The morning would have been painfully awkward had I stayed around to see Angie and Ryan wake. Instead, I slipped out of bed and packed some clothes, headed to the campus rec center to shower, and basically tried to pretend it was just another day. That I hadn't just fucked my roommate and my best friend.
It was hard to forget, though. The taste of Angie's sweet juices still mingled with the tang of Ryan's seed on my tongue. I crammed my mouth full of spearmint gum before each class, desperately trying to get my mind off what had happened. It wasn't that I felt guilty, but rather that I didn't know exactly how the others were going to feel about it. Would they have regrets? Would Angie and I still be as close as we were before?
That was the scariest proposition, that I might lose Angie as both a lover and a friend. I had known her my whole life, had been in love without realizing it for many years. I couldn't lose her now, not because of some stupid sex thing. Her beautiful face, hardened by years of abuse by the world, floated on my mind's eye. How I longed to make her happy...something so few people had cared to do in her nineteen years.
"Miss Sterling," Professor Russell called out, having caught me daydreaming in Lit class, "perhaps you have something to add on the subject of Rossetti's poetry?"
I froze. "Sir?" I said. "Sorry, my...uh...mind was wandering, Sir."
"Moving on," he said, giving me a look of warning. I buried my reddening face in my palms. Forgetting about last night was going to be impossible.
When lunchtime rolled around, I debated not going to the cafeteria, knowing Angie would be there. We had been eating together there since we were freshmen. As much as I considered not going, however, there was no way I would ever stand up my best friend...not even to hide from her.
Upon entering the spacious, sparsely populated cafeteria (the food was crap), I immediately spotted Angie. She was dressed in a red tank top, black bra straps showing, and ratty jeans, and was bending over, her hands on one of the tables, and her face characteristically angry. She was shouting at some girl I didn't recognize. I waited, still unsure as to how I was going to face her.
After a few moments, the girl Angie was yelling at burst into tears, and Angie stood up, satisfied. She looked toward the door, obviously wondering if she'd missed my entrance, and scanned the crowd for me, her dark brown eyes searching the faces of the few patrons. I waved.
"'Bout time you got here," she said, walking up to me, her hands in her back pockets. Her lean, fit body swayed as she walked, and I couldn't help but watch, enraptured by every twitch of muscle on her bare arms, and by every swish of her long, free-flowing, black hair.
Oh god, I thought, not now. I felt my nipples hardening, pinching against the fabric of my bra. Holy shit, I was getting horny again. I willed myself back to coherence.
"Angie," I said. "We...need to talk."
Angie sighed, putting a hand on her hip. I had kissed that bare hip just a matter of hours ago, had savored the soft skin of it, the warm taste of it...
"Well, talk," Angie commanded, taking me by the arm and leading me over to a table. She straddled a chair, facing me as I sat, and stared across the table expectantly.
"Angie," I whispered, leaning in. "What happened last night?"
Her dark eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I shook my head. I should've known she would be difficult about it. "Damn it, Angie," I hissed softly, "we had sex. With Ryan. And...you know, each other."
Angie sat a little straighter, realization creeping over her features. "Holy shit, Mel," she chuckled. "Are we gonna have to philosophize about this shit the rest of our fucking lives? Shit, you'd think we killed somebody."
"I licked your pussy," I said defensively. "That's a pretty big deal for our relationship, isn't it?"
"'Relationship?'" Angie asked. "What are we, on a reality show or somethin'?"
"Angie, I'm serious," I objected. "I...I really think we need to explore how this affects things."
"Alright," Angie agreed, leaning back. "Let's explore." She crossed her arms. "Would you do it again?"
I didn't have to think about it, but I pretended to. "Yes," I said.
"Did you say anything that you wanna take back now?"
I sighed. "No, not a thing."
Angie leaned in again. "Then kiss me."
"I can't," I said. "Not here." Every nerve of my body screamed at me to do it, begged me to give in to the carnal desire that Angie unwittingly had provoked in me. I resisted.
"Fucking stop thinking about it, and just do it," Angie growled. She climbed over the table on all fours, and kissed me.
After she'd begun the kiss, I was powerless to resist. My arms wrapped themselves around her neck and I melted into her. All doubt faded away amidst gasps and whoops from our fellow patrons. I loved my Angie, and she loved me. For now, it was all I needed.
"We're skipping class," she said.
We barely made it back to my house before tearing into each other. Angie began by wrestling me down onto the couch. Once she had me on my back, she pulled out a scoring knife, one of the many sculpting devices she, an art student, routinely carried in her pockets, and shredded the front of my shirt with it. Without pause, she also cut off my bra, exposing my large, bare, pink titties.
"Fucking veiny-ass tits," Angie joked, pressing down on top of me, her lips finding the nape of my neck and suckling at my earlobe. Her calloused hands, roughened by the forge-work that was required for the metal sculptures she made from scratch, somehow seemed baby soft as they caressed my face and shoulders. The warmth of her lean body felt wonderful, exposed as I was to the cool air of the den.
"Wait!" I cried, a thought suddenly hitting me. "Is Ryan here?" I tried to listen, but Angie kept slurping at my neck.
"If that fucker was here," she answered between kisses, "he'd already have his dick up your ass, knowing him."
I burst out laughing, growing more and more giddy with every nuzzling kiss. Finally, I wrapped my arms around Angie and slid my hands beneath the fabric of her tank top. After only a second or two of searching, I found and unfastened her bra strap.
Angie acknowledged the cue and sat up, straddling my midsection. She pulled off the top and shrugged out of the black lace beneath it. Her small breasts were the perfect complement to her toned stomach and round-capped shoulders. Her hands went to my tits, caressing and kneading the soft flesh.
"Angie," I moaned, breaking the silence that had settled in over several minutes of playful fondling.
"What is it, babe?" she responded, tickling my tummy with one hand while lightly pinching one of my tender nipples with the other.
"Spank me," I said.
"What the hell!" she laughed.
"No, really," I pleaded. "Spank me."
"Alright," she shrugged, sliding off me and standing. She took my hand as I rose beside her. I pressed my body against hers, our lips and bare breasts meeting all at once, sending shivers of delight throughout my body.
"Oh, Melissa," Angie breathed, breaking our long, languid kiss. "You are so fucking sexy." I could feel her loosening my pink cloth belt and undoing my jeans. "Now, drop 'em."
I obeyed, pushing my jeans and panties down to my ankles. I stood before my new true love practically naked, my shaven pubic mound covered by my hands.
Angie pulled me to her again, and I felt her hard brown nipples scratching against my chest as we kissed with a growing passion. Her hands pushed mine aside, and she caressed the delicate folds of my labia, tickling and teasing me as our tongues played with one another.
After an all-too-short make-out session, Angie pulled away again. She sat down in the center of the couch, and patted her thighs in invitation. "Well," she said, "get down here and present that ass."