Many thanks again to my editor and friend TekNight. Read the tags for warnings and/or spoilers. :) Hope you enjoy this new experiment, dear Literotica.com readers! - Allyourbase.
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As a kid, I used to spend hours on a ditch bank watching the insects. The short grass growing taller near the waterside, iris and reed rising up, softly rustling, like a bead curtain. We used to live near the river and all along it were were intricate little waterways and pools to get lost in, to find little treasures. There, in that labyrinth on the borderline between land and water, I would hide from the other kids. My boots slowly sinking into the soggy clay, looking for shells, watching the dragonflies, the sticklebacks, and those curious tadpoles that morphed into equally curious amphibians. Animals in between everything. Ugly, but fascinating.
I take a deep breath, smell the night air, smell the river that runs through this city, the silt. That scent, it's what triggers the memory. I'm not sure I want it. But it's better than thinking about what I have just done.
Hiding... watching until I'd forget everything. Disappearing. How I'd like to disappear like that again.
I hunch into the hood of my sweater, zip up my coat. It is dark, but not dark enough for my taste now. The city skyline casts an orange glow on everything. The bridge that defines this city looms over me like a frozen tidal wave. The air is cooling. I look down. My sneakers are resting casually on the pavement of this walled in river bank, like they're not mine. Like it is the way it should be. I know it isn't. Nothing is how it should be tonight, especially not me.
I should never have given in to my curiosity, but it was inevitable. I was just not going to say no. She was one of those girls who pushed buttons I forget I have half the time, since I've only dated guys until now. Pretty faced, slightly obnoxious, cheeky. The kind that annoys and arouses me at the same time. The kind that feels like a different species altogether. From the first time I saw her, I wondered what it would be like if she'd be interested in me. But girls like that never are.
The time I went shopping with her flashes through my mind. I sat on one of the chairs outside the dressing room, waiting, while she tried on skirt after skirt. Next to me, boyfriends, in the same predicament. It made me feel something entirely new, something I never really told the boyfriend I had back then. Being subjected to her whims, watching her try on sexy clothes, walking next to her in the street - she even held my hand, like some girls' day out thing or something - I felt an unusual kind of pride and a slight form of humiliation at the same time. It made me understand, instantly, what it must feel like to be a guy. Or, at least, I think it did. Hell, what do I know?
Thinking of how her soft hair smells still turns me on, even now. Even after this night, though it is tinged with melancholy.
She would always hug me when we met, her hair against my cheek, her soft, curvy, tiny body against me until my heart fluttered and I hoped my face wouldn't have turned red. She would sit in my lap at parties when there were not enough chairs, making me ache to taste her neck, slip a hand under her shirt. How I wondered about how her tits would feel. All of it, it would've given me a rock hard boner if I'd have been a dude. Still, she must've known what she did to me.
Why else was she so cheeky around me? But I could tell it was just the attention she liked, she wasn't interested in me that way. At least, I thought she wasn't.
Her new boyfriend, however... I don't know what was up with that guy. He was smart, good looking, made jokes, seemed friendly, but I couldn't make him out. And I guess he saw right through me.
"He so wants to bang her..." he said to me, watching his girlfriend flirt with one of our friends. We were standing outside, smoking a cigarette.
Through the garden door with the sea shell curtain we watched the living room, where people had wordless conversations, like they were under water: their bodies moved in telling ways, their faces said more than their mouths at any given moment. Amongst all of them, her, with her magnetic appearance. Those big eyes, that sly smile of hers, that tiny, sexy body, the teasing and taunting. Fragile without the innocence. Like a dragonfly: fascinating, fairy-like, a little scary.
"Yeah, well," I replied. "Who doesn't?" I knew I was giving away how I felt, a bit, but I'd been drinking and in a way I was wondering how he'd react.
"I might even let him," he said, glancing aside at me.
I looked him in the face, to be sure I heard that correctly. He didn't seem to be joking.
"What?" I asked. Like I was that innocent, but I didn't know what else to say. He chuckled, took a sip of his beer.
"She's pervier than you think," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Way pervier..." His voice trailed off a little. He gazed in the distance, smirking. "We kinda found each other, when it comes to that."
I hated how this made me hope I could fuck her one day. Like sex was all there was for me when it came to her. It wasn't, that was the problem. But she aroused me, I couldn't help it. I wondered what he meant by 'pervy'.
He brought his cigarette to his mouth again. Looked at me with squinted eyes.
"She loves to be used, you know."
Oh, what the fuck. There I was, knee deep in someone else's shit.
He grinned at me, but his smile was just off. I couldn't think of anything to say. What do you say after something like that? I pushed away flashes of her being fucked by that friend she was flirting with. Brutally. With her boyfriend watching. It aroused me. It made me feel guilty... I lit another cigarette.
"You'd do her, right?" He asked me, bluntly. "I see the way you look at her."
"Yeah. I would. Probably." There was no point in denying it, though I trusted him less and less. "If she'd be interested. But she's not. At least, not as far as I can tell."
A sly grin shot across his face, just for a second. He played with his cigarette. He scared me a little.
"I could make her..." he said flatly, watching my reaction. "Interested, I mean."
Holy crap. Suddenly, someone else's shit had become
my
shit.
I remember passing on the offer, saying 'No, thanks, probably not such a good idea,' or something like it. But the look on his face made me fear that whatever I said, it would not make any difference. I felt worried. Out of control. It felt like he found something interesting to play with, and he would, no matter what.
After that night, something had changed, she had changed. Or maybe it was my imagination. The next time we met for drinks, she had become flirtier, cheekier, found reasons to sit on my lap, while her boyfriend looked on. It blew my mind, made me drink twice as fast. Was it real? Was my desire making me see things that weren't there? Whatever it was, it aroused me and made me increasingly nervous. I felt manipulated, played with.
And I was. I was being played with. I could tell, by the looks they exchanged. But when she and I bumped into each other, getting another beer and she - seemingly by accident - pushed into me, I couldn't help but say something.
"Watch out, girl," I said. "Your flirting... it's fun, but don't go too far."
"Oh?" She grinned. "Because?"
I placed my hand on the wall behind her, looked her in the eyes.
"Because I know you're not serious," I said.
She made a mocking face. I should've shrugged it off, because she was getting to me.
"Listen, stop it," I said. "You know you won't want to give what I want to have."
An expression I couldn't place slid across her face. What was she thinking? I suddenly felt like a predator, looming over her like that; vicious, grimy, ready to snatch her whenever I got the chance. I didn't trust myself.
"What if I want you to take it anyway..." she said, unexpectedly, with a twinkle in her eyes. My heart missed a beat.
And then she licked her lips. Damn, she should never have licked her lips like that.
I suddenly kissed her, hard. She pulled back a little, but not enough for me to stop. It felt like I was dragging her down under water. My tongue assaulted her, invaded her. Her moans were muffled by my mouth taking hers. She tasted so sweet. Her wet lips and her soft tongue made my knees week. I couldn't believe I was doing what I had longed to do for so long. And I couldn't believe I was taking it with so much confusion over whether she actually wanted it. But that, exactly, was such a turn on. I had the urge to push her against the wall, force her legs apart, and fuck her. Make her scream, make her face contort with agony. I wished I had a dick.
In the corner of my eye, I sensed something. From across the bar her boyfriend was watching us, with a curious, amused look in his eyes. It gave me the creeping sensation of being on display: dehumanized, grotesque.
I needed to go. Really.
And I did. I left.
But from then on, my mind was in this haze, I wasn't able to think right. This whole thing had gushed into my head, leaving putrid pools of guilt and arousal everywhere. It distracted me. It forced me to think about who I was and what I wanted. Whether this was a good idea at all.
I wondered if it would break the friendship. I wondered if there was purely a friendship to begin with. I feared the point when my other friends would notice. Though most of 'em knew about my occasional crushes on girls, I had never tried to explain how much it confused me to feel this way, and I really didn't feel like explaining it now.
None of them would understand why wanting her made me sad about my own curves, made me long to buff up my arms. How this all made me feel as if there was someone looking out of my eyes who didn't match my body. Or even my brain. Both of which made me do and want girly things half the time, to the wry amusement of the guy inside of me - if that is what he is. Such a mess inside of me. Fuck that. I should just stay away from girls. Date men, wear dresses. Would be so much easier.
But their next phone call was an invitation for dinner, at their house. I should've said no...
I watch the river. I have no idea how long I've been here already. I think of how I used to look for empty mussel shells. I wonder what I did with them. I don't remember. Suddenly, I become aware of how tight my chest feels. I can't breathe. I sit up, reach under my clothes, to find the clasps on my back. I unhook the heavy duty sports bra I put on to flatten my tits: my half-assed attempt to change my look in a way nobody around me understands. It only makes them go down to a B-cup anyway... I breathe, feel the fabric crumple up under my shirt.
I don't know why I put them on in the first place. Not for her. Even though I had fooled myself - getting dressed this afternoon, putting on a sleeveless shirt that shows off my arms - that it was for her. But I knew it's not something that does anything for her. I could tell. That is exactly why I just can't get up from this bench, why I keep sitting here, slowly getting cold to the bone. To avoid the regret. She should not have been my first girl.
But she straddled me on their couch, wearing that skirt, that sexy top. We had been drinking, eating, joking and I don't really remember how she got there. Whatever. She was on top of me, her chest right in front of my face, and the playful atmosphere rapidly thickened into a tense moment. The reluctant kiss from the time before hung heavy between us.
Her boyfriend sat across the room from us, slouched in a chair with a beer dangling in his hand and his gaze piercing into his girlfriend's back. He followed my every move, watched me size up his girl, he saw how my eyes betrayed the desire inside. My hands lay on the couch, numb, paralyzed - like they didn't want me doing something stupid. I didn't want to become part of their little fucked up game. I would regret it. But I was so fuckin' turned on. My struggle amused him.
"Stop staring at her tits, dude," he grinned.
They both laughed. I blushed involuntarily. I felt caught. I wasn't sure I was still enjoying this.
