Okay chat,
Benson, my best friend since we were children. We’ve done everything together. Except, apparently, his mom.
It started at his birthday party. She was wearing this silky wine-red robe-like dress that clung in all the right places, hugging curves I had no business noticing. She’s got that confident, “I know exactly what I’m doing” vibe. Classy, but with eyes that say I’ve ruined men before and I’ll do it again.
After the party, Benson passed out upstairs. I stayed behind to help clean. She poured us both a little too much wine and we sat on the couch, the air between us getting thicker with every glance.
Then she leaned in, just enough to let me see down her dress and whispered, “You’re not a boy anymore, are you?”
I didn’t answer. My brain had stopped working. She placed her hand on my knee, her nails gently dragging upward, slow and deliberate. I could feel my pulse in my teeth. She kissed me before I could say anything soft, warm, tasting like wine and danger. Her lips trailed to my neck, and I was completely hers.
She led me upstairs. Not to the guest room. Her room.
She pushed me onto her bed and climbed on top like she’d done this before, probably had. She whispered things in my ear I can’t even write here without violating community guidelines. Let’s just say she took control. The way she moved, the way she looked at me like I was the meal, every second burned into my memory.
When she came, she said my name like a prayer. I didn’t stand a chance.
Afterward, we laid there in silence. She ran her fingers down my chest and said, “You can never tell Benson.” I nodded, knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for a month.
Now it’s been two weeks. I still hang out with Benson. I still go to his house. And every time I pass her in the hallway, she gives me this look knowing, amused. Like she remembers how I sounded when I couldn’t even breathe her name.
And worst of all?
I want it to happen again.