You’re my best friend, she tells me.
I smile and say the same thing as we lie on the bed full of innocence and hormones. We’ve never kissed other than a peck on the cheek to say hello. If we flirt, it’s too sweet to notice or too cruel to count. We tease, laugh, and drink coffee until three in the morning.
Her sweater is tight, and the hem of her wool skirt meets her socks just above the knee. It’s winter but not so cold that we need to cover up, and brief flashes of leg draw my eyes. When she flattens her skirt, she smiles at me and shakes her head.
Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.
Neither do I, I lie.
Maybe it’s only a partial lie because I don’t think anything as tender as a kiss could ruin something so beautiful.
But maybe a kiss should come with love, and not the love of best friends with dreams of a bright future. Maybe not the love of too many late nights and warm hugs. It doesn’t make me want to kiss her any less, and when I put my hand on her knee, she rolls to her side with her nose just inches from my own. That doesn’t calm me either—quite the opposite.
As she brushes my hair with gentle fingers and I press fingertips into her soft thigh, I wonder if the restraint is more appealing than giving in. Would we still be friends if we had kissed or undressed two years ago? Would we still lie on the bed staring into each other’s eyes?
Would I still want her more than I had words to describe?
As long as we don’t kiss, everything will be okay, she tells me.
We slide closer together, and the door she’s opened is wide and bright. When I slide my hand higher, she slips one leg between mine and touches my cheek. When I press my lips to her hair and brush against her breasts with the side of my arm, she whimpers.
I promise I won’t kiss you, I whisper, and she nods and bites her lips. Not even for a second.
She presses her knee into me, and she knows that I’m hard. I tighten my grasp on her thigh, listening to her sigh before sliding it higher until my pointer finger rests on whatever thin fabric covers her. A hint of pressure from us both leaves us gasping.
It doesn’t count if we keep our clothes on, right?
I shake my head, and both of us close our eyes. She parts her legs wider, letting me touch her over her underwear while her knee makes a circular motion against me. I sigh and moan into her neck when her hand replaces her leg.
Can I lift this? Just a little? It’s not the same as taking it off, right?
She nods eagerly as I raise her skirt to see the white lace hidden beneath it. When her lips touch my neck, I tell myself it’s still not a kiss, so it must be okay. And when she pulls down my zipper, I stay convinced.
Can I see?
I pull myself from my jeans and touch slowly as she watches. She reaches down to where my hand used to be and rubs in circles as I stare. When she slips her panties to one side so she can better touch skin, my breath fills me in a quickening rhythm.
As long as we don’t touch each other, it’s okay, right?
It totally doesn’t count if we don’t touch.
She helps me kneel between her legs, and when she pulls up her sweater to reveal one bare breast, my hand moves faster. I watch as she uses two hands, one with fingers inside herself and the other circling, circling, circling. As I slow down, seeing her pupils grow wide to my gentle, rhythmic stroke, I can’t look away.
Are you going to come?
Soon, I tell her. You’re so pretty, and you smell so good and….
Don’t say anything. Just let me see. Let me watch you do it.
I lean over her, tightening my fist as I speed up. Her eyes are big and green, and her lips are soft and wet. With each sigh and moan that escapes her mouth, I move closer and closer until there’s no holding back. I cry out, squeezing hard as my body tenses, and then I’m coming, covering her body from her stomach to her thighs without shame.
Oh god, that’s so hot, she says as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. I don’t move as I watch her continue, her hips barely touching the bed as she arches her back and rubs my come into her skin.
At the last moment, she opens her eyes, and her smile is ferocious. As she begins to come, her moans mix with laughter and joy as if we’ve discovered something entirely new for the world. Her body trembles and shakes and she comes, and she comes as I watch.
You made such a mess.
Does it count as touching?
I don’t think so. It’s definitely not the same thing. And besides, we didn’t even kiss.
Did you want to? I ask, unsure if I want to know the answer.
Don’t be silly, she says. You’re my best friend.
I lie down next to her, our skirts in line, our pants zipped, and our heartbeats just as fast as ever.
You’re my best friend too, I tell her, stroking her hair. And it’s not a lie. It’s not even a partial truth. She is lovely, brilliant, and silly. Her sarcasm stings, and her laugh lightens.
And still, I want her more than my desire to breathe.
Which is just how it should be.
👌
Very sexy little number, Guy!