Oct 26, 2010

Friends & Fantasies (story)

Meet me at 7.Theater.

That was the extent of his text. WTF?! She hadn’t seen him in… how long had it been? Quickly she counted on her fingers… seven years. It had been seven years since she’d even seen her handsome best friend, and when she texts to say she’ll be pulling into town at noon, this is all he has to say?! Still, anger isn’t the emotion that is rising up to fill her insides; it feels more like… impatient trepidation. The memory of the last time she saw him seeps into her mind, occupying the last sixty-six minutes her GPS says it will take to get to the hotel.

They are standing outside the theater, where they just saw “Titanic.” His arms are around her, holding her so close, she can hardly breathe. Still, she tries to get even closer, willing herself to somehow fuse into him so that she won’t have to leave tomorrow. This is what she needs… him, holding her, forever.

He lets go with one arm and gently lifts her chin, pressing his lips to hers with an urgency born from years of restraint. Years of being “the friend” instead of “the one.” Years of watching one boy after another use her, hurt her, throw her away. He pushes all of that emotion, and more, into this one kiss, trying to reach into her heart and make her understand all the love and desire he has hidden all of these years.

She responds willingly, wondering at him, and at the certainty she’s had all this time that he didn’t see her “like that.” All the secret fantasies converge into this one moment, and a low moan escapes from her throat as she opens her mouth to his insistence. Her hips press tightly against his, she inhales the scent of his cologne… she never wants this embrace to end.

Sadly, there are people waiting for them, and when they step apart, they are too young, too new to such strong emotion to know what to say to each other. He holds her hand as he leads her to the car, but the moment is slipping away, and neither of them knows how to hold onto it.

She leaves the next day. He kisses her goodbye, watches the Greyhound as it slips into the early morning fog. Tears prick his eyes, a few even escaping to be impatiently wiped away. But she has her own life to live; he’s never been able to get through to her heart, why should this time be any different? He shakes his head sadly and walks away, grateful that nobody else is there to see the pain evident on his face.

As the bus pulls away, she thinks to herself, “It was the movie; he was just reacting. If he’d wanted me to stay, surely he would have said so. He probably has a girl he truly wants, probably going to her right now. It’s never been like that between us, and it never will.” She turns, trying to get a last look at him, but he has already left, further proof that he had better things to do.

She shakes her head, looks at the GPS. Okay, that definitely didn’t take enough time up: still forty-three minutes to go. After that day, they’d stayed in contact, neither daring to bring up what had happened. The friendship, and the secret fantasies, stayed intact. He was her most important friend, even now. And she was… what to him?

Well, she was going to find out! If she was honest with herself, that was mostly the reason for this little trip. Yeah, she’d been invited to the area for business, but going to the conference was just the excuse she’d needed to take this little side trip. Not for the first time, she wondered if he’d even want anything to do with her, knowing what little he did about her (other) fantasies. After all, not every guy felt the desire to be dominant, to bend a woman to his will and expose her inner slut in order to quench both their desires…

She shifted slightly in her seat, feeling her “inner slut” manifest with a rush of wetness. Hmm… wonder how many times this rental has been filled with the scent of sex? She shook her head again, grinning foolishly, and tried to concentrate more on her driving.

The hotel was… too normal. Her pent-up anxiety seemed more suited to pink neon lights and vibrating beds. Or perhaps leather, dark smoky lighting, the sound of flesh turning red under a master’s touch… Sigh. Such fantasies! And she seemed so young and sweet and innocent to the naked eye!

She set down her suitcase and stared at the bland paintings on the walls, the striped mauve-and-orange bedspread, the heavy linen curtains. Home sweet home! Her mind dismissed it all as she sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts turning obsessively back to him. Was he thinking about her? Was he wondering if she were in town yet? She thought about texting to let him know, then decided it seemed more romantic somehow to just wait until 7, when they would meet face-to-face for the first time in years. But what to do until then?

She stifled a yawn and decided to get some rest. Sleep made time go faster! Pushing off her jeans so she could sleep more comfortably, she curled up on top of the comforter and closed her eyes.


It was after 6:00 by the time she awoke. Languidly, she stretched, and the fact that she was incredibly aroused suddenly occurred to her. What HAD she been dreaming about? Oh yeah... theater, kiss, a 7:00 meeting… this whole thing had launched some pretty dirty fantasies apparently.

She blushed slightly, then realized how silly it was to be bashful in front of herself. So instead, she slipped one hand down between her thighs. Her panties were damp. Smiling a little, she closed her eyes and concentrated on what she'd been dreaming about.

If anyone had been watching inside the small room, they would have seen a shapely girl in a white t-shirt and pink panties lying on the bed, lost in fantasy, her long brown hair spread out around her on the pillow, a half smile gracing her lips, her green eyes closed. The fingers of her right hand crept under her panties, making expert circles over her swollen clit; her left hand gripped a handful of blanket beside her. She was already aroused enough that it took only a couple of minutes before her long legs tensed, her hips pushed off the bed, and a small cry escaped her lips. When she opened her eyes, her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. In a cute, little girl sort of way, she blushed again as though she'd somehow caught herself in the act.

She laid there for a moment more, until suddenly realizing what time the clock had said. She half-sat up: the dim red numbers read 6:27. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she nervously jumped off the now-rumpled bedspread, and almost tripped over her suitcase. It wasn’t a big town; in fact, it wouldn’t take long at all to get to the theater, but she still had to get dressed!

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