She'll Never Knowbyhayalet©
The party's winding up. The music is still playing in the living room but the candles have burnt low and the dancers have slowed down and stopped as if their batteries have died. There's a bloke asleep in the hallway, snoring beside the radiator, with streamers in his hair. Someone's drawn a rabbit nose and whiskers onto his face with black eyeliner. Beer cans litter the carpet. The table- which started out adorned with bowls of crudités, dips, crisps- is now a mess of crumbs. Cigarette smoke hangs like a fog. The window is open but the summer air outside is hot and still.
Janie's asleep on the stairs. Her eyeliner has smudged and her face is shiny, her hair damp and sticking to her neck and shoulders in sweaty strands. There's a half empty bottle of Smirnoff Ice in her hand, and you take it from her and set it on the floor. Some people are smoking outside in the yard. The low hum of their voices drifts in through the window and into the hall. You could ask them to help you take Janie upstairs to bed, but she's slim and small and it's no bother to you. She's one of your best friends, and it's her boyfriend's house. You'll wake him up in a minute and get him to bed too. It's what best friends do, after all.
She grunts as you take her arm and sling it over your shoulder. One of the spaghetti straps of her top is sliding down her arm. You whisper in her ear, come on girl, let's get you to bed. You shake her gently. Her hair smells of fresh dance sweat and apple shampoo. She smiles and murmurs something as you half-pull, half-carry her up a few steps, then you stop. It's just easier to sweep her up into your arms. You're tall and muscular from the summer you've spent on the construction site. Her head sags against your shoulder and you plant your feet carefully on the stairs, avoiding the crushed beer cans, the piles of orange peel and the broken remnants of the plastic party poppers.
As you round the top of the stairs, you feel her hand brushing against your chest. Your heart is beating hard, with the effort of carrying her and also you've never been this close to her, even though you've loved her most of your life. You remember Janie as a little girl, chocolate curls flowing down her back, big brown eyes with thick dark lashes. The curls are gone now. Her hair is streaked with auburn and when she greeted you at the door, it shone straight and sleek under the hall light. She had silver sparkles on her eyelids, and her fingernails shone silver to match.
Now one of the impossibly high stilettos she'd been wearing has come off, you can see her perfect little toes are also glinting silver. The hall light is dim and the tan on her legs looks darker. She and Michael have just got home from two weeks in Tenerife. He proposed to her there. They announced it together at the start of the party and she laughed and twirled and flashed her new diamond solitaire ring to oohs and aahs from all her girlfriends. Everyone cheered and clapped, even you. Michael even made a special toast to you.
"To Chris," he said, holding up the plastic champagne glass and grinning. "Thank you for introducing me to the love of my life."
"To Chris," everyone had echoed, and you smiled until your cheeks hurt and then took a bigger gulp of the champagne than you planned. And another, and another, until your head is spinning and your teeth are numb. It wasn't meant to turn out this way. All you'd wanted was to show Janie off, because you still thought you had a chance. You wanted Michael to be jealous that you had such a wonderful girl as a friend. She wasn't meant to fall in love with him, and crush your hopes like the ice she loves to bash when she makes her mojitos.
You push open the bedroom door. The light shines a crooked oblong into the dark room. They have a king sized bed, almost too big for the room. Janie's clothes hang off the exercise bike in the corner. The bedroom cupboards have sliding mirrored doors. One of them is half open and you can see the suits Janie likes to wear to work, hanging there in their plastic covers. You know that if you went over and looked, you'd find them all an inch apart. She's OCD that way. She knows it and often makes jokes about it but it doesn't stop her arranging her shoes according to the date she bought them, or putting the books on the shelves in alphabetical order. You know these things because you love her, and she loves you too. She's told you often enough, that you're her bestest friend ever and it's just like having a GBF who's not gay. She added that last part pretty fast. You know she thinks you're gay because you never have a girlfriend, and you never have a girlfriend because your heart has never been yours to give. Your heart is soaked with regret, but you try to be happy, because you want her to be happy, and Michael is a decent bloke when all's said and done. He'll look after her, do all the things for her that you want to but never will.
You lay her down on the bed and her head rolls to the side. She's so drunk. Silly girl, you whisper, and smile. You want to have a private moment with her, just to say congratulations. You want to see her smile just for you. Her lips are smeared with fruity smelling gloss, that she's recently applied, but she's gone over the edges a bit. You shake her a bit but she doesn't respond. But she's breathing regularly, in and out. The strap has slipped down her shoulder again. She isn't wearing a bra.
Your head is spinning pleasantly from all that champagne, and you get up and stumble for a second and put your hand out to steady yourself and then the door clicks shut and the room's in darkness. Her breathing is soft and you can smell the fresh laundry on the radiators. It's flowery and sweet. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and the bed becomes grey under the faint moonlight that's coming through the window. You sit down on the bed again, beside Janie. Your heart is starting to beat a bit harder and you feel your blood pumping around your body.
The noise of giggling and conversation makes you jump. You stand up and take off Janie's remaining shoe and place it by the foot of the bed. If someone comes up, you can just say you're putting the drunkard to bed, laugh it off. But then you hear the front door closing. The music's been turned off downstairs. The stragglers have left, laughing at the state of Michael lying down there beside the radiator with the bunny face drawn on. You hear the slam of a car door and the rev of an engine. It's just you and Janie now, in the bedroom, and the strap of her top is black now against her arm. It wouldn't hurt to have a look, she'd never know.
You sit down and give her a last shake. Janie, you whisper, but she doesn't respond. She lets out a faint snore, and then you reach out a shaking hand and hook your finger under her top. Slowly, you draw the thin material up, centimetre by centimetre, until it catches for a second on the swell of her breasts, then releases. Her tits are white, and you can see clearly the line of where her bikini top was. Dark little nipples. It wouldn't hurt if you just touched her there. She's fast asleep. Your hand is hot and big enough to hold almost all of her breast. Her nipple pokes out between your fingers and youfind yourself leaning towards it, slowly, slowly, until you can reach it with your tongue.
If she wakes up now, it'll be the end of everything. But you can't stop. A little lick, that's all. Then another and then her nipple is in your mouth. You suck on it gently, squeezing the firm flesh under your sweating fingertips. Not so hard, in case she wakes up. Her nipple hardens on your tongue and it's the sweetest thing you've ever felt. She moans and you freeze, but she just settles against the duvet and you lick and suck until you realise your cock is a hot, hard, pulsing stone in your pants. You've never been so aroused, it's almost painful. It won't hurt if you pull it out, give it some release. You'll just look at her tits and have a quick wank, that's all you'll do. No one will ever know. There's a box of tissues beside the mirror on the bed, near the digital alarm clock that casts a faint electric light over the shadows of her chest.
You ease the zip of your jeans down, ever so slowly, but the noise sounds like a chainsaw rasping though a plank. She's bound to wake up, so you pull her top down again and give her another shake, but she's sound asleep, so you ease it up again and look at her beautiful tits and squeeze your aching cock and imagine. Imagine it's in Janie's hand, not your own. The outstretched hand at the edge of the bed, so close to your thigh, fingers curled around in relaxed repose. You could just slip your cock in there, into her hand, she'd never know.
You shift around and take her hand and push your dick into her palm, and her fingers clasp loose around it. God, it feels so good, just being touched. It's been so long since anyone else touched you there that you close your eyes and put your hand on her tit and feel her hardened nipple slick with your saliva against your palm, and think you'll just hold that pose for a few seconds then you'll finish yourself off and leave, that's what you'll do.
But the lack of friction is more frustrating than anything else, so you pull yourself free from her hand and- emboldened by drink and the fact that she's snoring softly now- you think, if she didn't notice you looking at her tits, then she won't notice...
Her skirt is riding high around her slim thighs. You wonder what would happen if you just slipped it up a few more inches, you wonder what sort of underwear she's wearing, if you could only get a look at that, it would be enough. It's a cotton thong, a thin pale triangle of material that sits on top of springy hair. She doesn't shave. You're glad about that, you want to look at a woman, not a child. And Janie is the most beautiful woman you can imagine. But you can't see well enough, so you ease your mobile phone out of your pocket and the light from it reveals that her thong is pale pink, not white, and there's a faint picture of a bunny rabbit on the front. You think briefly of Michael downstairs, but then you see wispy strands of dark hair poking out from the top and the sides and you don't think of anything anymore except Janie, and the soaring arousal in your weeping cock.
It won't hurt to just look a little more. You shift around a bit then start easing the thin strings of her pants down the sides of her soft hips, letting your dick hang free and pointing where it desperately wants to go like the arrow of a compass. Her buttocks are soft under your palms. She mumbles something and you freeze, but then she lets out another snore and slowly, breathlessly, you inch the material down a bit more. Just a little bit, just a little look. Her pubic hair is dense but short and neatly trimmed. You can see the hood of her clitoris peeking out. It wouldn't make any difference if you took a few photos, no one would ever see them. Or better still, a video. You set it to record and move the phone over the topography of her curves, from the swell of her breasts up to the hollow at the base of her neck, from the slightly parted glossy lips to her sparkly eyelids and smudged eyeliner. Her eyes dance under her lids. She's dreaming. You relax a little, and send your camera off back down over her tit, her nipple, the dip of her bellybutton and the little jewel that rests inside it, then back down to her pussy.
If you just pulled her thong down a little more, you could spread her legs, just a bit, and get a better look. By the time it's at her ankles, you're breathing has become shallow and you nudge her thighs apart. You can see it all now, her lips are fleshy and welcoming and that dark crevice is like a magnet that draws your head down. You smell her, the scent of her sweat and the musky smell of her pussy. Just a little taste won't do any harm. She tastes clean and your head is filled with sensations, the throbbing arousal in your cock, the spinning feeling from the drink and the smell of Janie, the feel of her hair tickling your face. You lick her clitoris with the tip of your tongue for a bit and she moans and shifts again. "Michael," she whispers, and her hand comes alive for a second and finds your head then dies again with her fingers tangled in your hair.
She'll just wake up tomorrow and think she's had some fun with her boyfriend that she can't remember. That's what's sure to happen. So you're free, as long as the light stays off. If you could just rub your cock over her pussy, just a couple of times, it would be enough. You hold your breath and push down your jeans, then slowly, slowly, you straddle her sleeping figure and under the light of your phone, you touch the tip of your dick against the soft flesh of her pussy lips. You can move now, inch by inch, her pubes bristle against your dick and you'll just rub it a little more, just a few more seconds, then you'll pull off and finish yourself off and go. But your thighs are starting to ache with the effort of keeping your weight off her so you shift again, so you're kneeling between her legs. You remember her silver tipped toes, the shape of her calves in the stilettos. She is truly the most beautiful woman in the world.
Just a bit more time, that's all. Your cock slides up and down the outside of her pussy, and you close your eyes and for a moment you want to wake her, to show her how much you want her. But then you push a little harder, and your cock slips between her lips and comes to rest at the entrance to her body.
Danger! What if Michael woke up and came to bed? The door isn't locked. This is all so deliciously wrong, but you can't stop now. If you just push inside her, just a tiny bit, she'll never know, she's so relaxed she won't feel it. Then you'll pull out and finish. You look down at her tits, at the hard little nipples and remember the touch on your tongue. Her taste lingers in your mouth and your hips spur you on, the pressure on the tip of your cock is divine. She's so hot there, inside. The head slips in, just another centimetre or so, that's all you need, but as her pussy swallows you up, all thoughts have flown out of your head and it's just another push, another small push and when you feel your pubic hair meeting hers, the heat of her sucking your shaft inside, you feel that she wants this, that her body fits yours so perfectly, you were made for each other. If only she thought that as well.
You hold it there, buried inside that hot, soft channel, in right to the root, you could just hold it there for a few seconds more then pull out, she'll never know...
Just another gentle thrust, and you'll pull out...
Just one more, oh god...
Your arms are starting to shake with the effort of keeping your weight off her. You allow yourself to ease down onto your elbows. Your mouth is near her neck and you lean forward and inhale again the smell of her hair.
Just one more thrust then you'll pull out...
Just one more then you'll...
Just one more (your breath is rasping now, it's hard to keep it quiet)
Another, and it'll be the last, then you're going to pull out...
Another, and you're going to...
You're going to...
Oh God!!! You throw your head back and strangle the cry of pleasure that bubbles up your throat. Your cock is buried inside her and spurting, so hard, you can feel the pulses almost stretching the tip of your dick and the rush of liquid heat and the tingling of your nipples and it's divine, just absolutely... There are little lights dancing behind your eyelids and you let out a long shaky breath as your body shudders in the dying glow of the most intense orgasm you've ever had.
She moans a little and you pull out then, shaking. Her head lolls to the side and she shifts and sighs. You pick up your phone and stuff it into your pocket. Now your head is starting to clear, you think again about Michael downstairs and even though all you want to do is lie beside her and watch her sleep until the sun comes up, you stuff your cock back into your jeans and smooth your hands down your shirt. Taking a tissue from the box, you wipe her slit and hope that she won't leak too much. She'll think it's Michael's anyway, she'd never believe that you'd
(do something like that)
She'll never know anyway, but you have to get Michael into bed beside her too. You pull her top down again, but you leave her pants around her ankles so she'll think... Michael. You open the door and the hall light falls across Janie's body and her brow wrinkles and she turns away from the light. You go downstairs and Michael's still lying there. Someone's made a half-hearted attempt to clean the eyeliner from his face but it hasn't worked very well and the whiskers are now just big black smudges, the nose still clearly a rabbit's. You shake him, but he's out for the count. He'll be a lot heavier to carry than Janie was, and you heave him up and he stirs for a second.
"Chris," he mutters, looking at you through unfocussed eyes. "M' best mate."
You smile at him and lead him up to the bedroom. He's muttering something about going to the beach tomorrow. He thinks he's still in Tenerife. When he flops onto the bed beside Janie, he falls asleep again almost instantly. You pull off his shoes and put them on the floor, then you unbuckle his belt. You were going to take it off but you leave it unbuckled and push apart his flies. It's not so pleasant to take his cock and balls out of his boxers but you do it so when he wakes up, he'll think they got some use. Besides, he'd never dream that you'd...
You shut the door behind you on your way outside. The wind is high and lifts your hair and you feel the sweat cooling on your back. You pull out your phone and watch the video you just took, the exploration of Janie's body. Your cock hasn't quite gone down, and still remembers the touch of the areas your eyes devour. Then you phone a taxi and stand at the corner of the street. The sun will be up in a few hours, then you'll have to go to work. It feels like everything should be different, but it's not. You should feel bad, but you don't. Tomorrow should be scary, waiting for Janie to ring. But it isn't.
You run the tip of your tongue around your lips and stare off into the darkness.