“I have something you want,” she said in a playfully lusty tone.
She got really close to me, handed me the movie I let her borrow and flashed her knee weakening smile.
I watched her walk away, my eyes zeroing in on every curve her clothes tried to cover.
I knew what she looked like naked and it was difficult not to use my memory to see through the unnecessary fabric.
She turned around and I quickly averted my eyes.
We were supposed to be friends.
A brief stint at trying to see if we could be something else and she decided that she wasn’t that into it.
Correction, she wasn’t that into me.
I, on the other hand, felt like I had found someone special.
Someone I was willing to change my bachelor, woman-hopping lifestyle for.
This girl, she’s not the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
But I find her undeniably attractive.
The stiffening in my pants every time I get too close to her reminds me of that.
Physically, she’s as pretty as any other pretty girl except that there is a sensual and seductive way she holds herself that is sexy beyond belief.
She has this carefree yet mysterious, “I don’t give a fuck” way of being that is insanely frustrating and alluring at the same time.
I basically want to make her laugh and moan all the time in equal measures.
“So what have you been up to?” she asked, her big eyes glittering with curiosity.
“Oh, you know, just going out here and there. There’s this woman that’s been wanting to get together with me. She’s pretty persistent, really wants to spend time alone, you know?”
I waited to see if there was any indication of jealousy in her face. I might have exaggerated a bit. I mean, there was this girl who was interested but she was just okay. No one worth bragging about. Still, I wanted her to hear that I was desired by other women. I wanted to see if it bothered her at all.
No, she was distracted by a ping on her phone. “That’s great!” she told me and then glanced at her phone and giggled.
Who was this jerk off that was taking up her attention?
“What’s so funny?” I asked casually. I always tried to keep it casual. It was my idea to stay friends in the first place. Anything to keep her in my orbit.
She looked up at me with a little twinge of mischief and guilt in her eyes. “Oh, this guy,” she said flippantly.
“Tell me about him. What’s he like? Do you like him?” More importantly, are you fucking him?
“He’s my boy toy,” she giggled and rolled her eyes.
I felt my throat go dry.
“He’s waaay younger and well, he’s just fun. I don’t know, I kinda like him. He’s a bit naughty too.”
I knew what she meant by naughty.
She was once naughty with me.
I loved her naughty. She got this look in her eyes when she was turned on, that kind of look that makes you want to rip her clothes off and pound her into the walls, the floor, the bed, anywhere and everywhere you could possibly think of.
I never got to do that.
She wanted to take it slow with me. Really concentrate on getting to know each other first. I wasn’t used to this. I was used to fucking by the second date, third at the most.
But I did it for her. Because I thought she was worth it. I knew the payoff would be epic.
She only let me go down on her, once.
I offered, I was desperate to explore her. I figured if I pleased her, it would make her want more. I’d have a sure in after that.
I remember the first taste. I savored it. Like it was that first sip of the finest wine. You don’t just chug it. You take it nice and slow.
Fuck, she was beautiful and delicious and those moans made me want to stay down there forever and a day.
I held her afterwards and kissed her, my dick hard as a rock but I held it together.
As soon as I got home, I jerked off and came so hard from her lingering scent around my mouth and the echoes of her screams rolling around in my head.
Not too long after that, she told me that she thought she could be more with me, but that no matter how hard she tried, it just wasn’t clicking.
I hate that word now. “Clicking”. What a bullshit word.
She was talking more about him, the new guy. I hated him already. Because she sparkled with she talked about him. And I detested him for making her sparkle like that.
But what really made me hate him is that I’m pretty sure she is going to fuck him. And fuck him good. That thought drove me insane.
I was supposed to be fucking her. I was the good guy, an amazing guy. A fantastic kisser. She said so herself. What was wrong with me that she wouldn’t fuck me, not even once? I’d be okay with just one good fuck, to see what it was like, then I’d be over it.
I’d be over wanting her.
I get over women easy. I’ve done it for years. They come and go. Why should she be any different? The only difference I can think of is that I didn’t get to have all of her. She gave me a sample and ran. She’s a bitter tease that way.
It’s not much deeper than that. Okay, yeah I was willing to change my lifestyle. Shit, I even said I might want kids someday. I never thought I’d say that or feel that way. I may have even told her that she made me want to be a better man for her, myself, and the world around me. It stung a little when she called it off, sure. But it doesn’t bother me anymore.
The main reason I keep thinking about her is because I didn’t get to fuck her. Feel myself deep inside her. Cum with her. Make her say my name.
I mean, it was a hell of a sample taste.