Butterfly

I don't know why she goes so far out of her way to spend time with me. I've never really been sociable. I tend to be reserved and stiff, and when I finally loosen up and start sharing, it's like an avalanche that buries any response. Always either dull and robotic or loud and annoying with nothing in between, it's a wonder anyone would put up with me long enough to get to know me. And yet, she does.

She's like a butterfly to me. Happy, colorful, full of life and energy. It's almost impossible not to smile when she does, and her laugh must be magic, because it can turn even the darkest, most overcast days into bright spring afternoons. Her warmth even pulls me out of my cold, lonely shell; she's one of the few people I can relax with.

Honestly, we couldn't be more mismatched, but I don't want to let her go. I only have a few friends as it is, and none as close as she is. Besides, as beautiful, and outgoing, and kind as she is, of course I developed feelings for her. I never planned on telling her about them or asking her out (no way she'd be interested in a sullen guy like me), but I can't get rid of them either. How do you move on from someone who reminds you every day why you're in love with her?

We have a weekly habit of getting together to watch my favorite show; I can't say for sure that it's her favorite, but she watches it because of my recommendation. In fact, I think I remember her saying that it was so she could understand me better, by seeing what I like. It must have been pretty early in our ("relationship" here makes it sound like we're a couple) friendship, before we really knew each other well. Every week we switch off whose place we watch at; whoever's hosting is responsible for snacks. Usually I just get some popcorn, but every so often I make a couple pizzas with a family recipe I learned years ago. I usually end up with a mountain of assorted toppings while she keeps it simple with pepperoni and olives. She's literally the only reason I ever buy olives.

Tonight was my turn to host the show. I didn't have enough flour to make two pizzas, so I made just one, half with my crazy assortment of meats and veggies and half with her simple combo. When she arrived and smelled the pizza in the oven, she immediately got excited, but I had to explain that there was just the one half-and-half pizza. She took it surprisingly well, considering that it meant less pizza for her.

Once the pizza was cooled and cut, we settled down on my sofa and put the show on. After months, we were finally caught up so tonight we watched the newest episode. I had already read the source material so many times that I'd lost count, so I knew what would happen, but I didn't want to spoil it for her. The way she engaged with the show was a marvel to me; clearly, she was seeing this for the first time and enjoying it. Honestly, I was probably watching her at least as much as I was watching the show. Somehow, the light from the screen seemed to make her smile even more beautiful.

I considered (as I have probably a hundred times before) taking her hand, putting my arm around her, something to express my feelings for her. But I gave up on anyone wanting that kind of relationship with me a long time ago. So, I just admired her from what feels like an uncrossable distance, despite being only a foot or two apart.

Now, the episode is over and it's time for her to go home. I watch from the doorway as she walks out to her car and gets in. The engine turns over, but there's no roar of ignition. She tries again with the same disappointing result. She gets back out of the car as I close the door and approach. She opens the hood as I use my phone as a flashlight. She's no mechanic, but her father is, so she knows what she's looking at better than I do. When she spots the problem, she sighs and tells me what's wrong. I don't understand, but it's clear that it needs a new part and it's too late to head to the auto parts store and pick it up.

"If you need a ride, I can take you back," I offer. "Or you can crash here for the night, and we'll go get what you need tomorrow. That way, you don't have to leave your car here."

"Really? You'd let me stay here?"

I want you to stay here, I scream in my head, wishing I could say it out loud. Instead, I say, "Of course. I don't have a spare bed, but I can take the couch. Just give me some time to change the sheets before you go to sleep, okay?"

I catch a glimpse of her smile as her face rushes past mine. Her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she gushes in my ear as she hugs me. When she backs up, her hands are still on my shoulders and her face is the epitome of everything I love about her. I catch myself staring at her smile.

"All right, let's head back in then," I ruin the moment. I hate myself for doing it, but that moment wasn't about to go anywhere anyway. Right?

As we reenter the house, I hear her saying my name, a note of uncertainty in her voice. My heart skips a beat as I turn to her, half expecting her to tell me that she loves me or some unlikely nonsense like that. "Do you mind if I take a shower while you change the bed?" she asks. I blink, stunned by the unexpected question. "It's fine if not; I just usually shower before bed, so I thought I might as well ask."

"Okay," I reply, "but you don't have any other clothes, do you?"

"I can just put these back on."

"That seems weird to me. Taking a shower just to put on dirty clothes? I can put them in the wash with the sheets, but it will take some time." Even I'm not certain that my suggestion is completely innocent, as I realize this would leave her naked. "I promise I won't come back until your clothes are done unless you need something, and I won't look." I avert my eyes as I blush, fighting my imagination as it conjures images of her naked in my bed. Those thoughts are the reason the sheets need changing in the first place, I remind myself.

I don't dare to look at her as she considers it. Finally, she answers, "Okay, that way I can wear these clothes tomorrow too, and I have less laundry to do myself. I'll leave them outside the bathroom door for you." And with that, she walks toward my room.

I follow behind, stopping in the bedroom as she continues into the bathroom. Then I go straight to work stripping the crusty sheets from my bed. If she had any idea that I've been soiling these over her, she would probably kill me. This is cutting it close as it is. There's the sound of the bathroom door opening and quickly closing again; when I look, there's a pile of clothes just on this side of the door. The top of the pile is a white bra and thong, both trimmed with pink lace with a heart motif. Knowing what her underwear looks like definitely isn't going to help with keeping my sheets clean going forward.

I finish changing the sheets as I hear the shower start. That's when I realize that there's only one towel out in the bathroom. I knock on the bathroom door and raise my voice over the running water. "There's another towel under the sink," I inform my naked crush (why am I wording it that way?) before I put her pile of clothes on top of the linens in my arms and head for the laundry machines in the basement.

As I leave the bedroom, I use my chin to hold the laundry in place as I use one hand to close the door. Unintentionally, my jaw rubs against the soft, smooth fabric of her thong. There's a scent I've smelled before, only it's never been this strong. My mind goes to times when she's hugged me, how her kindness seemed to flow through every moment of the gentle pressure. I linger a moment, savoring her aroma like some perverted panty thief, before delivering the load to the washer.

I start the washer and wait beside it until it's time to move the wet laundry to the dryer. As I'm transferring the items, I realize that her lace-trimmed underwear might not be safe in the dryer so I head up to ask through the door. Just as I get out of the basement, however, I hear her shouting my name. The tone of her voice sounds like she's in trouble, so I rush to the bedroom to help.

I throw open the bedroom door and don't find any trouble at all. There isn't even something like a spider or a mouse to deal with. It's just her. Naked. Lying on my bed. With a hand between her legs.

I turn around, my whole head probably turning purple. I just saw something I was never meant to see. Something that I'm sure will haunt my wet daydreams for years to come. "I—I'm sorry," I stammer out. "I heard you—calling my name. It sounded urgent, so I—" Wait. If she was doing that, why was she calling my name?

"Oh, I didn't think I was being that loud." She sounds just as embarrassed as I am.

"So it—wasn't my name, right? I must have heard you wrong." Or she was imagining someone else who has the same name as me.

"No, you—you heard right." Her voice suddenly drops in volume. "I was thinking of you," she squeaks.

I turn back around. In her embarrassment, she's turned her back to me and curled up into a ball. Her skin is so smooth and her buttocks are round and look perfectly soft. I begin to walk toward her, tentatively. "You were thinking of me while—while touching yourself?"

"Yes," she answers, squeezing herself tighter as if she's trying to disappear.

I come to the bedside and touch her shoulder lightly. From this angle I can begin to see her nipple, but my focus is on her face, which has turned bright red. She turns her head to look up at me, then rolls onto her stomach and props her chin on the pillow to look at me. "I'm sorry," she pleads. "On your fresh sheets and—I should have told you a long time ago. This is not how I wanted you to find out." She buries her face in the pillow, tucking her hands under her eyes.

I sit on the edge of the bed. "Should have told me what, a long time ago?"

She turns her face away from me. "This isn't the first time I've—touched myself to you. I've had this silly crush on you pretty much since the first time we met. But you've never shown an interest in me like that. You've been such a good friend, but I could tell you only ever saw me as a friend."

"I'm sorry," I reply. "Honestly, though, I've felt the same, pretty much this whole time. I just didn't show it because I didn't think you, or anyone else for that matter, would ever be attracted to me to begin with."

She turns her face toward me again, clearly shocked at my confession. "You—really? All this time I thought you just wanted me as a friend." Her expression changes to a look of resolution as she reaches a hand up to my back. "When I first met you, I thought you were mysterious and intriguing. You know how I love a good mystery, so I figured I'd get to know you. And I found out that you're smart and responsible..." Her hand is on the back of my neck now, pulling my face closer to hers. "... and passionate."

I close my eyes as her tender lips press against mine. I'm dreaming, I think. I fell asleep during the show and I'm dreaming. But her kisses keep coming and I'm all too eager to reciprocate. Please don't let me wake up. After probably a solid minute of kisses, she pulls back enough to look into each other's eyes. I thought I knew her before, but now it's like she's an open book, waiting for me to discover her deepest secrets.

"This must be a dream," I tell her.

"Whose dream is it? Because I can hardly believe this either."

"Then maybe we're both dreaming? I've seen that kind of thing on TV, but I don't know how it would actually work."

"Don't worry about how it works," she laughs. "Let's just share this perfect dream."

I lean down to kiss her again. Her loose hair gets in my mouth and she has to adjust so she won't fall off the bed as she rolls onto her back again, but I don't mind. I wrap an arm around her and feel her shiver under my touch as our tongues begin to meet between our lips.

The next time our lips part, no words are needed. I can see in her face that the time has come and she can't live with just imagination any more. Her hands trace down my back to the hem of my tee shirt and begin to pull it up. I lift my arms and duck my head to let her take it completely off of me. She then throws it across the room with a giddy smile. "I don't think you'll be needing that for a while," she explains.

I give her a quick peck on the lips before I stand up beside the bed. My heart is already racing with anticipation as I fumble with the button and zipper of my jeans. It doesn't help that she's watching me with a hungry gleam in her eyes as she lies fully exposed in front of me. Her body has what I would call the perfect proportions; nothing is extreme, but it all flows together in a shape that drives me wild. It's exactly what I've always imagined, only even better because I can actually see it. She must notice the way my eyes are wandering over her body as she chuckles, "Like what you see?"

I finally get my jeans and underwear off, revealing my naked manhood, which is already very erect. "Yes," I answer (as if the erection didn't already give that away) before I notice something.

"What's this?" I wonder, reaching out to touch it. Hidden beneath a layer of thick (yet clearly controlled) hair between her waist and her wet opening is a tattoo. I move the hair around to see the pattern of the ink and find an image of a butterfly. While I investigate, she pushes herself up on her elbows. "That's for you," she says, "because you once told me that you think of me as a butterfly. I had them put it where it could be just between us, and if anyone else ever saw it, it would just be a cute tramp stamp."

I look up into her face. "I've been such an idiot," I say, "but not anymore." In a moment I reach under her long, unbound hair to hold her by the neck as I dive forward to kiss her. I leave one hand to rub her soaking crotch and she moans into my kiss. I lie down next to her on my stomach and begin to kiss other parts of her. I stretch myself to kiss her neck and then pull her nearest breast up to my mouth. The taste of her skin is just like the smell I found on her panties.

As I rub her slit and kiss her body, she moans and sighs in pleasure. "It feels so much better when you do it," she whines. "Your mouth on my boob, I could never do that for myself. It feels so good."

Without letting up on her soft breast, I slip a finger into her. She squeals in delight and reaches down to take my hand. "Let me show you where to go," she says. She puts my thumb on the bud at the top of her slit and has me put another finger into her, pushing the fingers up into herself by the knuckles until she moans, "Right there. Go." I rub her in the places she's indicated, squeezing the soft, warm flesh from both inside and outside. Her back lifts off the bed as she sighs.

Even through all the lust I'm demonstrating, I can't help but feel glad that she's enjoying my efforts. I love her and I want her to be happy. So, as she braces her feet on the bed and grinds against my hand, I gently take her head in the other hand and kiss her once more. The loving tenderness of the kiss contrasts with the vigorous lust of my fingering but putting the two together seems to convey all my complicated feelings for her.

As I set her head back on the pillow, she looks up at me in a way that tells me she understands the mix of emotions I'm sharing with her. I see how deeply she loves me but also the flame of carnal pleasure I'm fanning down below. Suddenly, she closes her eyes as her body contracts, and she screams my name again. I feel a blast of liquid against my hand as she orgasms hard.

It takes her a minute to come down from her second orgasm of the night. "You know I wasn't planning on touching myself earlier," she confesses to me. "I got out of the shower and there was only the one towel, so I had to use that one, and it smelled like you in the best way. Then after I dried off I came and laid down on the bed and the bed smelled like you too. By the time I realized I was touching myself, I was too horny to stop."

I chuckle. "I had something similar earlier. I was bringing everything down to the laundry and your underwear was at the top of the pile. It still smelled like you so I spent like a minute rubbing my face on it."

She giggles. "Did you notice it was a matched set?"

"Matched? Huh, I guess it was."

"I always wear matched underwear when I have plans with you. Just in case," she explains.

"How many sets do you have?" I wonder.

"A few. Why, do you want to see all of them?" she teases in response.

"That's not what I meant, but yes." She giggles at my answer. "I just think we see each other too much for you to get by with just one set of just-in-case underwear." Suddenly my mind returns to the task I had left behind in the basement. "I never started the dryer," I realize.

"Was I really that loud earlier?"

"No, I was coming up to ask if your underwear could go in the dryer."

"Oh. No, those need to hang dry."

"I thought that might be the case. I guess it's a good thing I came up to ask." I smile, hinting at a second meaning to my words.

"I'm happy with the results, too." She coos.

I stand up. "I should probably go take care of the dryer," I announce, "but should I come back after?"

"Oh, yes," she answers. "I'm not even close to being done with you. So hurry back." I notice that she's staring straight at my junk as she speaks.

I hurry through the house, almost running in my haste to return to her. I start the dryer and hang her underwear up to dry. Before I head back up, I pause just long enough to place a quick kiss on her thong where I estimate her mound would sit. I can't explain why, it just seems like something I should do. Then I rush back up the stairs to my bedroom where she's waiting. In my bed. Naked. For me.

The rapid movement has me breathing hard by the time I arrive and I can't tell whether my heart is in overdrive because of the exertion or because of what I know is waiting for me. Either way, my erection is already starting up again before I see her sitting up on the edge of the bed. Her naked body and the expectation in her eyes as she looks at me turn me on completely.

I close the door and return to the bedside, kneeling on the floor beside her (because I don't really know how to approach this situation. Do you think a guy who had given up on finding someone to want him would be experienced?). She smiles at me and leans down to kiss me. Then I move in front of her as she moves her thighs just far enough apart that I can see her opening. I lean into the space, planting a passionate, tonguey kiss on her slit.

"That feels good," she sighs, "but that's not what I want right now. Get up here. I've waited longer than I should have for this night, and I don't want to wait any longer."

I rise slowly, kissing her body along the way until I find her lips and she wraps her hands around my head, pulling me down onto the mattress with her. As I see the unrestrained passion burning in her eyes, I take her thighs in my hands and lift her legs up onto the bed, then climb up over her.

"This would be the worst possible moment to wake up," I joke as I align myself with her nether lips.

"Don't you dare wake up and leave me alone here," she jokes back.

"Don't worry. I'm pretty sure even if this is a dream, we fell asleep on the sofa. I would wake you up so we could do this anyway."

"Maybe we should try the sofa sometime," she suggests.

"Sure, but for now let's just do it here."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

"Sorry, it's just—I'm nervous. I've never done this before."

She sighs as she smiles up at me. "I haven't either. But I've made up my mind that I want you. So let's—" she puts her hands decisively on my hips— "do this."