I Come In A Blurred Frenzy As Jay Works His Hand In And Out Of Me

I arch, buckle, scream, curve, collapse. Jay carefully wipes his hand off on a towel, then lies down next to me.

"That's really the last time, you know," he says sorrowfully. I rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer.

"I know," I answer, trying to speak over the lump in my throat.

We've had our one last time for the third time now, we're reluctant to stop. She's come back, and he needs to know. Things are getting too complicated. It's painful, we've been over every angle dozens of times, but the only solution is to stop being lovers.

"I'll call you," he says, and I know he will. We stand on my porch and hold each other for a long time. His arms are warm, safe. I nuzzle the space between his shoulder and neck, inhaling his earthy scent. I want to keep this next moment from happening, but it does. As Jay plants a kiss on top of my head, I feel him wipe away his own tears. This is really it, no more one-more-times.

We stand there another few moments, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, he picks up his overnight bag.

"Michael's still coming over, right?" he asks as he walks towards the car.

"He'll be here in a couple of hours," I answer. As he drives away, I sit on the steps and light a cigarette, letting myself cry until the ash burns down to the filter.

I decide not to shower, wanting to keep Jay's warmth close to me as long as possible.The tears well up again, so I busy myself doing the dishes, cleaning, and crying for the next two hours.

Michael's car pulls in. Michael is Jay's best friend. There's been some mutual chemistry brewing, and Jay hasn't discouraged it. We've hung out a few times at Jay's, watching movies, playing D&D, but we haven't been alone. Michael asked if he could come over so I could help him with his resume, I said ok. I suspect Jay had something to do with the timing, not wanting me to be alone.

I meet him at the door, he kisses my cheek. I catch him giving me the once over. He knows what's going on with Jay and me, so I'm spared having to talk about it.

I force a smile, make coffee, clear off the table and open my laptop. We start going over his job history. I cock an eyebrow when he mentions the sex toy shop, but I don't say anything. We talk about his career objectives and going back to school, then I start writing out his resume.

As I type, Michael places one hand firmly on my thigh. I ignore it. My face is still streaky and tight from crying. I'm still sore from a long night of sex. I can't even remember if I put fresh panties on. I can't think about this right now, but his hand feels…

I try to keep my cool."What year did you say you started work for the graphic design place? 2003?"

I turn to look at him. He's staring at me intently. My heart, cheesy as it sounds, literally skips a beat. I feel like that stupid deer, the one that can't get out of the headlights. I'm going to get run over if I'm not careful.

He squeezes my thigh. Hard.

I keep typing.

Michael runs his fingertips up and down the length of my inner thigh. Even through my jeans, the sensation gives me goosebumps. His fingers rest dangerously close to my crotch. The wiggly red lines of the spell check appear with more frequency as his hand wanders. I don't even try to type anymore.

I want to feel conflicted, but I don't. I know I shouldn't do this, but I know that I will. My brain shuts off and my body takes over. I simply pluck his hand from my thigh and lead him to the bedroom. The bed is still unmade and the sheets are still damp with sweat, my body still sticky from earlier.

"Wait!" My brain wakes up as Michael leans towards me, "I…um…had sex with Jay."

"I know," he answers.

"I mean today, like right before you came over."

"And?"

"Just thought you should know." I wait for the rejection.

Instead Michael reaches behind my head, grabs a handful of my hair, and yanks hard enough to jolt my head back. A thrill runs through me, electricity culminating squarely between my legs.

"You are a very dirty girl," he whispers slowly into my ear. "And now, you're going to fuck me."

"Yes sir," I answer hoarsely.

"Call me Mister," he says, unzipping his jeans.

Republished with permission from Daisy Danger. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.