I knew I shouldn’t be hanging out with John. Between the sudden return of my sex drive after months of dormancy, the stress/anxiety of Election Day/night, and my generally being on the rebound after a slightly fucked-up breakup, I knew it was a perfect storm to accidentally make an impulsive decision that could cause unintended consequences.

John is a friend and neighbor--super nice guy, on the quieter side, from the midwest. Though that's not necessarily the “type,” I usually go for (for better or for worse), he's also very cute, smart, and has a good sense of humor, but before said recent breakup I only ever saw him platonically. We're friends through mutual friends and used to only ever hang out in a group, but after a couple of semi-accidental one-on-one hangs (we both are into the arts & had extra tickets to attend shows, neither of us had ever expressed interest in anything outside of platonic friendship but they felt an awful lot like dates even if neither of us made a move) I was hearing horny warning bells go off in my head every time we saw each other. I have an unfortunate history of hooking up with platonic friends only to eventually ruin the friendship dynamic, so I have been extra wary, convincing myself the attraction was one-sided and lived in my head and that everything would be fine as long as I didn't mindlessly act on my sexual urges like I had a tendency to do. 

This past Tuesday, I even had an afternoon therapy session I spent largely just talking about how I desperately needed to get laid. I was worried I was starting to see things where they didn't exist, & also worried I'd try and proposition an ex…or a friend…just to try and get the urges out of my system. I have a tendency of turning to those things as a way to deal with stress, and most things in the world were tense, to say the least. But I assured my excellent therapist I wouldn't do anything dumb or drink to excess to deal or try to sleep with my friend or anything like that.

That evening, I was supposed to go to a small election night party at John's, only to get an aggressive migraine right before I was supposed to arrive. I wound up texting an apology & stayed home trying various remedies to get rid of the migraine--ice packs, tylenol, tea, weed, pressure points, even soaking my feet in hot water. Because of this, I also had the pleasure of having no goddamn clue what was happening in the news & had little desire to try and find out.

Throughout the night, John and I had texted a little, his updating me on what was happening at the party I was missing, and my updating him on neighborhood ruckus drawing helicopters to the area. By 10:30, my headache was mostly gone & I was ready to check the news.

The news, dear reader, was....well, let's just say "bad." (At least to anyone that gives a fuck about democracy, bodily autonomy, LGBTQ rights, et cetera.) Intellectually, I knew I should feel distraught, or angry, or...something. Instead, I oscillated between feeling delirious, numb/in shock, & somehow, calmly not surprised at all.

Around 11, John said something about his guests having left the gathering, but not being drunk enough to feel numbness over disbelief or something. I mentioned I was following my therapist's recommendation against alcohol tonight and opting to just get high instead, which he agreed was probably a good idea & said he was done with drinking. 

Pausing for a moment, and knowing full well how risky a text I was about to send, I typed out: “Well, if you need any weed, I've got plenty.”

10 minutes later the man was at my door. Of course. On greeting him, I said, "welcome to doomsday," with a thumbs-up and big fake grimace and led him to the living room. (I think I was actively trying to be unsexy at first because I had convinced myself he was just out of weed & that I shouldn't read anything into anything else…until I discovered how awful he was at smoking weed, that is.)

I offered several forms to imbibe--oil pen, pipe, joint, and the bong I'd already finished most of a bowl in. "Oh, I don't know...whatever you're doing is fine. I also brought a joint, but I don't actually like smoking them much, it's really harsh," he said.

I eyed the fancy pre-roll he'd put on the table. I guess he wasn't just here because he didn't have any weed. But until told explicitly otherwise, I wasn't going to read anything into anything. I was determined to not be the person to fuck this up. I opted to pack another bowl in the bong, and was focused on setting it up when, out of the corner of my view, I thought I saw him shifting slightly closer to me on the couch.

The warning bells started going off in my head again, and I tried to focus on the task in front of me instead of the rising heat in between my thighs. He seemed somewhat dazed, and we opted not to talk about politics, me instead choosing to babble on endlessly about the episode of Gilmore Girls I had running in the background on low volume. He'd seen the show before in pieces, he said, but that didn't keep me from explaining every character & fun facts & anything else I could come up with. He didn't seem annoyed by this, which was a green flag to me.

Then we smoked (well, he took about 3 hits & coughed miserably on the last one, so it was mostly me at this point), spending another hour or so on the couch like this, stretches of silence between us absorbing the action on screen, his maybe trying to nudge closer to me, me playing dumb both hoping & dreading his making a move. It was almost painful.

At one point, a couple of characters on screen have a moment, and one of us makes a joke about sexual tension, but no one laughs. The joke doesn't feel like a joke. The tension isn't onscreen, it's now fully, obviously sitting in my smoked-out living room, and it feels like my clit has a damn heartbeat. I know at that moment that I'm going to have a lot of 'splainin to do in my next therapy session.

FINALLY, the man says something. I can tell it took him a while to drum up the courage. "Hey, the last few times we've hung out--did those feel like dates to you?"

I don't hesitate to answer. "Yes. Hadn't been the intention at all, but yes, they kind of did."

“And is that…something you’d be interested in doing more of? On purpose? Because…I would.”

I freeze. Not sure why, in retrospect, but somehow that wasn’t what I was expecting at all. What had I gotten myself into?

My words come out hesitant at first: “I…enjoyed going on those accidental dates, but I am also so not in a place to be full-on dating someone right now. I’m working on it, but just really not ready, and I also have a—” (Long pause, slight grimace.) “—bit of an unfortunate history of hooking up with friends, and then accidentally blowing said friendship to smithereens.” 

I pause again & glance over to gauge John’s reaction. He didn’t look especially bothered, but is listening intently. “I get that.” No follow-up. Well, okay.

“So I guess what I’m saying is that if something were to happen between us, that would be pretty stupid...but that said….” I say, taking a deep breath. Next thing I know, the words, “It IS doomsday…and holy fuck would I kill for a distraction right about now," are falling out of my mouth.

I looked up & finally made eye contact with him after what felt like ages of avoiding it. Something about the look in his eye caught me off-guard and made me inhale sharply, which was apparently all he needed. He reached out to grab my waist and pulled me in for a much-needed kiss, right before (or was it after?) I whispered, to both of us & to no one, the word, “stupid”. 

xxxxxxxxx

I was relieved to find he was a good kisser: not too much tongue, a LITTLE neck and ear nibbling without being excessive, et cetera. I was enjoying myself, already starting to get lost in it despite my misgivings.

At some point my sweater came off & was abandoned on the living room floor, and suddenly I was lying on my couch in front of a wall of windows with a guy I hadn’t so much as kissed 5 minutes prior. Part of me wanted to acknowledge that out loud, but I finally decided to give in & let my brain get fuzzy with the soft white noise that can accompany good making out for a little bit.

He started playing with my nipples, first lightly dragging fingers over them through the thin ribbed material of my tank top, eventually pulling it down to expose them to the slightly-chilled air (the window was still open for the weed smoke, oops). I vaguely noticed I was much more reactive than usual, my back arching completely involuntarily with the sensations, even though my nipples are rarely that sensitive. Weed can absolutely do this for me, but the entire situation had felt full of tension for weeks now. I was so goddamned ready to go.

I pressed my hips up into him as much as I could, craving more pressure there than grinding could provide me. I'm not sure if he fully knew that or if he just wasn’t able to wait anymore himself, but a sound I can best describe as a growl emanated from his throat as he drew my nipple into his mouth and dragged a fingertip along the edge of the waistband of my yoga pants. I couldn't take it anymore, and stopped him to haul us both up and pull him into the bedroom.

We undressed ourselves and/or each other--it was kind of a blur how we got there, to be honest--then he lightly pushed me backwards onto my bed and flashed a smile I can only describe as “slightly evil”. 

[Small sidenote: I need to acknowledge that I have gotten VERY LUCKY when it comes to oral sex. I’ve had possibly more than my fair share of incredibly enthusiastic partners when it comes to that particular task, so when I say I’m not sure I’ve ever had someone go down on me with the level of vigor this man proceeded with, please know that means it must have felt fucking crazy.]

He started out softly enough, tracing up my already sensitive, slick lips to my swollen clit. My body jerked a little bit when he made contact with it, and he clearly took note, quickly reaching up to grab my hips and hold me in place, which always drives me crazy. The teasing touch quickly turned into sloppy slurping and a deep groaning into my clit as he tongued and sucked it, sending extra mini-tremors through my entire body. I giggled a little--no one’s ever done that to me before--but I can’t say I didn’t like it. The giggles were quickly replaced by my moans, and I ran my fingers through his thick, curly hair and clenched them at the base of his scalp to hold him as close to me as possible. 

It didn’t take long for me to have my first orgasm of the night, shaking and flushed with thighs clenching around his head, until I'd finally had enough and pulled him off and collapsed sideways in his arms. He rearranged our bodies a bit to spoon me and kiss the spot where my neck and shoulder meet. My head swam, and I barely registered his arms snaking around me, one firmly wrapped around my chest, hand gripping my shoulder, and the other hand sliding down my hip and soft stomach to my extra-sensitive clit. He was gentle, but insistent, and gently dipped his fingers inside of me, lubing them up before using a single digit to start dragging patterns around then across my clit, clearly DELIGHTING in my groans.  

All the teasing and the weed and the recent orgasm already had me at (what I thought was) my most sensitive and reactive—it didn’t take much of that to build up to another crashing one, my entire body clenching up and twitching and involuntarily trying to wrestle away from his skillful hands. Not because it didn't feel good, it was just...overstimulating as hell. He kept his grasp on me firm, though, and kept going until I was fully spent, brain completely empty once again.

We laid there breathing heavily for what felt like a few minutes (though by then, I'm pretty sure our collective sense of time was completely fucked). 

After recovering, I was hit with a minor wave of guilt at the two times I’d come with no attempts to reciprocate. I flipped over & started kissing my way down to his still mostly-hard cock, he stopped me. “If you really really WANT to do that, I won’t stand in your way, but I’m still way more interested in distracting YOU than the other way around.” I hesitated but decided to take him at his word, and slid back up to kiss him.

God, that was hot. I was already more than ready.

He tried to finger me so I sent him off to go wash his hands (sensitive girlies rise up lol) and while he was gone, I rifled through my toy box for some condoms I knew I’d had there from a while back, making a mental note to pick up more. He saw me with them in my hands when he returned & put one on, lightly pushed me back onto the bed, and as I grinned & started to (jokingly) repeat the word, “stupi-” he cut me off with a kiss and started to press his cock into me.

I winced slightly at the sensation--despite how much I'd already come & how catastrophically soaked I was, he was just a little thicker than I was used to, and the feeling was very intense after a couple months without a good fuck. Once I took a second to adjust to the feeling, I quickly found myself rocking my hips up to meet his thrusts, pushing the pace and wrapping my arms and legs around him, dragging my nails down his back.

At one point, he hit JUST the right angle & found myself caught off-guard by my third orgasm of the evening, shuddering as he kissed me to stifle each other’s moans and grunts at the late hour. After he came too shortly after, we cuddled for a bit and I excused myself to pee/toss the condom, and returned to John lying on his side, smirking a little bit at me. 

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Oh, I'm just enjoying the view."

I smiled and struck a goofy pose before hopping back on the bed next to him, where we cuddled & discussed absolutely nothing of importance for a few minutes. We were both still a little high, and just enjoying the sensation of human touch. At some point I said something flippant about doomsday again, & he said I was, “still thinking too much”.

I was tempted to reply with a bratty, “And what are you going to do about that?” but before I could open my mouth, he started running a hand along the long curves of my body, sending shivers down my spine. “Mmm, that feels good. Fun fact, I especially love back rubs and scratches, sometimes more than actual sex," I groaned.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, flipping me over & starting just gently running his palms and nails across my back. I spazzed out in so much pleasure, it should have been at least a little embarrassing--but he seemed to be quite enjoying it.

Soon enough, I was face down and ass up, and John saw his opportunity—after dragging his nails down my back one last time (earning a guttural groan from me), he knelt beside the bed and started lapping at my pussy from behind with vigor, slipping his tongue in and out of me, and up and down my lips to my clit, and even gently around my asshole--a mostly-new sensation for me. 

I groaned & gave all the verbal encouragement I could muster, though at this point I was starting to go a little non-verbal. Soon enough, his fingers joined his tongue & he had me almost folded in half, blubbering incoherently, overwhelmed with pleasure as my limbs seized up & I came yet again. (Fourth time!)

At this point, it felt there was truly nothing left in my brain, with perhaps the exception of his cock. As tired as I was, the thought of having it inside me again was almost hypnotizing now that it was almost back up to full mast. “I think...I really need you to fuck me again,” I said, nodding to it. He smiled & didn’t skip a beat, getting up for another condom & returning to me propping myself up for him on hands and knees in doggy.

This time there was no warm-up, no warning—he slammed into me so hard I yelped in surprise & pleasure. After just a few strokes, my arms started to give out, and I found myself in what I can best describe as "puppy pose" (like in yoga!), on my knees with my ass lifted high & my back arched, arms out in front of me & head smushed into my duvet cover sideways, unable to focus on anything besides the pounding between my thighs. Feeling every. Little. Thought. Getting. Fucked. Out. Of. My. Brain. 

I slipped one hand between my legs to play with my clit, causing me to quickly sink down further, until he was basically right on top of me and fucking me prone. The weight of him on top of me and the angle triggered my fifth and final orgasm of the evening. It was slow, shuddering, clutching, and mercifully triggered his release too before he rolled off of me.

We spent some time cuddling & talking about what I must assume was nothing of importance...our brains were empty, and we were wiped. What better time for that than doomsday?

He floated the idea of staying overnight, but I wasn't quite ready for that--I wasn't sure if I'd wake up ready for round two or ready to throw up in existential crisis, and was too wiped to consider it too deeply either way. (I did not tell him this, I just said I had to be up early.)

We made out before he left, exchanging no words at all about next plans or anything else. Just too tired.

At this point it was almost 3 AM and I was exhausted, but I still wasn't ready to go to sleep. I've been doing lots of journaling lately, and decided to open up a new entry to get down some of the evening's pertinent details so I could come back to them later & maybe write this story down. And look at that, I actually did it! After years & years of lurking!

Anyway, we’ll see how well this friendship survives. I really like him as a person & could see myself dating him seriously, but I'm really just starting to enjoy being single/hot/invulnerable (and have some dates lined up that I still want to go on!). Don't want to lead him on, but man oh man, I sure wouldn't mind an encore...something tells me I'm about to need 4 years of distractions like that now.