I guess Evan and I would be called "friends with benefits." We had known each other for years, since 9th grade of high school. We met through a mutual friend, dated for less than a week, but kept in touch when we broke up. Our paths did not cross too often though. For the next 5 years, we periodically ran into each other, and every time we did, sparks would fly and we would end up in the back seat of my car, wishing we had somewhere more comfortable to go.
The last time I saw him was a couple of months ago. We ran into each other at a party that was thrown by someone we both knew from school. We hung out for most of the night, stole a few kisses in a corner, and he coyly asked him for a ride home.
On the way home, we kidded around about possibly hitting up some local clubs. But we both knew that we were going to create our own party. I had recently moved out of my parents' house into an apartment near my college with a friend, and for the first time we had a place to go. His hand casually rested on my thigh the whole way home.
Once at my apartment, we danced around the subject. We smoked a few cigarettes together on the couch and put on soft music. Streaks of morning blue were appearing on the dark sky, but the night was far from over.
Finally, Evan put out his cigarette, and began kissing me, forcing me back onto the couch, his large, strong hands playing all over my body, up my tank top, over my jeans-covered crotch. I caught my breath as my head fell back onto the cushions. I wanted him so badly.
