We're meandering our way through the racks of clothes, trying to find the perfect shirt for his upcoming date. He's had this girl on his radar for some time; thank god she finally agreed to go out with him. Maybe he'll stop talking about her 24/7. He has a bit of an obsessive personality.

"C'mon, Chris, just pick something already," I groan; I've been following him around for twenty minutes and I'm bored, hungry, and my feet are starting to hurt.

"You're supposed to be helping me," he snaps back.

"Alright, it's a first date so I wouldn't go with anything too crazy. Maybe black. That's always a classic and goes great with jeans."

"She's really into fashion," he says taking a paisley-print button-down off the rack.

"No," I immediately say. "Too busy. And you need something a little more form fitting. What's the point of all those hours at the gym if you don't show off at least a little of your bod."

"Fine," he sighs, "You pick something then."

I scan the men's department and spot the Armani display. "C'mon," I say grabbing his arm. He obediently follows like a dog on a leash.

I know he trusts me. We've been best friends for over ten years, ever since I met him in study hall freshman year. I know it's my mom's dream that someday we end up together, but neither one of us has ever brought up the possibility of taking our relationship to another level. What we have is comfortable. We confide in each other about everything. Maybe him a little more. I know all about his sexcapades; he's a bit of a player. I call him a man whore and he doesn't mind. If the shoe fits, I guess. There must be something really special about this new girl if he's going to all this trouble just to bang her.

"Here," I say, shoving an armful of shirts at him. "Go try these on."

"Well, come with me so you can tell me how they look."

I follow him to the dressing room and stop at the entrance. "What are you doing?" he asks. "Come in with me so I don't have to keep walking back out here."

I roll my eyes and follow him into the wheelchair accessible stall. There's a bench along the wall to the left, opposite the full length mirror, so I sit while he hangs the bundle of shirts on a hook.

He peels his t-shirt off and as he does I study his body. It's nothing I haven't seen before. We're on a beach volleyball team together. I've never been sexually attracted to him, but damn is his body fine. From his broad, muscular shoulders to his round biceps and rock hard pecs all the way down his chiseled abs to the v that leads down to his nether region. Yes, he's a grade A piece of meat.

"What?" he asks, catching me staring.

"Nothing," I say as my eyes dart to his face; I can feel my cheeks flush.

His brow furrows, "Whatever," he says as he takes a shirt off a hanger.

He slides his arms into the sleeves. "Feels a little tight around my shoulders," he says. I stand and walk toward him to get a better look. I tug on the fabric and it is in fact a little tight. "Here, button up," I say, and without even thinking about it my hands take control, starting with the second button from the top and then slowly working their way down till I reach the last button, which is barely higher than his crotch. What the fuck, Jenna?! My head screams. He's a grown man; he can button his own shirt.

"Sorry," I say, my voice cracking. "I don't know why I did that." I'm three inches from him and staring at his chest, unable to look him in the eye. Something about this moment feels too intimate. Like nothing we've ever experienced together. I can feel the heat radiating from his body and my sweat glands open up. Suddenly the air in this dressing room is stifling. He presses his thumb to my chin and pushes my head back so that I have no choice but to look at him.

"What do you want, Jenna?" he whispers.

"Wh-what do you mean?" I mumble softly.

"Do you have feelings for me?" he asks.

"I-I don't know," I stutter. I've never felt like this around him before. What the hell is going on?

He leans down and presses his lips to mine. They're soft and warm and his unshaven face scratches my skin.

"How do you feel now?" he asks, pulling away from me.

"Do it again," I whisper.

He leans in, this time his lips slightly parted. With them he grabs my lower lip and gently sucks before slowly sliding his tongue into my mouth. His breath is almost sweet as our tongues explore each other's mouths. My stomach flips and it feels like weights are hanging from my labia. I know that means my body is making fluids. As if he can read my mind, he slips his hand under my waist band and cups my pussy.

"Can I feel you," he breathes into me. I nod and he moves my panties aside. His fingers feel cool against me as he carefully parts my skin and rubs up and down my opening. "You're definitely feeling something," he whispers before pushing his finger inside.

I reach toward his pelvis and feel it's engorged. "So are you," I say, gently squeezing his dick through his jeans.

"You have no idea," he struggles to say as he pushes another finger inside of me.

"I don't just want to be another notch on your bedpost," I let go of his dick and start to push him away.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me deeper into him. "Never," he stares into my eyes, "You're my best friend. You know I love you."

I close my eyes and softly moan, enjoying his fingers slowly sliding in and out of me. I know his game, though. He's a sweet talker and can get just about anyone into bed.

"Why are we doing this now?" I struggle to speak through the pleasure.

"I felt something when you were buttoning my shirt. I know you felt it, too." There he goes, talking like the player that he is.

Why are you denying yourself this, the devil on my shoulder asks. Don't ruin your decade long friendship, the angel on the other scolds. I'm caught in a miasma of pleasure, confusion, guilt and not giving a fuck.

"Can I suck your dick?" I impulsively ask, pulling him toward the bench so I can sit. For some reason, I believe him and I feel safe.

He unzips his pants and pushes them down to his knees. I'm now staring at at least nine inches of manhood. I gulp, not knowing if I can take it all in.

"Seriously?" I ask, looking up at him. He chuckles and shrugs.

I lean forward and wrap my lips around the tip of his dick. A little dribble escapes him and it tastes salty and sweet on my tongue. I slowly slide my mouth down around him, going as far as I can go before he touches the back of my throat. I hear him moan and look up at him, my mouth still wrapped around him. He's watching me intently. I keep eye contact as I bob my head up and down, trying each time to get him a little further inside.

"You look so beautiful," he whispers through his soft moans. "Can I fuck you?"

"Mmm," I groan, him still in my mouth. I feel like this is surmountable and I've always been an overachiever, so I keep bobbing my head, letting his dick slam into my throat. Just relax, my mind is telling me. I feel I'm getting it in deeper and deeper with every downward motion.

"Jesus, Jenna," he moans. "You gotta stop or I'll cum."

I'm getting closer to the base of his dick and I know I can do it. His dick reaches my throat and I swallow, allowing him to enter deeper into me. His balls hit my chin and I know I've done it.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck," he's muttering, his eyes squeezed shut.

I quickly retract before he cums and say, "You can fuck me now."

He pulls me up and lifts my shirt over my head. "You're very talented," he says with a mischievous smile, before unhooking my bra and letting it fall to the floor. He pulls me toward the mirror, lifts my arms and places my hands flat on the glass. "I want to fuck you from behind so I can see your whole body."

He pulls my pants down and, one side at a time, slips them over my feet. He reaches praying hands between my thighs and pushes them away from each other, spreading my legs slightly so that you can see a better reflection of my pussy. I feel his dick resting on my ass and he starts to slowly slide it up and down my crack. "Are you ready to take me?" He whispers in my ear.

"Yes," I whisper back.

I feel pressure on my opening and then feel his girth as he slowly slides himself inside of me. He leans forward and rests his hands on the mirror just above mine. He towers over me so I know he can fully see my body like he said he wanted. He starts thrusting himself harder and faster into me and my legs start to shake. "Do you think you can handle all of me?" he asks panting.

"I can try," I whisper, sounding unsure.

"I'll be gentle," he reassures me as he slowly pushes himself deeper into me. I don't feel his pelvis on my butt so I know he's not fully inside of me yet.

"How much more?" I breathily ask.

"About and inch and a half," he says, pushing himself a little deeper into me. I feel pressure inside, but no pain. It's as if my body is opening up and welcoming him inside. The thought of having all of him inside me turns me on and I can feel the pleasure growing more intense with each thrust.

"I'm almost there," he grunts, his eyes never leaving my body. My tits are clapping together as he continues to fuck me and my legs are still shaking.

"Ready to cum?" I ask.

"No almost all inside," he says with one more thrust. I briefly feel him pressed against my ass before he pulls back.

"Again," I say just as he slams himself into me once more. I squeeze the muscles between my legs, wanting to grab ahold of him and keep him this deep inside of me. It feels like it belongs, like a perfect fit. I keep voluntarily squeezing as he continues to fuck me, his pelvis touching my ass now with each thrust.

"God, Jenna, you're gonna make me cum," he says quietly through clenched teeth.

Suddenly my muscles start contracting on their own as pleasure consumes me. "I'm cumming, I whisper, as I throw my head back and let my body succumb to pure ecstasy.

He grabs my tits and pushes himself into me one last time. I feel warmth spreading through my body as his dick throbs inside of me and he lets out a stifled grunt. We are both left panting, staring into each others eyes through the reflection of the mirror. Finally, he drops his head and kisses me softly on my neck. "That was fucking hot," he whispers as he tries to catch his breath.

"So what are you going to do about the shirt?" I ask, not confirming that it was hot. I'm trying to act as casual as possible--not turn into a needy woman, the kind he complains about all the time.

"I don't think I'll need it," he says with a smile.

He pulls himself out of me and I feel his cum dripping down my leg. "Here, use these," he tosses his boxers to me. As we dress, I can't help but study his body once more. I want to feel his weight on top of me. Or I could jump into his arms and fuck him standing up. The possibilities are endless, but I don't want to get carried away. This might be the last time we ever hang out. That would be a damn shame though because, like he said, it was fucking hot.

I shove the wet boxers into my purse and check myself in the mirror. My cheeks, neck and chest are flushed and my legs are weak like I've just had two martinis. Four handprints dirty the once pristine mirror. There's no doubt what went on in here. I hope the janitor gets a kick out of it.

"Jenna," Chris says, grabbing my wrist and turning me toward him. "I'm serious about what I said. This changes nothing."

"Nothing?" I say timidly.

"Well, maybe something. Maybe we've discovered a new hobby." He leans in and presses his mouth to mine. Oh, how I could get used to this.