I am 21. She’s 18. We’re unlikely friends, but we found ourselves hanging out with the same group of guys all the time, and we kind of bonded over the fact that sometimes it’s just nice to talk to someone without watching them readjust their balls every five minutes. We started hanging out together, away from our little group.
Nothing too crazy: we’d go underwear shopping, see movies together when the rest of gang bailed out on us (you fucks; yeah, The Corpse Bride was disappointing, but it’s Tim Burton!). Then one day she suggests that we have a sleepover. I am against the idea, because it illustrates exactly what is weird about our friendship — I’m an adult and too old for sleepovers, she is not.
…I have Tic-Tac-Toe shot glasses and some Cuban rum, and she drinks like a fish, so we watch a movie and play a few rounds…
Of course, I cave right the fuck in. Looking back, I guess it was always hard for me to deny her things; she’s just so fucking cute. So she arrives at my house on a cold winter night, and we discuss how to spend the time.
We both like watching horrible porn, so I download Bella Loves Jenna, one of the weirdest pornos I’ve ever seen, and set the DVD burner up. I have Tic-Tac-Toe shot glasses and some Cuban rum, and she drinks like a fish, so we watch a movie and play a few rounds. I lost several in row and abruptly quit, declaring that the porn should be ready for our consumption.
So he wants to play a drinking game. We’ll do a shot every time something disturbing happens, she says. It’ll be fun, she says. We do; it is. Eighteen shots later, the rum is gone. We get into the wine. Rather, she gets into the wine. I have half a glass while she tilts her head back and chugs from the bottle. I have a goofy grin on my face when I tell her we’ve had too much and should head to bed.
…She still has her retainer in. It’s coloured to look like a watermelon and it knocks against my teeth, but I am already panting and kissing back while she tells me that this is my fault for being so fucking hot…
The guest room is warm and inviting, and I am in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, while she is in a t-shirt and her underwear. We lay on our backs in the dark, talking about nothing, when she climbs on top of me and starts kissing me. She still has her retainer in. It’s coloured to look like a watermelon and it knocks against my teeth, but I am already panting and kissing back while she tells me that this is my fault for being so fucking hot. We’re rolling around and I’m sticking my hand up her shirt like a horny teenage boy and she stops me so that she can apologize for them being small and then my fingers graze the edge of her bra and suddenly the shirt and the bra are off and I can just make out those breasts and they are perfect, just fucking perfect.
I t’s then that I wish I had left the bedside lamp on, because I want to remember exactly what her red hair looks like spilling across the pillows, the rise and fall of her chest, and the exact colour of that hardened nipple currently taking up residence in my mouth. She pulls me close to her and asks me to sleep with her, and somehow I find the strength to articulate just why that might be a bad idea. Her mouth forms a little moue of disappointment, and I almost change my mind right then. She evens things up by removing my shirt and bra, and we continue making out as I reach down to touch her through her underwear. The whole time we’re kissing she makes these girlish little moans and her embarrassed apologies tell me she has no idea how fucking sexy they are and how they send a low rumble through my stomach that shoots straight to my groin.
…In the morning, we go out for breakfast. She squeezes my hand and we share secret smiles over our meals…
S he’s pressing down hard on my fingers now, thighs clamped shut around my right hand, while the left one tangles itself in her hair and my mouth is back to worshipping her breasts. For the next few minutes all I can hear is her panting and moaning, until her thighs free my hand and my mouth is back on hers. It is easy then, so easy to slide her thigh between my legs kiss her almost chastely, as if we weren’t still half-naked in bed together. I pull her close to me and we fall asleep.
In the morning, we go out for breakfast. She squeezes my hand and we share secret smiles over our meals.
I promise myself it will be the last time, and it is.
Until we hung out last week. Of course, now I have more stories I cannot tell.