Eight years we've been friends and it never enteredmy mind before today that we would ever go there. Last week when you asked me out for dinner, I thought nothing of it whatsoever. Just that we'd have dinner (as we often do) and that would be it.
I didn't realise it would turn into this…
Me lying naked next to you, having just had the best sex of my life.
***
Earlier, you texted the address of where we'd be eating and I didn't recognise it at all. In recent times, it's always been that nice Italian off Dover Street or the French restaurant I like down by Canary Wharf. Nice places, you know? Not too shabby. So I pulled up the address on Maps and realised it was your studio.
We met many years ago when we were working on a play together. Remember? You were slightly older, I knew, and had a skinhead then and were fucking your way through the cast. Most of them went bright red whenever you walked into the room and it bamboozled me. I was awkward, academic and unsure of myself. I had ambitions and certainly, no time for boys. We swapped numbers though because we enjoyed each other's dark sense of humour, but you never made a move on me. I was fresh out of stage school and had too much to achieve. You were dangerous and not what I was looking for.
I got a job working on a soap soon after that play. You used to rib me about my looks having gotme the part. You were tired of treading the boards, but nevertheless, went on a tour of Europe with another stage company soon after… and the next time we saw one another, I was in a relationship with my first serious boyfriend.
That relationship only just ended recently after I realised the sex was bad. Plus, seven years together and I never managed to get him to move in with me.
I made a friend last year called Katie who I worked with on this terrible commercial. We hit it off and started going out clubbing together. We got to talking about boyfriends one night and she was asking about Pete, my now ex. She'd met him only the once.
"He looks like he's an animal in bed… dark and brooding and stuff," I remember her saying.
I didn't know what to say to her. I'd had one lay in university that was nothing to write home about, but I was fairly sure Pete wasn't anything to brag about either. The trouble was, I didn't really have anything to compare it to.
"I sometimes wonder about that… I mean, how many times do you… you know…?" She caught on to my meaning. "When you do it. Do you come every time?"
She blinked at me and grinned strangely. "I come like, every time. Not always through penetrative. But most guys are happy to frig me off or lick down there. If that doesn't work, bringing out the trusted vibrator seems to be fine by them, as long as they get to use it on me."
I was feeling fairly conscious of the fact that me and Pete had never discussed alternatives to his cock. She seemed to read this on my face without me even having to say it.
"WHAT? He doesn't use fingers or tongue or anything?"
We were having this conversation in a loud club and had found our own booth to tuck ourselves away into, but I still felt awkward.
I shook my head subtly. "I was at a hen party recently and everyone got pocket vibrators in theparty bag. I went home and thought I'd give it a try. Let's just say, my eyes were opened."
"Ugh, dump him already!" Katie screamed.
Over the next few months, I tried to broach the subject with Pete.
At first, he said, "Are you saying you think I'm not good enough? Do you wanna go and stare at other men's parts down at the local lav? Cos trust me, I've got a big 'un and I'm not gonnabe using toys on you when I've got this weapon for ya, all right?"
I tried other ways to get him to realise that I needed foreplay and more attention from otherparts of his anatomy. I even got us some porn, and smut writing, but he said, "Women shouldn't watch that!"
So a month ago, I finally did it. I filled a plastic bag with all the bits I'd kept at his place—toothbrush, hairbrush, spare panties, tampons, etcetera—and left him a note: Have a nice life, Pete. I had him banging on my door the next day, then when I didn't answer, leaving me voicemails constantly. I changed my number and the locks, just to be sure. He got the message eventually.
Earlier today, I grabbed a taxi to your studio, notsure what I might be letting myself in for. Perhaps subconsciously, I felt like something was about to change.
You gave up acting a while ago and instead decided to teach dance. I envy you in a way. You don't have to rely on anyone else ever again. You have the responsibility of it all, but you also have a greatreputation.
Since my soap work dried up, I've been questioning everything. I've got some money to tide me over, but I do wonder if treading the boards again might be something I'd enjoy once more. I actually don't know why I ever quit, except maybe soap money was better, and I thought it'd be easier work (it wasn't).
Anyway, you were there at the door before I everrang the bell. You startled me, in fact. Had you been watching for my arrival? You still had your (longer) hair tied back like you'd not long finished a class, but I could tell you'd taken a quick shower because there were a few drips of water staining your smartshirt. You'd put on slacks and a shirt, for me?
"Vicks, I'm so happy to see you," you said.
Shy and a little reluctant to admit I was happy to see you too, I merely smiled and took your hand when you held it out to me. You led me up two flights and into the flat above your workshop.
Your flat, compact though it is, was warm and inviting.
You stared at my skimpy dress as though as I was a snack before the main event.
"I'm going clubbing after we've had dinner," I explained. "I thought about bringing a change of clothes…"
"You look hot, Vicks," you said, as we stood in your kitchen.
You'd pre-prepped some food that I could see beneath pan lids on the stove. I was hungry and not sure I was ready for the wine you'd already started to pour.
"You look good, too. Anywhere you're going to after here?"
You shook your head. "Nowhere."
I was left to wonder why you were dressed so smartly at all, especially when you'd usually turn up for dinner in ripped jeans and a polo shirt or something.
Smiling, you passed me a glass of wine, and asked, "So, you're not dating right now?"
"No, very much not," I said, and had no idea why I felt the need to put such emphasis on the word.
You drank several mouthfuls of wine, then put your glass on the side and folded your arms. Then while nervously tucking your wild hair behind your ears, you said, "It's rare that both of us are single at the same time."
It was that moment that the penny dropped andyour eyebrows rose up and down a few times. I burst out laughing and so did you. You realised how ridiculous you'd sounded and I snorted into my hand, nearly spilling my wine.
"You've been single a lot, Ricky," I giggled. "I've been the attached one. You've been… you."
You raised one eyebrow and asked, "Anyway, are you hungry?"
"Very."
We sat down to eat at your tiny table for two in the corner of the kitchen. You talked about work and I couldn't help but stare at your mouth. You asked me questions about my work and I said I was thinking about auditioning for a play that might involve some singing and dancing—and did you have any time to help me prepare?
So you said, "Yeah, why don't we go down to the studio after this?"
Again, I thought really nothing much of it.
While you left me with the dessert however, you were gone a while to "prepare the studio".
It was only once you finally got me in there that I realised what was going on.
Candles had been lit everywhere, and black sheets covered all the dance mats. Cushions and a champagne bucket had also been brought in. The lights were down and all I could see was your chest heaving as you wondered whether you'd got it wrong.
"I promise I don't do this for everyone," you said breathily. "I just thought… I don't want to waste any more time. I just want to give you pleasure and show you how I feel. If you say no, that's fine. But I don't want to mess about, not anymore."
It was strange as you led me to a place amid the candles for us to be seated on the mats. You were shaking while I felt numb and sort of out of body.We'd been friends so long. I'd been the awkward twenty-two-year-old when we met who'd only hadone lay. You'd been the hunky older guy who'd oozed confidence but didn't seem to have a grasp on serious things. I'd been put off by that devil-may-care attitude, but over the years, I'd realised that wasn't you at all. That was just a persona.
I think when we got seated, you quickly realised you'd have to make the first move, and when you kissed me that first time, it struck me that there was more here than I'd anticipated.
My clothes, skimpy as they were, felt suddenly restrictive as you set my body on fire. It wasn't going to be like before… this was different. I knew it straight away.
When you were kissing me with your hand on my face, or on my throat, then your fingertips stroking my bare arms, a hidden part of me unlocked. Thiswas what real connection felt like! I felt free like I never had with Pete. With every kiss you bestowed, I was becoming more wanton, more aroused and certainly, more confident of your feelings for me. Perhaps I'd buried mine for you because I'd always been scared of rejection.
As you took my hand while we were kissing, which I found to be such an intimate gesture,then stroked the sensitive skin of my exposed thighs, I already knew this was worth the risk of getting hurt. Thiswas already better than seven years spent in frustration with a man who just hadn't cared enough to ask if I was enjoying myself. I was already enjoying myself and that was because of you, Ricky.
"I should crack open the champagne," you said, and I shyly agreed, though I'd have happily continued sharing open-mouthed kisses with you.
I think nerves had hit, and you were delaying the inevitable. I impatiently waited for you to open that bloody champagne.
In fact, we never drank a drop because we toasted, but then you were kissing me again, ravenous for more. I wasn't complaining. I wanted you so badly, Icould feel my heart beating in my clit.
You were good, too good at this, and it made me feel self-conscious. I kept thinking, "What if I'm not enough?" However, once you kissed my throat, I think all doubts, worries and cares drifted away.
Especially when you whispered, "You're beautiful," as you teased the strap of my dress down, exposed my peaked nipple and lightly tugged on my tender bud.
Fuck, Ricky! I remember thinking. Fuck! I was already wetter than I'd ever been before. And when I glanced down, I could see you were straining your trousers. My mouth watered, and I couldn't find any words, but I wanted to demand for us to be naked together right that second.
Then you were smiling as we were kissing and you whispered, "You're so aroused."
I bit my lip to stop myself saying something silly like, "How do you know that?"
I quickly figured out it was because you could smell my pheromones. And the way you kept kissing me so firmly, so passionately, I knew I'd never been this desired before—and it was that which was making me wet and desperate.
I was nearly gulping on the emotion of it but somehow found my confidence to kiss you back, put my hands on you and start unbuttoning your shirt. I wanted so badly to touch your body, pull you close and draw you into me. We caught one another's eyes occasionally and I could see your desire just as clearly as you could see and smell mine.
The insides of my thighs ached as I unbuttoned your trousers and revealed your cock. I was scared by your size and thickness. Much bigger than Pete. I'd been misled about men's equipment, that was for sure. Ricky, you were twice the size at least, and I was dreading it; I can't deny it. I was frightened. But as I wrapped my hand around your shaft and looked into your eyes, all I saw staring back at me was adoration and the man I'd come to call a friend. I trusted you. I knew you'd take care of me.
So I bravely had a suck on my new toy and realised how wonderful it was to lick a fully engorged cock, so thick and hard. Just for me! You tasted delicious, and you moaned with every flick of my tongue. You never once said I was doing it wrong. In fact, I could do no wrong as you wriggled about on the sheet and groaned—the sight of your fit and tidy body making even more wetness build at my entrance. I can't deny I was very much getting off on the fact that you were looking at me licking your cock like you'd dreamt about it many times already and couldn't believe it was actually happening. I realised I had an older, more experienced guy at my whim and you were struggling not to come. It empowered me.
I needed you inside me before I died of want and need. You looked like a man on the edge as I lifted to my knees and teased my panties off—the pounding between my legs now overwhelming.
My dress was trapped around my waist but there was no time to deal with it. You kissed me desperately and pulled me across your thighs.
I was frightened. My legs were shaking. You seemed so big.
Yet as our bare chests pushed together and the head of your cock sat at my entrance, you murmured, "You're so wet for me, angel," and I forgot what I was afraid of.
I sank down past your head easily, so engorged, so wet and aroused and ready for you. My thighs were trembling wildly and you grasped my bottom, tugging me closer, needing more. I slid all the way, so swollen around you. You gasped, the tightness almost unbearable.
I thought I'd never be able to handle you, but as we moved carefully and I got used to you, I relaxed, and you grinned like this was meant to be. Like it was real. Finally, we were together. I shoved my hands in your hair and rode you until I came, the most delicate, light orgasm throbbing through my belly.
You removed my dress all the way, ran your hands up and down my sides, then pulled on my buttocks so you could be deeper inside me. My orgasm had made me slicker. And your worship of my breasts made me even more accepting of you and you lay back while I rode you like the starved bitch I reallywas, slamming my pussy down on your thick cock, again and again. I felt sure you'd come with me this time, but you didn't… and I was afraid I wasn't enough. However, when I really looked into your eyes and saw the torment there, the strain of youholding off became apparent. My god, I thought. Not only is he gorgeous, the man of my dreams, but he's selfless in bed, too.
We switched positions so I was lying down. I sensed there would be a next stage of worship as you stared at my naked body, drinking in the whole of me with your eyes. Indeed, you slid your tongue between my legs and set me on fire. I was a virgin when it came to being tongued and another part of me sprang free at your touch. I even started touching my breasts, and it made you work your tongue harder on my nubbin. You also sucked at my entrance, slid your tongue inside me and kissed my pussy lips. I thought I'd die.
I'd starved for so long, and why?
I still had my strappy shoes on, and when I looked down at your wild, messy hair out of control and your face between my thighs, I lost it utterly and completely. You sensed me letting go and slid two fingers into me. I started riding them and slammed my hips and up down. It was instinct and desire. I needed you so desperately… and I got exactly what I wanted.
Then you kissed me and I got a taste of myself for the first time. Another discovery.
There was a ravenous hunger in your eyes, and I suddenly saw what we were to one another.
Your trousers and shoes went next. You were steeling yourself for the denouement.
I was entirely naked aside from the shoes, my legs open, my own hands stroking my breasts as I never had in front of another man. I didn't feel at all naked, though. I was happy to show you everything when I'd never shown a man more than my breasts before. The other times it had been beneath covers and nothing more than standard missionary with no foreplay. This was truly on another level.
I had no idea what was coming next, so when you slid into me from behind, your hands and mouth exploring my face and body, I jumped for joy. And fuck, did you feel magnificent from behind, plunging your thick cock into my fat pussy, which squelched with every thrust. I wasn't embarrassed a lick, which I would've been before. Not with you, though, Ricky. You wanted it all, and I wanted to give it to you. You made me feel free.
You even took my hand and encouraged me to touch myself—something the ex had told me was off-limits. I wasn't to touch myself at all.
Fuck him.
Now I've got you, Ricky… all those rules are gone.
Fuck, as you plunged your large penis into me, I couldn't believe I was accepting you again and again. You held my legs wide open like I was your toy, and you squeezed my breasts and sucked at my throat like I was your slut. I adored it. Please, fuck me harder, I thought.
I moaned, and you took the hint, slamming your hips against my buttocks.
The more I cried out and panted, the harder you slammed into me.
The harder you fucked me, the more difficult it became for you to hold on. I turned my head toward you, and you kissed me viciously. I dug my hand into your long, wild locks and yanked on it. That drove you wild, and you grimaced as you pumped your dick inside me.
I relied heavily on your strength to hold me in place as you gave me so much pleasure that I was nearly a puddle in your arms. It was such a surprise when I finally orgasmed, the full strength of it taking my breath away as I clutched you over and over and a warmth spread throughout my entire body. I thought I was going to split apart right before you came, spurting outside of my body as a courtesy, I thought—since we'd not had time for that conversation. I'd have let you come inside me; I'd wanted it.
Then came the soft kisses and cuddling. Our shared smiles and your look of relief.
I knew in that moment we were in love. Probablyhad been, as well, for some time.
"You're not going clubbing?" you asked.
I shook my head. "No, I don't think so."
"Wanna move in with me?" you said.
I thought about it for second. "Hell, yes."