I have recently came back to this website after several years absence and am in the process of updating, rewriting and adding new stories to my author name. Please, if you take the time to read this and/or get pleasure from reading this -- let me know! It keeps me motivated to write more content. I love reading your comments and replying when I get time. Don't forget to rate! Thanks everyone -- MPD xx
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I never wanted this to happen.
The whole fling started about a week ago; a clichéd, chance encounter with his best friend. Despite spending the majority of the week wishing that I could disappear from the face of the earth, I had managed to drag myself to a local convenience store for a few essentials to go with some self-indulgent luxuries. I deserved to be pampered, I thought angrily, especially taking in to consideration recent events. Before long, I found myself looking at the latest DVD releases, eyeing the candy-fluff films full of the love and romance with a weird mixture of contempt and longing. It wasn't until I picked up a mass-produced DVD off the shelf that I saw him enter the store out of the corner of my eye. Damien, I sighed to myself, trying to position myself out of his line of vision by slipping further down the aisle. Damien was the best friend of my very, very recent ex-boyfriend. I was - or rather had been -- irrevocably in love with Mark; but after two years of sickly-sweet text messages and occasional hot nights in his wooden-framed bed, it had all come to a shuddering halt.
It was the usual, pathetic, hackneyed crap that I had heard so many times before: something about needing a break from the norm, about needing his own space again. Having seen the recent messages on his phone however, I noticed that it was perhaps something to do with pretty Miana, a petite secretary in his office who'd been sharing provocative pictures with him. Heartbroken wasn't the word for it: I was here in a public place with my face naked and my dark hair limp and greasy around my face. How could I possibly get over the love of my life when I was so caught up in our mentally romanticised past? So seeing Damien, delicious as he was, in a shop where I was sobbing over some romantic DVD blurb...well, it wasn't my idea of fun. Hiding behind the tall DVD stand, I hoped he wouldn't see me, but I knew with the luck I was having that he probably already had. After a few minutes -- and just as I started to breathe a sigh of relief - I felt an ominous, gentle tap on my shoulder.
"Cherry?" asked the warm baritone, and I sighed inside.
"Hey Damien," I said, trying to hide the exasperation in my voice as I eyed his look of curiosity with bitter resentment. So what if I looked awful: I was going through a break up and I was allowed to look awful if I wanted to.
"How are you holding up?" he said softly, pushing my hair gently out of my eyes as he peered anxiously into their dark wells. Don't pretend you care, I thought irritably as I took a step backwards, I know you're just going to go running back to Mark as soon as you leave the store and tell him how rubbish I was looking.
"Fine," I said coldly, ignoring my inner dialogue and trying to avoid his searching eye contact. Even though I hated him for just being Mark's friend and ally, I'd always had a bit of a crush on him. His gorgeous, bright blonde hair glowed in the fluorescent lights like an alternative, spiky halo; his bright, green eyes twinkled with child-like inquisitiveness. Although he was undeniably good-looking in a cute, school-boy way, his broad, muscular body and relationship track-record belied his innocence. He was a stud: the type who slept with women and dumped them the next day without as much as a courtesy phone call. Usually I detested this type of pig-headed, obnoxious, chauvinistic behaviour yet I couldn't help being so undeniably attracted to him. I tried hard to push these burgeoning thoughts aside and, with renewed determination, started to turn away from him.
"Hey," he called after me, "Hey!"
"What?" I shouted back, already closing in on an empty till.
"I was wondering," he said loudly, walking quickly to catch up with me, "I was wondering if you'd like to go for a drink, or something. Like at the weekend or something..." He trailed off and I narrowed my eyes.
"Why?" I said, exasperated, echoing my thoughts from earlier, "So you can go back and report back to Mark about how nasty I'm being about him behind his back?" I slung the DVD and huge bottle of coke onto the counter viciously and he winced, his eyebrows knotting furiously above his startled eyes.
"No," he said, "It's not like that. I just, well, thought you'd like to go out for a drink. Saturday," he added for clarification. For a few moments, I stared into his beautiful green eyes and weighed up the situation, my mind whirring quickly. A seed of deviousness germinated eagerly in my mind: if I could sleep with his best friend, I thought slyly, that would really piss Mark off. I knew Mark hated and envied Damien's womanising ways and it would kill him to know I'd fallen so easily into his arms.
"Well," I replied, acting overly coy, "I suppose I could come out for one drink." He grinned and nodded happily, grabbing my small hand lightly with his own and kissing it gently.
"I won't let you down, gorgeous," he said confidently with a large, overdone wink. Without so much as a thought to Mark, I coquettishly winked back and gently bit my bottom lip. Speedily, he made his way back out of the store without so much as looking back. I wondered openly whether he'd tell Mark he'd seen me; well, I reasoned, if he was sensible he definitely wouldn't tell Mark that he was going out with me.
That night, as I lay between my thin, silken covers in my flimsy underwear, I imagined the two of them fighting over me. Brunette against blonde, brown eyes against green, tall against broad...I imagined them touching me, stroking my bare skin with their masculine hands, kissing my tanned neck with unsatisfied hunger that only I could sate.
It wasn't long before these images switched solely to Damien; partially because I no longer wanted Mark and mostly because I was curious as to what Damien's body was like. I'd seen him in swimwear, and although he was broad, he was incredibly toned, and when he hugged me in greeting I could feel the untold strength he had. Would he take advantage of me on Saturday night? More importantly, did I want him to? These questions hung pensively in the air, stubbornly yet silently unanswered; deep-down, however, I knew what I desired.
Switching thoughts, I thought about what I already knew about him. My close friend and flat-mate Jenny had already had the privilege of spending one lust-filled weekend with him -- in her words he was an animal in the sack. He expertly knew how to make a woman climax, over and over again if the mood took him. Sometimes I had struggled to come while lying in Mark's arms, and although Mark was no less than average in size, he hadn't the skills nor the knowledge to really know what to do with his enthusiastic manhood. Needless to say, he had always come, and he hadn't really bothered much about trying to do the same for me. Would Damien be larger than Mark? Would he hurt me by playing too hard, as I'd heard he was sometimes wont to do? Right at that moment I didn't care; my skin was prickling to be touched and fondled; I gently stroked my inner thighs as I imagined what he would do to me. I imagined his deft and expert hands; so alike to Mark's in size in shape, fingering me into an oblivion. Pretending his fingers were my own, I rubbed my wet slit tentatively in the expert way that only we girls knew how. Before long, I was writhing in the bed sheets, my slick skin sticking to them as I brought myself to a heady climax, eventually falling back into a dreamless, semi-satisfied sleep.
So Saturday came, and I had made a point of looking my best. My whole outfit had been selected to emphasise my sexiness: the skirt caught me sharply at mid-thigh, tightly wrapping across my curvy backside and flaring temptingly at the hem; the strappy top clinging sensuously to my small breasts in order to give me a fantastic hour-glass silhouette. Underneath, I wore the best underwear I had ever bought: a beautiful, silky bra that framed my golden skin; my buttocks left bare, divided sensuously by a tiny g-string that sat sexily across my hips. I had even put on lacy stockings and suspenders for that added thrill of sexiness -- these were barely covered by my short skirt. I tried to tell my nerves that nothing would happen but secretly I hoped the opposite. Making sure that the image of my bare face would be forgotten from his mind, I vamped up my make up with smoky eyes and blood red lipstick. Everything about me from my wavy hair to my patent leather stilettos screamed sex, and deep down I knew it, relishing my appearance with delight. Before I knew it, a loud rap came upon my door and I ran to it, expectant of Damien's imminent arrival. I wasn't disappointed: there I was confronted by a huge bunch of flowers and the best looking guy I'd seen in a long while.
"Hey," he said almost shyly, and I grinned.
"Hi Damien," I said quietly, ignoring his mouth opening and closing rapidly, "Where are we going?" He laughed.
"Right now, I don't think we can go anywhere with you looking like that!" Immediately, the smile froze on my face. Had I misjudged the situation? I looked down at my outfit and blushed a fiery shade of red.
"What do you mean?" I muttered, trying to avoid his eyes.
"You look so hot, Cherry..." he groaned, "Are you wearing suspenders too?"
"If you're good," I teased, smiling as I realised I had thoroughly drawn in the mate and swatted away his wandering palms, "I might let you find out..." He groaned loudly again, pushing his hands behind his back to refrain from touching me again and I laughed loudly, taking his arm as we walked to a nearby pub.
***
The problem with local pubs is that they are local. As we took our drinks to the table-clothed booth at the side of the pub, I noticed that Mark was here too. My heart sank strangely in my chest, but - remaining resolute - I refused to feel belittled by his presence. Damien, on the other hand, was charming, taking my hand and telling me anecdotes from his job as an electrician and various lads' nights out. I laughed where I deemed it appropriate, yet I couldn't help watching Mark anxiously at the same time. Who was he waiting for? His face suddenly broke into a smile, and I traced his eyes to the entrance: Miana. My sudden intense breathlessness at her appearance had me floored. How dare he bring that little bitch to my pub? My face became thunderous as I watched them flirt at the bar, both unaware of my presence. Just as I was about to walk out of the pub, I felt a warm hand on my leg.
