I am not a good person. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of; I’ve made mistakes that I am deeply ashamed of. Sometimes I’m ashamed of my fantasies, too. They’re certainly reflect the thoughts in my head. The pervy thoughts, the dark thoughts, the I-can’t-believe-I-want-to-imagine-or-worse–wank–over-that thoughts. Sometimes my mind takes a single snippet of someone’s conversation and wanders off until it has twisted it into something completely different.
I know what I’m doing when I walk into the room. I would be lying if I said I didn’t. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t love the girl sleeping in my – in our – bed. I love her deeply, but that isn’t enough tonight. Tonight, I want something new. I want – no, I need – something bad, something dirty. The craving inside me needs something more than Al – my beautiful, sweet girlfriend – to satisfy it.
So I walk into the living room, where her best friend is sleeping over on our couch.
She’s not sleeping: the sheets and pillow I found of her when she and Al arrived home are still folded neatly beside her, along with the toothbrush, t-shirt and tartan sleep-shorts Al had taken from our wardrobe to lend her. Al had been more drunk that I’d see her for a while, and she giggled as she let me lead her to bed. I kissed her and lay next to her while she fell asleep, but when her breathing had slowed and her grip on my shirt had loosened, I slipped out of her arms. I undo my jeans and step out of them, and unbutton my shirt so it falls open, revealing the jade green bra and lace pants.
Yes, I planned this. Yes, I am despicable.
As I said, she’s not sleeping. She’s sitting up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. When she sees me she looks up and raises an eyebrow. Her expression is neutral. I want her; I desperately want her. I want her because she is everything that Al isn’t. She places her phone on the coffee table – the one Al and I picked out two months ago and had sex on two days ago – and looks at me. There is a challenge in her eyes. I intend to meet it.
I walk up to her. I take a deep breath. “What will you do if I kiss you now?” I ask. If my voice breaks on the words, it’s with raw lust and not fear. She was Al’s first kiss, I’ve known that for years. They never dated but they slept together throughout their years at university – ‘best friends with casual fucking’ they called it. I didn’t know either of them then, but from the comments I got when I first met Al’s friends I imagine that they were very open about their explicit sex life.
I’ve never been jealous of her, or of their relationship. I love Al, and I love kissing her, fucking her. I love her, but it doesn’t mean that I haven’t lusted after her best friend. Now her best friend is sitting on my sofa and I’m straddling her. I want to kiss her. I’ve asked if I can kiss her. My lace underwear is wet.
In lieu of an answer to my question, she kisses me.
She doesn’t kiss me softly. My first kiss with Al was soft and sweet, but this kiss is hard. This kiss is a battle for dominance, fuelled by the hunger that consumes me. I’m not content to merely kiss her, I want to feel her warm flesh underneath my fingers. But she takes control. She pins my hips to the sofa with her hips and grinds against me. She grips my wrists tightly and pins them to the sofa too. She kisses me with torturous calm: I want her to devour me but she takes every second of the kiss slowly.
Too slowly. I push back. I squirm underneath her until I have the space to flip us over so I’m on top again. I pull back from her lips long enough to smile and see her smirk back at me. I suck biting kisses up her neck, until I reach her ear which I draw between my lips to nibble. Meanwhile, she traces teasing patterns with her finger nails up and down my sides. She moans a little as I pull on her ear with my teeth, and I gasp in shock and pleasure as she roughly pulls my bra cups down to pinch my nipples. Hard.
Why is it that things which are so bad feel so bloody good?
I roll my hips against hers, and she pushes me back slightly. I move enough so she has room to scrabble for the zip of her dress, and I dutifully help pull it over her head and toss it aside before I descend on her boobs. Her bra unclasps in front, so soon I’m gently sucking and biting on her left nipple while I roll the right one between my fingers. Her little mewl is delightful, and I continue with the action until she tangles her hands in my hair and pulls me up for another searing kiss.
The kiss pushes me backwards until I’m under her again – her hand on my back guiding me down and the other one sweeping the sheets out of the way. I’m impressed, and I tell her so between breathless kisses. She pulls away and smiles at me, pinning me down with one hand on my shoulder while a single finger runs slowly from my neck down my chest (tweaking my nipples and absorbing the invoked moans with kisses) and further down.
“Please,” I whisper, and she grins as she obliges. She pulls my knickers to the side and slips a single finger into my wet cunt. I let out a moan of pleasure as she gives me what I have been aching for, but her other hand is quick to cover my mouth. She keeps it there as she adds another finger, muffling my whimpers so we don’t wake Al.
Her fingers slide in and out of my wet cunt. I buck my hips and writhe under her, and all the while her hand is pressing over my mouth making it hard to breathe let alone smile in delight at how good this feels. Dirty and wrong but so good. She curls her fingers inside me. She presses on the hood of my clit with her thumb. She grins down at me.
My girlfriend sleeps while her best friend fucks me.
I would like to reiterate that this is a fantasy, and all persons within are the products of my filthy imagination. Additionally, I’m sharing the toe-curling, knicker-slicking parts of the fantasy, not necessarily all the back story which I always create as the more arousing parts of the scene build up. If I write more of the fantasy down, the forbidden fuck may appear less forbidden.