We went back to the hotel room at the end of the night, me, my ex, her and another friend. We had planned the stay because none of us were going to drive like this, and it was cheaper than cab fare home. Foolish perhaps.
We were all exhausted. I was half-blind by then. First to reach the bathroom, I hummed and focused on taking off my shirt, my pants, my bra. I fumbled into my flannel pajamas. I felt the strange contrast: bundled up so cozy and safe, with this ragged raw need still speeding through me. I stepped out, took off my bright red necklace, lay it on the dresser and crashed onto the hotel bed, mumbling a goodnight to all. My horniness tirelessly glowed inside my tired body as my eyes drifted closed. I felt wistful, this something inside I couldn’t throw aside, couldn’t give away, couldn’t possibly keep. I was already falling asleep...
He crashed next to me. She crashed next to him. My other friend crashed on the couch. The plan had been that my ex would sleep on the floor and us girls would get the bed. But we were all too tired to notice.
I woke up to his hands on my breasts. Or it is the next thing I remember. I think he may have been stroking my legs before but I can’t fully recall. His hands were undeniably grabbing my breasts though, underneath my flannels. His fingers were hungry, the way they always seem to me. He was squeezing urgently, trying to take in all of the feel. I was pushed past the size of his palms that night, swollen and ready.
I was responding groggily, sighing, trying to make sense of what was occurring, but not really wanting to. I knew I should feel taken advantage of. I was just wet. I didn’t care. Maybe because I knew him, I felt no danger. I didn’t care that we were no longer together. I didn’t care that I was only barely maintaining consciousness. Truth is, I wanted him to do whatever the hell he wanted to me. I needed to be right there for him, be his desire’s slut- or maybe my own. It felt right to be underneath his fingers, just like that, with no conflict. All for him.
I pushed my ass back and tried to be quiet.
He pushed down my bottoms and panties at the same time, without question. I lifted up my hips so he could do it.
She was right there on the bed with us. His girlfriend she may not have been then, but all three of us knew that she liked him enough to be hurt by this. And I actually liked her quite a bit too. I did not want to ruin our friendship. I knew he didn’t want to either. But we couldn’t stop.
Too bad he wanted to fuck me. I felt only a tiny flicker of pride. I meant no harm, I just wanted. Still so bad. We knew it was bad, I could feel it in the pound of my ears. We knew this shouldn’t be happening. We knew it would.
The risk we were taking was just exciting us further. My ass was bare underneath the shared blankets, the flannel wrapped around the bottom of my thighs. He pushed his index finger in to my cunt, without hesitation. I parted my legs slightly to accommodate him. I was drowsily and wonderfully wet, savoring this blurry dream. Everything so dark and heavy and waiting to be broken.
He began to push awkwardly, hurting me despite my wetness, his nails scraping onto my walls. I moved slowly backwards onto him. I placed my hands on my clit and found his fingers there too, and we pushed like this together, buzzing achingly on me.
This was not enough for him. He wanted to do more. He couldn’t stop. I could feel with a thrill just how much he had pent up inside.
He placed his knuckle on my asshole and pushed, not really going in, just pushed.
Then he pushed, he coaxed, and he whispered in my ear. Which was strange because he never used to whisper in my ear when we were together. He rarely spoke in bed as far as I can remember. But he whispered in my ear right then, so quietly, so viciously. Yes, in your ass, you always liked it. I did. Did he think I cared? That tight burn. He was hurting me and I was glad for the numb of the alcohol. I wanted it, I pushed back even more so that he could really stick it in. God I felt so used and filled, I just wanted him to go on and on and on.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The mind fuck was overwhelming. I came quietly, without warning, holding my edge of the blanket to my body and burying my shattered head into it, curling my neck down and sighing.
He did not seem to notice, though my whole body was limp. I realized suddenly his fingers rubbing ineffectually against my clit, the feeling like flopping rubber, annoying, not allowing me to take my orgasm in.
I thought of you right then. I hadn’t until that point, but with this one slip, and with the urgency released, I was aching for you all of a sudden. I wished for a moment that I had cum instead under your hands. I know, I know it was horrid, but now that I had cum, my heartbeat still racing, I wanted nothing of him. I did not want to fuck him at all. I wanted your cock inside me, now. I imagined the dirty changing beat, the stretch, the build.
God, maybe I had just used him. I did not care right then.
His fingers were still doing their strange and familiar shuffle. I wanted to cum again. I was hot and twisted again, now that I had thought of you. I did not feel like what he was doing was going to work. I held his hand and tried to control his rhythm, but he was having none of it. If anything it was making him jerkier. I just wanted to cum again, ruthless. I flipped finally onto my stomach, keeping his hand underneath and grabbing onto it so that it was still. I ground quietly and slowly onto his fingers, using my weight. He tried to move again, throwing my build off. I stopped again, cruel, waited until he was still to start moving again.
He understood finally. He stayed motionless, snuggling half his body closer onto me and he waited, puffing slightly. I closed my eyes, sunk my face into the pillow and ground slowly. And ground and ground myself to incineration, the burn spreading onto his fist. I knew it was coming, and I knew this time he would not miss it. I clenched and shuddered hard against his hand. I tried hard not to scream out and still an mmgh escaped.
She stirred, huffed, did not wake up.
Her stirring worried me and my interest was dropping per second. I was shivering lazily from my cum, heart pounding. Clarity struck again and I realized I was stuck in this bed now with my ex and the erection I knew he had. I felt I should reciprocate. I tried to tell myself he had done little. I still felt I should do something. I touched first. He felt good, hard and throbbing under my palm, but I just wanted to run away. I readjusted my pajamas and slipped my head under the blankets.
I tried for a moment, angling my neck and parting my lips on his shaft, feeling the heat. But I realized quickly that I really didn’t care anymore. I was bored already. Screw it, I thought, I don’t owe him a thing, I didn’t ask him to fucking touch me. I had been willing to just sleep.
My cock-sucking lacks at best but now, drunk, my head throbbing, dizzy, I felt despicable, motivated only out of pity, trying not to move the blanket too much so she would not see. It was about unsexy as could be, even with him pulsing eagerly in my mouth. The smell anyways always slightly off. All I could think of-- now that I had cum, twice too-- was how she would take it if she saw us now. While he could have easily feigned sleep before, there was no other way of explaining why my head should be where it is now. What would she see? The bitch posing as her friend, seducing him, him giving in to me? Who gets the blame?, I wanted to ask her, fighting her already in my head, defending myself, like she had found out already. Which one of us should have had more control? Me, because I had chosen to end it? Me, because I’m the girl? Me, whether I was the one to start or the one to respond? Me, because I shouldn’t have had so much to drink? Me, because I shouldn’t be here in this room at all? Whom will you forgive first? Will you?
Now I cared about her and didn’t care about him. I hadn’t asked for this damn it. Had I?
I resurfaced from out of the blankets slowly.
I’m sorry, I whispered in his ear. I can’t. She’s.. going to see.
And I’m tired and drunk, I admitted.
I was firm, though I knew him well, knew he wouldn’t dream of pushing. We both knew, anyways, the double bind we were both in, with her on the bed.
It’s okay, he said. I know.
We paused, breathing.
He got up to go to the washroom. I knew it was for relief from the blood pounding in his cock, the cum aching in his balls and I felt a twinge of guilt again. Only a twinge though. I blurringly pictured him over the toilet seat, viciously jerking until it spurted viscous from his head, the way I’ve seen often. It was a detached image, neither hot not repulsive, just a distant memory, bobbing in and out of my spinning sleepy head. It seemed a long time before I heard him washing his hands.
He lay back down on his back between me and her. I turned towards him and looked at his profile. The flashing lights from the downtown buildings outside bounced off his ample nose and lips, navy in the dark. He turned towards me. I knew I must have that same apology in my eyes. We were resigned, brought again to what had long passed in the face of how little this had just been.
We could not even feel bitter. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, unable to look at him any longer. I was cold so I pulled the blankets behind my neck. He reached for my arm and squeezed. I’m going to sleep now, I whispered to him, tender and final. Yeah, he said. Me too. Tired.
I turned my back to him and closed my eyes to sleep, trying to forget, trying to feel some kind of regret.
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