Repressed Sexual Thoughts

Regarding Claire
2003-12-19 @ 5:10 p.m.

This is about betrayal. Indirectly.

The story ends well. No-one fell out permanently over what happened, but for a while it felt pretty bad. Mostly it felt bad because it had been such good fun.

You see, I used to share a house. There were two other guys who were barely ever there. Then there was Claire, my friend's girlfriend.

One weekend her bofriend went away, knowing that her ex was due in town. I was to keep an eye on her. She told me all about her past relationships. We shared laughs about our emotional baggage and she found out that she felt nothing for him.

Watching TV later that day we cuddled for warmth on the sofa, as friends do when they're close. I didn't admit what was going on, even when she started a pillow fight. Then came the tickling. Then the kiss. Then the tears.

She'd been unfaithful. He'd hate her. She hated herself for wanting it.

Should I comfort her? Would that be inviting trouble? I told her I valued her as a friend. I didn't think less of her, just hoped she could put it behind her and keep her relationship good with Steve. After all, what's one silly kiss.

The damage is done, she said. I'll always wonder. And who knows what I'll do. I don't deserve him.

Will you have sex with me?

No, I said. It'd be wrong.

Don't you want me?

What I want is irrelevant.

She had a condom in her bedside table. I ended up wearing it pretty quickly for a guy who said no several times. We had to take it easy since she'd never taken so much girth before. The second time was easier.

The following morning was awkward. I saw her after my shower.

Did you think about me?

What?

I thought about you. I thought about you when I came. Did you think about me like that?

I couldn't lie. I'd dreamed about her. I woke up still smelling of her and made the most of it.

That day, a Sunday, was a return to near-normality.

Monday was a different story. We both worked in offices. We chatted on MSN, as usual. Well, not quite as usual. She signed in at lunchtime and started talking about how she felt. Mid-afternoon she asked me a question.

Do you still want me?

We can't.

Can't, or shouldn't?

Don't do this Claire.

Tell me you don't want my lips around your cock.

I held out for all of ten minutes. Twenty minutes later we were at home, in bed, her lips around me as promised. Ten minutes later I was deep between her thighs, having some of the best sex I'd ever had. She was so tight, but yielding. So eager. So good.

So good I had a minor car accident on my way to football practice after we parted.

That was the last time we had sex. She told her boyfriend a modified version of the story (we were drunk, it only happened once, we're very sorry...) and he, quite understandably, didn't speak to me for about three weeks. We're friends again, but not as close as we were. He still doesn't know the truth, and I can't tell anyone.

< || >