You Will Not Turn Me Away Again

He was my best friend.

We'd met just after we both graduated high school, at a café downtown. It was a typically hot desert afternoon, and the few people who were stupid enough to be outside looked like wilting flowers, myself included, I'm sure. I dressed how I always dressed in the summer, light t-shirts and denim shorts, flat sandals on my feet, hair in a ponytail. I sat outside drinking hot chocolate, of all things to drink in that kind of heat, and reading a book. I heard a chair clatter to the patio off to my left, and startled, I looked up. A guy about my age was picking the chair up, with an embarrassed look on his face. He was lined with the shadows from the strips in the awning overhead, and he glanced at me sheepishly, then sat down with his drink and went about his business.

I was amused enough by his klutzy behavior to want to go over and ask if he wanted some company. I wasn't immediately attracted to him; he wasn't my type. I usually went for the taller guys with the dark hair and the light eyes, either bright blue or hazel-green. This guy had bushy red hair and brown eyes, and freckles all over, and he was shorter than me. He wore glasses, and was dressed much the same way I was; a t-shirt and denim shorts, except mine were SHORT, his went to his knees. He looked like he was fun, and I was looking for some company.

"Hi," I said brightly, causing him to glance up from his laptop.

"Hi," he said in reply, the lenses of his glasses shrinking the upper half of his face, and immediately went back to his computer.

Well, that was how it started. I wouldn't let him ignore me, and after a few attempts at conversation I finally got him to put that computer away. I was right, he was fun, but he still wasn't my type. As I got to know him, I found out he was interested in many of the things that I wasn't; he was into computers, I was a musician. He liked horror flicks, I liked comedies and dramas. He liked seafood, I hated the stuff. And on and on, but he became a good friend. I found out then that we were both going to the local university in the fall, and that was basically how our friendship got started.

One day, during our sophomore year, after a class we'd managed to take together, he walked with me over to the student union. That was where I usually went after that class but he generally went over to the main computer lab to work on whatever he needed to work on for his computer science classes. I still couldn't figure that out; what was so fascinating about computers? Me, I loved my music classes; I loved learning how compositions were put together, I loved learning how to sing (I was a violin performance major), I loved being able to make beautiful sounds. Computers, while yes, I used them, and was fairly proficient at troubleshooting them, just bored me. But then, I'm sure he looked at my music the same way.

But I digress. He walked with me to the student union, where we grabbed a couple of sandwiches from a small deli, and then went out onto the mall to stake out a piece of grass and eat. We ate our sandwiches quietly under the paltry shade of an overly tall palm tree, and then stretched out as we both had another hour before our next class. We talked about school, our classes, professors we liked and hated, and then the conversation lulled. I was staring out over the grass, back across to the red brick of the union, when I felt his gaze boring into the side of my skull.

I turned and looked straight at him, and said, "Something I can help you with?" I was smiling.

He stumbled over his words for a moment, looking down at the ground, and then finally managed, "Shara, I know we're just friends right now, but I was wondering if you wanted to..." he paused and took a deep breath, "...if you wanted to maybe make it more than that?" Those last few words all ran together. He heaved a sigh of relief, as though by saying that a great weight had been lifted off his chest.

I looked at him askance. "Is that why you came to eat lunch with me today?"

"Yes, no, well, yes. I don't know. I mean, I've- oh, never mind." He turned away from me.

I put a hand on his shoulder and prompted, "You've what?" He shook his head, and I said more insistently, "What?"

Taking another deep breath, but refusing to look at me, he said, "I've had a...sort of a crush on you...for awhile. I was hoping that maybe...that you felt the same way?" His voice had a lot of hope in it.

I sighed and looked down, and picked some grass off my shirt. "Oh Peter, I'm sorry. There's this guy in my theory class, and he-" I stopped. If Peter really did have a crush on me I'd best not be talking about other guys to him.

He said, "That's okay. I knew it was a long shot anyway." The cheer in his voice sounded so false it almost broke my heart. I didn't mean to hurt him, but I'd never thought of him that way. At this point, I didn't know if I could think of him that way. I felt like all girls feel about their best male bud; he was more like a brother to me.

School went on, and we both graduated at the same time. During that time we'd gotten so close that we felt comfortable walking into each others' apartments without knocking, and sometimes, whoever was the guest would spend the night on the couch. We weren't inseparable, but romance with others had been hindered by our friendship, as other guys and girls didn't like us being so close to each other. I started to get frustrated, because he seemed more needy in the friendship, especially when I was seeing someone else. Like he was jealous. He'd tried to ask me out a few more times, and I tried to be gentle each time as I told him no, and explained that I just didn't feel that way about him.

It all came to a head one night, about a month after graduation, when every college grad who has not yet landed a job is frantically searching for one. I had managed to get a job with the local symphony, and while it didn't pay well, it was a start. My goal was to eventually play with a group like the Chicago Symphony, or better yet, the London Symphony. His goal was to be a computer engineer with a major firm, but he had not yet gotten a job, and was, of course, frantically looking for one.

I found him engaged in this activity one night when I went over to his place, more out of boredom than anything. My new boyfriend was an understanding guy, moreso than the previous guys had been, but he was on vacation with his parents; one last family vacation together before he, too, began trying to make his way in the big, bad world.

Peter glanced up from his laptop as I walked in the door. He smiled warmly. "Hey you, I was wondering if I was going to get to see you this week." The light bounced off his glasses, making it difficult for me to see his eyes.

"Howdy yourself, stranger," I said back. I plopped down on the couch next to him and said, "Gotta love living in the desert. You got anything to drink?" I fanned myself with my t-shirt.

He nodded, got up and grabbed a couple of sodas from his fridge. I noticed his coffee table was strewn with papers; cover letters and various versions of resumes were laying about. I wondered why he hadn't found job yet; he had graduated with a 3.8 GPA and an impressive array of extracurricular activities. I pondered his situation while he was in the kitchen. After a moment, he was back, and I cracked open my can of soda immediately, downing nearly half of it in one gulp. He gingerly sipped his, and put it on the coffee table, the already dripping condensation on the can making a small ring on the surface.

"How's things with you? Rehearsals started yet?" He asked.

"No, not till next week. I'm not totally sure I'm looking forward to it, but I'm not dreading it. At least they're a decent group. What about you?"

"Nothing, as I'm sure you can see. I've put in resumes with so many companies now that I can't count them, and I haven't heard anything from any of them." He sounded angry.

I shrugged and said, "How many resumes do you send out each day?"

"Dozens, it feels like," he replied. He shook his head, then said, "Let's not talk about this anymore. It just makes me mad. What else is going on with you?"

"Nothing at all," I replied. I'd tried not to talk about my boyfriends with him since sophomore year. It didn't always work.

"I thought you had a new boyfriend," he said. From this angle, I could see his eyes, and they darkened when he said that.

I said, "He's out of town. Due back in a couple of weeks."

Peter's eyes brightened. "So we can hang out, then." He sounded hopeful. A little too hopeful. I was afraid of hurting him.

"Sure, if you want."

"And you don't have to be home at any particular time."

I shook my head, wondering where he was going with this. I didn't have to wait long. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine.

My voice was quiet. "Peter, please-"

But he interrupted me. "Shara, I've wanted you for so long...I don't think I can stand it anymore." He put a hand to my hair, stroking it, trying to pull me close.

I pulled away, and said, "I don't want to do this."

His eyes darkened again. "I don't get why you don't like me," he growled.

"It's not that I don't like you, it's just-"

"Yeah yeah, you see me like your brother. Please, I've heard it all before. I'm sick of it, Shara, do you get that?!" He was fairly shouting now, and his face was burning with fury.

I stood up, but he grabbed my arms and pulled me back down. "Ohhh no. You're not going anywhere." His voice was menacing.

I wrenched out of his grip but he grabbed my hair in his left fist, and put his right hand at the back of my neck. Forcibly pulling me towards him, he kissed me, hard and rough. He shoved his tongue into my mouth, and the more I struggled, the tighter his grip became, and the harder he kissed me.

Finally I managed to turn my head far enough to pull my lips from his, and with all my strength, I pushed him away from me.

He fell backwards onto the arm of the couch and I could see how hard he was through his shorts. He looked at me with a mix of contempt, longing, and pleading. "Please, Shara, let me have you. Just once. Just tonight. Nobody has to know." He was begging.

I shook my head, my hair a tangle from his grip. "No," I said.

"No?" He repeated.

"No," I said again.

He threw his hands up in frustration. "You don't get it, do you? All this time I've waited for you. I've been the perfect friend. I was always there for you, when others weren't. And this is how you repay me?"

I said, "Repay you? I wasn't aware that I owed you anything."

He silenced me with a slap across my face. I put my hand to my cheek in shock, but he threw himself on me, grabbing both my arms and pinning them behind my back. He whispered menacingly, "If you scream, I will hurt you. If you try to run, I will hurt you. Do you have that?"

I nodded quickly, my heart pounding in fear. I wondered if there was some way I could do both. I kept quiet while he began moving his skinny body against mine. He'd gotten soft for a moment, but I could again feel his cock swelling against me. He kissed me very hard, practically shoving his tongue down my throat. I began squirming under him, and he sat up long enough to slap me again, then he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eye.

"Cool it, Shara, or I will make you sorry." He watched me for a moment to make sure I wasn't going to struggle anymore, and then he stood up, taking me with him, and forced me into the bedroom, where he threw me on the bed. I tried to get away and he lunged for me. I collapsed under his weight. He rolled me over, pressed his knee into my chest, and tore my t-shirt off of me. He ripped it in two pieces and then used it to tie my hands to the headboard, my ankles to the footboard, so that I was spread-eagled. He tied me so tight that my hands and feet almost immediately began to tingle from the loss of blood, and I struggled to keep them from going numb. He misinterpreted, and a hand shot to my throat.

"I said STOP!" he shouted. He was exerting enough pressure on my neck to raise bruises, and I knew he was serious.

With me immobilized, he grabbed a pair of scissors from his nightstand and handled them in such a way that the blade caught the light, and I wondered if he was intent on killing me. That fear, the fear of imminent death at the hands of another, only lasted for a moment, as he cut my bra off of me and began to kiss and suckle my breasts.

"Oh Shara," he whispered. "Your boobs are even sexier than I imagined." He ground his crotch against my right leg and I felt his cock press against me. It was throbbing hard. He ran his rough hands up and down my body in such a way that I was completely repulsed and had to work to keep from gagging. He kissed and licked, enjoying the feel of my body, enjoying having me so thoroughly at his disposal.

His cock throbbed harder against my leg and I wondered if he was about to cum in his pants. Maybe that would end all this...but no such luck. He took his scissors and cut off my shorts and my panties, then undressed himself, but more slowly, as though he were doing a striptease for me. He gyrated a little bit as he removed each piece of clothing, revealing his freckled body.

"You like this? You like the way I look?" he asked, his erection poking through his boxers. Despite his size, he had one of the biggest dicks I'd ever seen in my life. I began to fear anew how much he was going to hurt me.

I kept my silence, and he jumped onto the bed again and grabbed my chin hard in his hand. "You'd better say you like the way I look," he growled.

I nodded, unable to say anything because he was essentially holding my jaw shut.

"Good," he whispered, and stood up. He slowly removed his boxers, fully freeing his thick, throbbing cock. It bounced a little as he climbed back onto the bed. He began stroking himself as he touched my pussy lips. He ran his fingers up and down each lip, then he poked his way into the folds, and ran his fingers along my clit.

After a moment, he slapped my pussy hard and said, "Do you like that? Tell me you like it."

I nodded, and he said, "SAY it!"

"I like it," I said, my voice low and shaky.

"Good," he whispered again, and began sliding his fingers lower, until he found what he was looking for. He slid two fingers inside me and immediately began thrusting them in and out in small strokes, the tips of his fingers rubbing my g-spot. I knew he was trying to get me wet, and I so angry and I felt so violated already that I didn't think I'd get wet, but I began to anyway. I tried to force the arousal from my mind but I couldn't, and he noticed.

"You like this..." he murmured. I refused to answer, but he kept going, until my pussy was soaked. He took his left hand and lightly pinched my clit, rubbing it with both fingers, while his right hand continued to stroke inside me. Consciously, I tried not to react, but what he was doing felt so good, felt so damn good, that for a moment I almost forgot that he was in the middle of forcing himself on me. He noticed that my body had relaxed quite a bit, and this encouraged him further.

"You want me inside you, don't you? Say you want me inside you," he said, his voice silky now.

I shook my head. "Let me go," I said, my teeth clenched.

"Wrong answer!" he yelled.

He got between my legs and shoved himself inside of me hard, so hard that I thought he'd ruptured something. I cried out in pain, which also somehow encouraged him. At least, it encouraged him to inflict more pain.

He slapped me across my face again and said loudly, "Shut UP!"

I could feel my right cheek beginning to swell from being hit so many times, and to ward off further beating, I kept quiet as he pumped in and out of me. His hands were holding my hips and he pulled down on them with each thrust inside of me. He let go of my hips and grabbed my breasts, squeezing both of them hard as he tilted his head back with his own pleasure.

"God, Shara, you're hot. You feel incredible on me," he moaned

My pussy, despite my feelings, was contracting slightly, and my swollen clit ached for release. He had possibly the hardest cock I'd ever encountered; he was rock solid and I could feel the heat of it against my pussy lips as he pumped. He leaned down, bracing himself on his hands, and ground on my clit. My pussy throbbed with each thrust, and I instinctively began moving my hips with his thrusting, driving myself towards my orgasm.

"Oh god, you DO like this," he moaned. His thrusting was getting faster, and his balls were slapping my ass. I could tell he was about to cum. I was too, and at least for the moment, I'd given up my fear and anger.

He thrust hard inside me, his swollen cock throbbing with each shot of cum. He was so turned on that he kept grinding, kept thrusting, and I came too, my pussy contracting and releasing around his massive erection. He couldn't get enough and sat up, beginning to fuck me hard and fast, stimulating himself and, dammit, me. The ridge on the head of his hard on was stroking my g-spot in the exact right way, and I came again, squirting my juice all over him. I thrashed about, unable to withstand the sensation of that kind of an orgasm.

He kept fucking me as hard as he could, and the throbbing of my now soaked pussy squeezed him repeatedly, sending sensations that I could see ripple through his body. I came a third time, this time the orgasm so intense that I screamed involuntarily, and that was all he needed to send him towards the edge. He whipped that huge, throbbing member of his out of me and began stroking it over my stomach. So much of my juice was on him that he didn't need any lubricants, and I watched, fascinated, as he masturbated onto my stomach and chest.

His orgasm was more intense than the first, and he squeezed the head of his dick hard, his body convulsing, trying to milk out every last drop of white liquid. When he was finished, he grabbed his own t-shirt and cleaned me off, admiring my body once again.

I couldn't help it. "That was probably the best sex I ever had," I whispered.

"Yeah?" he whispered back.

"Yeah," I said.

He gently untied me and we lay there, naked, and I marveled that what started out involuntarily could end up so amazing. Despite the amazing sex, though, I couldn't lead him on.

"Peter, you know I can't love you," I said quietly.

"I know," he said back, his voice sad. "But I got what I wanted."

Creep till the end. I sighed. But I stayed put.