01 February 2013


He – handsome, smart, successful, southern boy, friend-to-all, taken.

Our friendship began a little over a year ago after a friend-in-common introduction. We’ve grown and built a nice friendship filled with fun nights out, and a buddy-buddy relationship that I’ve always felt
contained a bit more.

A random Saturday night rolls around, and he calls make plans for the night. The boyfriend happens to be out of town, visiting relatives. We decide to head out with a good friend of his that lives in Queens. She’s a saucy Texan making her way through the non-profit world. Tonight she’s on a journey to become absolutely obliterated. Drinking bottle after bottle, cocktail after cocktail trying to decimate the
obvious issues she’s having with her significant other.

As the night would have it, she arrives at her destination, the toilet. Having decided to crash at his lavish apartment, we both try to help her out, yet she resists, wanting to fend for herself. I end up deciding to head to bed that I happen to be sharing with said-friend (sans the boyfriend).

As he tends to her in the bathroom, I undress down to my undies and t-shirt, I jump into bed and proceed to punch, morph and bend the pillows to suit my sleeping needs. A bit giddy, I cocoon myself into a cozy mound of sheets and blankets.

After her waves of nausea subside, I see him and makes sure she’s settled in on the couch with a bucket and about 3 bottles of water. Alone, I remain in the bedroom, where I’ve dreamt of sleeping times
before in the space of my mind. My eyes wander about, staring at the plethora of framed pictures on the wall, displaying family trips and exotic excursions I’ve heard about and immediately fill me with deep
jealously and angst.

Finally, he comes back into the room, closing the door behind him. “She’s better but I still bet she’ll end up jackknifed around the toilet,” he noted crawling over me to get to his side of the bed.

“I’m sure she’ll feel better in the morning,” I respond as I watch him curl up under the sheets. After 15 minutes of pillow-talk about the obscurities of life, we both begin to fade-off into sleep.

Suddenly, I’m awaken by a cool touch of his hand gracing my thigh and making its way around my waist. Propositioning me as a little spoon, I gracefully submit to his gesturing. His hands are warm, causing chills to creep up my spine.

Mentally, I take a moment to bask in the glory of this present second, simply existing in this surely-fleeting ecstasy of his hands wrapped around me.

After some repositioning, his hands begin to journey from my hips up underneath my t-shirt to my chest, where he proceeds to lightly grope my nipples. I can feel his head moving in closer to mine, blowing on the back of my neck while also proceeding to dry hump me.

I’m unsure of what to do and the moral un-doings about to commence…I begin to reel off the complexities of this situation in my mind.

Do I? / Don’t I?
You only live once / he has a long-term boyfriend.
I know he’s liked me, so why not give in / Don’t be a whore.
It’s just sex / it’s never just sex.

I come to the conclusion that I’ll deal with all the consequences tomorrow. I can always plead insanity while being under the influence of alcohol and sheer delight. 

I grab his hands and jerk him forward, bringing him even closer to me. He begins to kiss the back of my head then coercing me to roll over to face him. His eyes are open and he gives me a faint smile then moves in toward my lips. I accept his kiss, yet I can taste a weak bit alcohol in his mouth, which makes me wonder about his absolute coherence.

This kissing soon leads to heavy petting by both parties. I play with his hair and keep his face dangerously close to mine, to help me savor every second of this indiscretion. My legs become entangled in his, and with my hands I can feel his erection poking through his black briefs. I smile and again pull him into a deep kiss.

Soon after, clothing begins to disappear. I lift up his shirt and move my fingers along each curve of his body and work my way down his chest to his stomach then finally follow the trail to his groin. With both hands, I slowly roll down his briefs and see his hard dick slap against his lower stomach. I lean in and kiss his dick and slowly take him into my mouth. The musk is that of sweat and pheromones. He lets out a big sigh and places his hands upon my head, urging me to go further and faster. For a few minutes, I let him squirm in enjoyment as I try all my tricks to max out his pleasure. My hands roam along his chest, playing with his slightly furry nipples while I stare at him, directly in the eyes with his cock in my mouth. He pulls me off of him and kisses me. Proceeding to lay me down, he yanks off my
briefs and pulls my legs to straddle him around his waist.

In my head I’m immediately aware that we’re about to cross a line where there are no refunds. Regret begins to replace excitement as I place myself in the shoes of his near-husband. I’m sure to become a
hated home-wrecker, and I’m not comfortable with that label.

These thoughts must not be mutual, as he leans over and grabs supplies from his nightstand. He opens a bottle of lube, pours it into his hand and then tosses it to the side. Running his finger along my ass, he
lubes me up slowly and softly, gently probing my ass. After a few minutes, he rips open a condom package and rolls it along his dick.

“Here we go,” I say subtly filled with thrill chased with trepidation.

He leans into my ear and whispers “I’ve wanted you since the day we met."

Hearing those words helps me put those anxieties to the side for a hot second. He slowly enters me and a sharp pain run jolts through my body. He looks at me and rolls his head back in ecstasy as he feels my
tightness wrapped around his dick.

Minutes pass by as his penetration becomes rhythmic, faster then slower, softly then lightly. The slight shadow upon his reveals a thin layer of sweat upon his forehead, arms and chest. He breathes heavily.
I moan as he leans in and whispers in my ear. “I’m close,” he groans. I tell him to let loose and within a few seconds, I feel his body tense up and he drives his dick deep into me. He lets out a heavy breath as if surfacing from underwater. Seconds after his climax, he pulls me up to him and whispers, “You’re
amazing…in every way.”

I kiss him then fall back as my arms fan out upon the mattress. Spent, he collapses upon my chest. My legs remain wrapped tightly around him and I stare into the ceiling, fixated on the circling ceiling fan.

It’s over. Complete. What’s done is done. Casually, he rolls over and soon is adrift asleep, leaving one hand upon my stomach. I pull the sheets up and push my head down into the pillow, hoping sleep might remove me from the thought of what just happened, and the awkwardness sure to exist come morning. But right now, I’m ok and he’s ok, and I’m tired.

Morning arrives and I awake to warm streams of sunlight peeking through the window. Had I dreamt it? My flustered body temperature had caused quite a stir with the blankets and sheets, so I thought. Some lay on the floor, while the blanket is balled up in his corner. His head lay on the pillow, facing away from me. I glanced underneath the sheets to discover my body clothed in briefs and t-shirt. He, too, is clothed in his black briefs and ratty Gators t-shirt. All is as it was. Or is it?

Point of the conversation: Over thinking - friend or foe?



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