Mike had been staying away from his apartment. There were just too many memories there. Since the breakup, he just couldn't sleep there, he couldn't eat there, he didn't even like to sit on the sofa there without Mel.
Bumping into Pete had been like finding treasure in the basement. An unbelievable stroke of luck. Even so, he didn't actually expect Pete to let him sofa surf. They had been buddies once, but not close friends. It wasn't even all that recently, over a year had passed since the last time they had even spoken.
Pete had let him stay at his place for a few days. Mike was blown away. He knew for sure, has the tables been turned, he wouldn't have done the same for Pete. Not even for one night.
That was why, when Pete's girl had swung by, Mike decided to give them a few hours. He knew how it was when your girl came to visit but your buddies were round. Although, he thought, sadly, that wouldn't be happening to him anymore.
He'd come back to his own place, hoping that a few days away might have dulled the pain. Now, as the key slid into the apartment door and the memories rushed back, he realised that the feelings were still as agonising as ever.
"Hi, honey," he mumbled, sadly, half expecting to be greeted by Melissa. That was over, too.
He took his coat off and reached up to hang it, but stopped in his tracks. Mel's scarf was hanging there, the one that he'd bought for her last winter. Was it- maybe she had left it behind because it was Mike who had bought it? No, that was just his mind playing tricks. It wasn't that kind of break up, and she wasn't that kind of girl.
In the living room were two glasses. One had been there since the night before he bumped into Pete. The other, about a week before that. The lipstick mark, still on the rim, and the stain of red wine in the bottom of the glass told the story of how it was last used, and the reason it was still here.
"I hope it's all going all right for you," Mike lamented.
He stood and stared at that glass for a long while, thinking about the last time Melissa had been there. Thinking about what had happened. Thinking about the end. He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts. Lost.
An alarm in the street below roused him. The wine for Fi was in the kitchen. He should go and get it.
He took a little time to clean up in his apartment. There were still parts of her here that he couldn't let go. He didn't move the scarf. He didn't clean the glass. He didn't change his bed. And in the end, he didn't take the wine. Melissa's wine.
He decided to go to the store instead.
Back at Pete's place, after a marathon sex session which had ended with Fi's face and tits pasted with Pete's porridge, Fi had gone for a shower. Pete had started cooking while Fi was in the shower, and by the time she'd come out he was putting food into the oven. He tagged in, heading for the shower and leaving Fi to clean the living room up.
"I'm back!" bellowed Mike, lugging two crates of beer, two boxes of wine and a bottle of rum into the house with him. Maybe I did go a little overboard, he thought.
"Through here," Fi shouted back from the living room. By now, she had picked up the empty beer cans that were strewn around, both by the boys, and during her and Pete's afternoon delight. She had also wiped the aftermath of that delightful depravity off of the sofa a bit. The sofa was still a bit damp, so she was just now putting a throw over it.
"Can you give me a hand with this," Mike asked, struggling through the living room door.
"Of course," Fi answered, as she was tucking in the last of the throw. She took the two wine boxes from the top.
"Thanks, Mel," he said, without thinking.
They both stopped like statues for a moment. He'd called her Mel. Fi looked, sadly, into his eyes. An apology hung in the air, awkwardly.
"Kitchen?" she said, breaking the tension.
"Kitchen," he agreed.
In the kitchen, Fi directed him where to put the beer down and then stood in front of him, before he could escape.
"I think you need to talk about it," she insisted.
"I... know." His shoulders slumped. "Just... give me some time."
"Sure," she agreed, putting her hand on his arm and looking into his eyes. "Just... don't take too long."
When Pete came into the room, wearing sweatpants and a basketball shirt, Mike and Fi were sitting on the sofa. Fi had a glass of red wine, which was a little uncharacteristic, and Mike had a beer. They had the stereo on, and it was playing Beyonce. Fi's choice, probably.
"Hey guys," he said, amiably.
"Yo, Pete," Mike said, cheerfully. "There's a beer in the fridge."
"Thanks man."
He grabbed a beer and sat on the armchair. It didn't see much use, these days. He'd forgotten how comfy it was.
Fi had thrown on a summer dress that she had left behind after getting soaked a while back. She didn't have a lot of clothes here, but she had a few things. Pete remembered the day she had left that dress here.
What he remembered, really, was how she had been flashing him her bare pussy at every opportunity while they were out, and almost as soon as he got her inside, he had bent her over and got inside her. That kind of thing, where he lost control or got forceful, had a crazy effect on her, and she was goading him while he screwed her from behind.
"Fuck me like an animal," was one of the ones he remembered. "Am I a bitch or what?"
He ended up cumming all up her back, and the dress was drenched with it. His dick was hard now, just thinking about it.
She had gone home wearing one of his football shirts, after trying on a basketball top. This basketball top, actually, the one he was wearing now. The straps didn't even cover her nipples. Her tits were amazing. That shirt got soaked, too...
"Look at my tits," she had demanded. "This shirt is perfect. I can see your cock agrees."
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her big, firm tits under the shoulder straps of the basketball shirt. He was standing, looking down at her, still wearing nothing but his shirt after tearing off his pants and screwing Fi as soon as he'd got indoors. His dick was already pointing upwards when she grabbed hold of it and pulled him close.
"Bring me that meat," she had snarled, "for between these buns."
What had followed was amazing. She had placed his now throbbing cock between her wonderful breasts and jerked him off with them. The enduring image that remained in his head of that moment was of her looking up into his eyes with a string of saliva running from her bottom lip to the gap between her mams where his glans was poking out.
When he'd cum, she had looked down to get sprayed, and let everything drip down over her. When he jacked off, he often pictured that scene.
He scratched his nuts, adjusting himself and hoping that his guests didn't notice his daydream, or indeed the hard-on that had come about as a consequence. It didn't look like they had, anyway.
The three of them chatted happily for hours, joking and drinking and laughing and reminiscing. Pete almost forgot about the food he'd put in the oven, but it wasn't too badly burned, so they all ate some, then got back to drinking.
