent to scoop them up.

A tangle of air-conditioned cooled arms and legs octopused around me as I stood, and Charlotte giggled as she tackled me to the grass and kissed at my head.

"Get off me, you bloody galoot!" I laughed and shoved at her.

"Will not!" She giggled. "It's been months!"

"What will your neighbours think?" For fucks sake she was wearing only knickers and a bra and had dropped the towel she'd been using to dry her shower wet hair. "Local schoolteacher arrested for public indecency!"

"You love it!" She slumped down into my neck and cuddled warmly into my neck.

"Char, you're gonna have to get off me. I didn't bring any other clothes. There'll be grass stains."

That just urged her to cuddle more tightly and grumble something. Eventually, she relented and sat on my hips to frown as she looked me over.

"Are you eating properly?" She pushed my fringe out of my eyes. "Taking care of yourself? You need a haircut and-"

"Yesssss Mummmm." I rolled my eyes.

"Come on!" She jumped off me and pulled me to my feet. "Beer in the fridge. I'll have a wine. Come and talk to me while I do my make-up and get dressed. I'll be in the bedroom."

She stopped at the door with her hands on her hips while I levered myself up using my cane. I smiled as I did. Charlotte was the only person on earth who manhandled me like that. Most people go out of their way to be extra cautious around me.

"You look good, Greggy. Thin, but good. You left a pair of jeans here last time. Swap those Chinos out. It's just broke-arse teachers. Very casual, you know?"

"I still think..." I waved my hand at her. "You should put a dress or something on. That's gonna pull a crowd."

"Hahaha." She blushed and hurried inside.

What a damn anomaly... I've watched in the past from her dressing room as people changed her clothes and fussed over her. Her... naked as the day she was born and completely oblivious to it. But any time she caught me looking she blushed so prettily.

She explained once that she only got shy around people she cared about. Other people just treated her like a clothes rack but when someone she liked looked, she got self-conscious. And I was her best friend, she explained. My opinion of her meant more than anyone else's.

But the double edge of the easy way she wandered around in underwear with me, felt so much like a stab in the heart. Clearly, she did not see me that way. Despite the fact we were each other's 'firsts' and there had been a few drunken 'mistakes' since, I remained a non-romantic being on her radar.

She wouldn't walk around like that in front of men she was attracted to, but ensconced so deeply in our friend zone, I was thoroughly emasculated. That she could be so oblivious to the effect her looks had on me, was the cross I carried to keep her friendship.

Emotionally, I dusted off my ego and hobbled through to her kitchen which I knew as well as my own. I put the flowers in a vase and fetched drinks. With them in hand I found her struggling with the zip in a scandalously beautiful little black dress.

"Do me up, Greggy?" she smiled back over her shoulder. My fingers shook with nerves as I pulled the zip from the crack of her bum all the way up between her shoulders.

"No knickers, Miss Cleary? Your mother will hear of this. What will the school board think?" I teased and hardened at the thought.

"They would think, 'My, doesn't she look good without panty lines?'" She poked her tongue at me. "Oh god, I'm so nervous about tonight. I've only been there a year and I'm trying so hard to make a good impression. Some of the teachers were there when we went to school! Mrs Daniels still is! And since the breakup, they're brutal. Trying to set up blind dates... Oh god... I almost asked you to pretend to be my boyfriend, but half of them know you from back then."

She turned and pressed that perfect body against me so damn tightly I could have done a pap smear if I coughed. Shivers ran through her and then she backed away wiping her eyes.

Bringing them to hold mine gently, she almost pleaded with her honey gold orbs, "Hold my hand for me as much as possible and don't stray too far away tonight."

"You got it."

"And do something about him." She nodded at my crotch. "You'll take an eye out. I'm flattered, but... Health and safety, you know?"

I blushed deep scarlet and rearranged my erection. "I'll go toss those jeans on. That's probably going to happen again with you looking like that."

"Flatterer." She laughed. "Oh god, you're going to get such a work over tonight. Fresh meat and everything."

I've returned with my jeans and drop the Chinos while she babbles, to pull the jeans on and zip them up.

"There are a few prac students and this term we have a few single males so... oh god. Did I tell you they do stupid games?" She asked as she puckered and applied lipstick to the most kissable lips in southeast Queensland. "Lisa has been telling me all about last year. It's like they haze the singles or something unnatural. I'm surprised the board allows it."

"What have you got me into, spunky?"

"Shut up. You'll love it, you big lush. I might have worded you up a bit."

"Might have hey?"

"Don't worry. I'll rescue you if any of the whores get handsy."

"What makes you think I want rescuing? It's been a good while you know?"

"Haha. I thought your hands worked fine."

"Fuck you, Char." I laughed.

"What happened to that Lenore or whatever?" She asked as she applied mascara.