As is a theme for me at this point - friends to lovers with a build up. What can I say, it's fun to toy with the strange and new of something also comfortable? The (literal) feeling your way through. Hope you enjoy!
Content warning: mention of drug and alcohol use.
Worth note - this work (along with all my writing) is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in part or whole anywhere without my written consent. Thank you.
• • • • •
"I want to watch you have sex with yourself."
"You what?"
"Tonight."
Her eyes are unflinching, settled - focused. I don't know how to think or move under that gaze. The gauntlet has been thrown down, there's no way out of it. Lessons have been learned, namely, don't talk a big game about 'whatever you say' when you propose a bet. She's not to be trifled with when she declares victory.
"I'll set the stage, you just have to show up... wearing only your pants."
That cool smile, it stirs something in me.
"This feels extreme."
"Excuse you, might I remind you of the last time I owed you a debt? I wound up walking naked through a pub."
"It was half four in the morning! The only people in there were you, me, Frank passed out in the corner, Jenna - who sees you naked daily, and might I add, why I chose the claim, since you boasted about being a naked person, constantly flitting about unabashed - and Colin the barman shied his eyes away because he is a gentleman."
"You looked."
"That was the point."
"And I have a point as well."
What she could mean by this causes me to swallow unintentionally. I feel my throat go dry.
"Well, I guess then -"
"Exactly, see you at eight!"
She hops out of her chair as airily as if she'd just said - 'See you at the game! Be sure to wear team colors!' There's a fluttering about my chest. The mix of turned on and freaked the fuck out I am is causing system wide malfunction, I go to reach for my drink and miss by a mile.
'Have sex with myself,' I think. All of a sudden, I forget entirely how to go about it. Conscious of the fact that I'll be watched - nay, observed, studied, by a wily goddamned minx - I feel my knees shake. If I was standing just now, this table would go down with me - and yet?
I let the idea play out in my head, before remembering I'm in public, and I snap to wondering who could have heard all that was said. I look around and everyone's wrapped up in their own intrigues, I'm alone with my very loud thoughts.
Right, what next. A shower, food? Should I bring her food? Stupid, this isn't a date. What the hell am I even thinking? What the ever-loving fuck did she mean by she 'has a point.'
I calm myself down long enough to pay the bill and set my course for home. I've got six hours to prepare for, whatever this is, and what the fuck do I do until then? I decide to hop on my bike and race around the city. If my pulse insists on being high I might as well do something with all this unsettled energy.
Exhausted, starving, sufficiently distracted, I'm back at mine and there's a text waiting for me.
'Is she mental,' is my first thought. This is not a lost bet, this is some kind of vengeance. Must not have like that pub stroll one bit, I'm realizing. She's toying with me.
On my phone is a photo of her legs - those ridiculously sexy, toned legs - in sudsy bathwater, the photo cropped just so I can almost -
'Eight years, countless trips, concerts, drunken nights - and all the opportunities that come with that foolishness, we get on like a house on fire and not even once an accidental kiss or flirty touch.' I proclaim to thin air, 'And now she wants to watch as I bring myself to orgasm.' That flush rushes through me again. 'What is her point? When I had her strip down it was to prove she wasn't as blasé and liberal about her nakedness as she claimed. I was wrong, but -'
"Inspiration." reads the text bubble under the photo.
'Maybe she's trying to embarrass me like I may have her. This is her way of reclaiming some power. Lure me in and cut the string. Cheeky game, darling.'
These rubbish thoughts taken hold, like any idiot I'm now looking forward to tonight's antics and to prove she has no control over me. 'I'll put on a show and have her aching for me. Uno reverso.'
Dropping trou in the hallway, I'm on my way to the bathroom, mid polishing off a bowl of cereal, feeling pretty confident. It's only after I've had time to relax in the steam of the shower that the thought occurs to me - 'Do I bring protection? Is this presumptuous? Better to just be prepared? You stupid bastard what have you gotten yourself into. She's already in your head.'
'door's unlocked'
I see the text just as I'm turning onto her street. It's not too late, I can turn and run. 'Oh mate, you're doomed,' I think, 'best to just surrender to the moment.' Deep breath - my heart slams against my chest thinking about the look in her eye when she named her claim. It all manifests in an appropriate excitement for the task ahead. 'Calm down, calm down -'
"Hey! Emma!"
Do I sound as high key to her as I do in my head?
"I thought I said in your briefs!"
"Wait, you truly meant for me to arrive here half naked in the dark? It's legitimately starting to snow."
"Eh, minor detail, at least you're here, yay! I've the room all cozy for us, c'mon up."
This feels surreal - are we both living the same day?
Speaking of clothes, taking stock, she's wearing a button front thermal, and the way it clings to her breasts, the soft slope and the heavy droplet shape, the gentle bounce as she walks, I just -
"Hey Emma, I -"
"Want something to drink?"
"I want to ask you if you're sure. You know our friendship will completely change after this. We stand to lose a lot if we're not as sophisticated as we think we are."
"You can back out at any time, you know there's no obligation and if you're not comfortable that's absolutely not okay. We've always said that of our games and it's true. You only need to say the word, invoke the clause, and we'll grab a takeaway instead. There's a funny panel show on tonight."
She says it so coolly, a smirk playing on her lips.
Immediately, my ego flares - the impetus for all dumb things done on this planet - and I decide I'm more than game. I will not be announcing to all our friends that once, indeed, I did fully snog a magazine editorial page of Alison Goldfrapp in a moment of desperate, teenage horniness that tuned my tongue a weird color from the ink. Besides, the drugs were mainly to blame - both mushrooms and hormones - and goddamnit should I never have told her that. (Yes, you guessed it, more drugs led to that confession). And yes, there's a backdown clause, and it's each of us having to admit an embarrassing secret to our friend group if we don't make good on the claim from a lost bet. It's just now striking me that we play borderline cruel games, and - ah yes, the exact wrong time to notice it, after I upped the ante. I remind myself this woman, when dared, walked naked in public - with poise, and I'm specifically now remembering the the line her body draws from her shoulder, in at her waist, down her hip, up and around her ass. Oh fuck. Oh, fuck.
Snapping out of my abstraction I see a gleam in her eye. She fleetingly bites her lip and motions to follow her upstairs. Something shifts. I realize I've never even been to her bedroom, and I really want to be there, more than anything.
I hear the beers she's holding by the neck clinking in her one hand and I'm absolutely entranced by her ass swaying before me as we climb the stairs. If I don't start some kind of meditation this will be a very brief payback.
Her room is on the top floor where the ceiling slants in, her bed tucked up against one slanted ceiling side, red flannel sheets, some candles about. My senses heightened, I see the snow begin to cling and pile at the windowsill. She's got a tune on low through her record player.
"Inviting," I manage.
"I'd hoped so, I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything."
