It had been a hell of a week, and it was only Tuesday. With the recent loss of a major client, the atmosphere at the company had been tense, to say the least. When my last meeting cancelled, making it possible for me to escape the office in time to catch the sunset, I decided I deserved a drink.
I called Kris, who had worked at the company before and been a big help to me when I started out the year before. She had moved on since, but we had kept in touch and I knew she would be happy to lend a sympathetic ear.
She picked up after two rings, and before I had the chance to suggest a drink she announced that she was drunk. "Get over here!" she said. "I'm just out with Greg and Keelan."
I hesitated. I love Kris's husband Greg, and I like their friend Keelan too. The four of us had spent many nights so immersed in conversation that we had ended up much drunker and out much later than planned. We always joked that the company was so good that we were a danger to ourselves.
In fact, we all got along so well that it seemed only natural that Keelan and I had shared a few nights together after I had ended a long-term relationship earlier that year. He apparently hadn't felt the same way, however, since he had politely distanced himself after a few weeks. He'd been away most of the summer, and I hadn't seen him since the last time I woke up at his place.
Fuck it, I thought. We could still be friendly; we were both adults. I told her I'd be there and hopped on the metro.
As I stood, swaying on the train with the rest of the miserable commuters, my mind drifted to the brief affair we had shared. I'd been attracted to Keelan instantly: his strong arms, piercing eyes, self-assured confidence. He was older than me, 36 to my 24, and just starting to go grey, which I liked. After a respectful amount of time mourning my breakup, I mentioned my crush to Kris and she made it happen. She arranged for the four of us to go out together, and by the end of the night we couldn't keep our hands off each other.
That first night, when we went back to his place, we stayed up talking and flirting and kissing until the point when we were too tired to take it further. It was exactly what I needed in that moment: I felt seen, I felt heard, I felt desired. We shared his bed that night and he kept a hand on me the whole night, even when one of us would shift, half-asleep.
We went out a few times after that, and there was always good chemistry, inside jokes, intense eye contact, but somehow it kept happening that I'd stay over without it turning sexual. I loved the way he looked at me, how we argued about politics and art and social issues, how we teased each other, how he held me all night as we slept, but after a few weeks I was getting frustrated that we hadn't taken the physical intimacy further than kissing.
In the end we only had sex once, a fairly anticlimactic event after so much anticipation. It was another morning after I had stayed over, and I was up early to get ready for work. He watched me from the bed as I dressed, and I'll admit that I put on a bit of a show, all while pretending not to. I stretched luxuriously in the soft morning light of his bedroom, bent over to collect my clothes from where I had tossed them the night before, turned to fasten my bra so that he could see my torso silhouetted in profile. He pulled me wordlessly to him, kissed me, and removed all the clothes I had just put on. His hands explored between my legs and found me to be already wet, excited from my own seduction and the possessive, assured way he undressed me and touched me. We kissed as he took out a condom, then he slid inside of me easily, and I moaned as I took the length of him.
It was awkward in the way that having sex with a new person for the first time in a long time can be, but thrilling for the same reason. I loved the way he gripped my upper arms, thrusting into me, and he grinned when I wrapped my legs around him to pull him deeper into me. When he came, he collapsed on top of me, and we enjoyed a few moments of sweaty, contented panting and cuddling before I had to rush home to get ready for work. The sex hadn't been earth-shattering, but it was satisfying, and I was glowing all day from the thrill of it.
We saw each other a few times after, but fell back into the pattern of talking and kissing and sleeping together without sex. Eventually he distanced himself, finally admitting that he wasn't "looking for anything right now." I was disappointed, and a bit confused—I knew he found me attractive, and I'd had enough experience to know I was good in bed—but I'd seen it coming. I genuinely hoped we could remain friends, since I had come to enjoy his unique brand of humor and the conversations we had shared.
By the time the metro arrived at my stop, I was determined to be confident and casual, to show him that I was fine with what had happened between us and that I was happy to see him again, without expectations. I checked my reflection in a shop window as I walked to the bar and was pleased that I happened to be dressed well for the occasion: a sleeveless white top that accentuated the slight tan I'd gotten over the summer and a patterned skirt that hugged my slim waist and fell loosely to just above my knees. When I walked up and met them at the bar, he caught my eye and I was proud to be seen.
Kris and I hugged and spent some quality time catching up as the boys talked and I had my first drink. Keelan kept meeting my glance across the table, but his smiles seemed more friendly than coy. Eventually our discussions merged and conversation flowed comfortably, with the four of us getting along as we always had. We debated, we teased each other, we shared drinks. At one point, I was gesturing to make a point and Keelan caught my hand, holding it in his and caressing it gently as he argued with me. I didn't hear a word that he was saying, though I held his gaze.
Somehow, the bar was suddenly closing and the waiter, who knew us as regulars, brought us a round of shots on the house. We laughed at ourselves since this was a common problem: here we were, drunk on a Tuesday night, again. Kris and I protested the shots at first, but we did them, like we always did, and then they tried to convince us, like they always did, to have "just one more drink" at another bar down the street.
I was tempted, but I knew I had just about twenty minutes left to catch the last metro home, and I said so. Kris tried to offer to pay for a cab, but then Keelen leaned in close, his breath whispering along my neck; "You're welcome to stay at mine, of course. No pressure, no obligation. But I'd like to spend more time with you." I agreed, and he took my hand as we walked on to the next bar.
It became apparent as we walked that Kris and Greg were feeling the drinks a bit more than we were as they stumbled and made stupid jokes. They went up to order as Keelan and I grabbed a table, and he leaned in again to be heard over the music, placing a hand on my knee.
"I want to apologize for the way I behaved a few months ago," he said. "It's no excuse, but I was coming to terms with some personal issues and I pushed you away as a result. I'm sorry."
I assured him that he had nothing to be sorry for, that I was fine, that I was over it. I didn't feel quite as over it as I had, though, as he held my gaze with his piercing eyes.
"Let me make it up to you. You deserve better."
I told him he didn't owe me anything, that I was glad to see him. He reached up to run his fingers through my hair, tantalizingly slowly, and pulled me to him for a kiss. His hand moved up my leg, under my skirt, stroking my inner thigh, gently, patiently. He looked deep into my eyes.
"Come home with me."
He kept at least one hand on me for the rest of the evening, casually but confidently claiming me. We were both giddy with renewed excitement in anticipation of what was to come. Kris kept shooting me knowing looks across the table. For possibly the first time in our history as friends, we really had just one more drink. Keelan paid the bill and we began the fifteen-or-so-minute walk back to his place.
I was tipsy by that point, excited and flirty, teasing him and making stupid jokes, but within a few minutes, his mannerism changed. He became quiet, brooding. Finally he stopped me on a street corner, held my hands, and looked at me apologetically.
"You're welcome to stay with me, but I don't think we should have sex. I'm sorry if I led you on."
I was hurt, confused. "Why not?"
"You're a good person. I'm not. You deserve better than me."
"I don't understand. You're a good person. I don't care about what happened before; that's over. I'm not looking for anything serious either."
"Why do you like me?"
"What?"
"What do you like about me?"
I was perplexed. I liked his confidence, mainly, but I wasn't seeing that in this moment.
"I like the way you look at me. The way we talk, and I know you're not interested in me just for my body. I like the way you hold me when we sleep together, how you always keep a hand on me."
He nodded silently, his expression distant, considering it.
"And sexually? Do you like what we've shared so far?"
"Well... we haven't shared that much. No offense. I mean... the first time was good, but it'll get better the more that we see each other. But yeah, I liked it."
He nodded again. I was baffled, no longer sure if he was insecure, or rejecting me.
I tried another tack. "Are you happy with what we've shared so far?"
"I think you're beautiful. And intelligent, and lovely to spend time with. But I also think that you're innocent... You're young. I don't want to take advantage of you."
Suddenly I wondered... the piercing gaze, the controlling touch, his gentlemanly manner, his perfectionist tendencies...
"I liked it when you pulled my hair," I said.
He met my gaze, thought for a moment. He stepped towards me, gathered a fistful of my hair, gently but firmly, and pulled me to him.
"Like this?" he asked.
I nodded, as best I could with my head pulled back.
"What else did you like?"
"I like the way you touch me like... like I'm already yours."
I saw him take a deep breath as a wave of lust swept across his face. He raised an eyebrow and I held his gaze, then he pounced, pinning me to the wall, one hand still in my hair, the other pulling my hip towards him, groping my side, my ass. We kissed feverishly, first on the lips, then I worked my way down his neck and back up, kissing and nibbling up to his earlobe, his free hand still roaming my body...
