We were electric
We were wild, we were free
And I thought that you meant it...

This story does not have a happy ending.

I don't remember where I first saw you. At a party, perhaps, or maybe from the back of Mike's wedding, clad in that suit and chatting with your friend on his special day. I'm not even sure it matters. Mine was not an immediate crush, a passion incensed by chance or fate. It was a slow, smoldering fire that grew over weeks and months, a hug here, and conversation there. You were with someone, and I was the wild and reckless girl hovering at the periphery of your circle of friends, never quite accepted but kept near because I provided something to look at, something to gossip about, and perhaps something to rebound with when things went sour. As they did, didn't they? Back in November.

I don't think I had intended for it to go that way. True, at that point I had been in love with you for a while, and had often hoped that you would realize that I would be better than her, that I could do for you all those things she wouldn't, or couldn't... young, wild, unfettered by dreams of kids or a career; a rich girl with little in her mind except sex and parties, drugs, music and having a good time. Not perhaps the kindest way to describe myself, nor necessarily the most accurate, but also not wholly inaccurate. Loose, yes. Experienced, if you will. And utterly, madly fallen for you that night in late autumn when you knocked on my apartment door and asked to come in. I hadn't invited you. Hell, I hadn't even seen you in three weeks.

But I still opened the door.

We had a beer, and another. I always kept a stockpile, and you knew; you also knew, of course, that I would be alone. And perhaps you knew of the torch I carried for you, the longing gazes and coy, flirtatious smiles that I did not dare give you when your girlfriend was around. It probably wasn't difficult to figure out. But that was nowhere near at the forefront of my mind when you began to open up to me about your relationship troubles. About the loneliness, the dissatisfaction, the growing steadily further apart until it felt like you were sharing your bed with a stranger. Young love is impatient and reckless, but this was more than idle frustration, you told me. You wanted out. You needed out. Fresh air, a change of pace...

You looked at me, and I knew what you wanted. Even without speaking, I knew; it was something I had wanted for months, and in my infatuation, I did not think to say no. I did not think at all, truth be told. I merely went up to you and kissed you, pulled you close to me until my breasts were pressed firmly to your chest, and your hands were roaming over my ass, tugging and pulling eagerly to slip my jeans over the ample cheeks. Your mouth tasted like beer, but also like her, and I realized that you must have been kissing her in the same way only minutes before coming to my door-- and somehow, that knowledge made me even more eager to have you. I wanted to steal you, to claim you for my own, to convince you once and for all that I was right for you....

We stumbled to the bedroom, half-drunk on beer and each other, lips never daring to part for fear of what words might come out. You were stepping out of your jeans, and your cock was hard in my hands as I rubbed it greedily, felt it stir and throb just for me, while your hands stripped me down to nothing at all, which was all, all too easy to do. Your fingers groping my cheeks and reaching up to cup my breasts, squeezing them and drawing them into your mouth as you laid me down, forcefully, and began to explore my body. This was what you needed, I told myself, as your lips grazed over my skin and tugged hungrily at my nipples, and so I just moaned and spread my legs when you climbed between them, even as I wondered if I would have tasted her on your cock, as well. I'm not sure if that would have made it better or not. I'm not sure I want to know the answer...

Your hands were on my thighs as you hiked my knees up to my chest, and with a mewl, I felt you enter me and spread my lips open with your blunt tip, so eager that you barely bothered to warm me up before pushing inside. It felt animalistic, and needy, and absolutely wonderful, and I bit my lip and moaned for you as your cock began to open me up the way I had dreamed of for so long. My fingers found my clit, while yours dug into my toned thighs and held me firmly in place; this was your show, your time to find release for your need, and I adored you for it as you began to fuck me hard and deep, as hard as I hoped you had never fucked her before. Knowing that I was doing it better than she was, even when I was just lying there like a moaning little doll and taking it - it made me shudder and gasp, and the more I thought about it, the more I saw her face before me, her cute little smile and brown curls and those green eyes that I had always envied-- and like that, I came, a trembling, moaning orgasm that did nothing to slow you down. If anything, you seemed to take me even harder when my cunt began to clench fitfully around you, as if the act of making me cum so easily was only more proof of your prowess.

You came, too, a few minutes later, lying heavily on top of me with my legs wrapped around your hips. Pumping hard and aggressively, your face just inches from mine as you held my gaze and halfway grinned, halfway growled down at me. Something about your presence, the hypnotic quality of your eyes and my utter, heedless infatuation with you made me unable to look away-- and I'm not even sure I would have, had I been able to. Watching your upper lip tremble and your jaw clench as your strokes grew harder, more pressing, and then dissolving into a few firm, deep thrusts while your cock throbbed and spasmed inside me, and your voice rumbling down at me in some incoherent moan of pleasure...

I did not go to the bathroom to clean up after you were done with me. Instead, I laid on the bed next to your naked body, and rubbed my fingers slowly between my lower lips while the trickle of white cum began to ooze out of me, lazy and languid as a lion basking in the mid-day sun. You, too, were relaxed, and staring up at the ceiling, perhaps thinking, perhaps merely committing this episode to memory. I wanted to talk to you, to ask you for some kind of commitment, but somehow, I did not dare to open my mouth and speak, for fear of ruining the moment... and then you got up, and got dressed.

You remember what happened next, of course. Three nights later, at a bar off Chaplin Street, and later still, back at my place. And the week after, leaned over the passenger's seat in your car at an after-hours IHOP parking lot. And the week after that....

A less-than-love story about the perpetual cycle of love, sex and misery that you get from being the Other Woman.

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