SEXUAL CONTENT
Yesterday when all three of you had been gathered in the living room to watch a movie (Contempt, with Brigitte Bardot, who you feel ambivalent about), you sat in the middle, between your friend and your boyfriend. You leaned against Aubrey's side, your head on his shoulder. He was warm. The girl was to your right and you could feel her looking at you. You watched the screen intently, only daring to exchange glances with her once. She had smiled widely at you. The world was over-sharp as you were very conscious not to show the wrong amount of interest in either party. It was stressful. This wasn't something you anticipated. Afterward, when Mallory left, you waved your boyfriend off claiming, truthfully, exhaustion and let the bed gobble you up for the night, though it wasn't yet eleven.
Today you sit on the soft edge of what has become your second bed. It's covered in a tattered, orange quilted thing that is old, you can tell just from looking at it. You like it. The girl comes into the room, tearing your attention from her bedding to her naked body. She is slim and has what you've come to realize is an hourglass figure, though there's not much to her. She has perfectly white skin and small breasts tipped in pink. You smile at her as she draws near and place your hands on her hips, standing as you do so. With just a small amount of force, you pull her into you. Your hands slide to the small of her back. You wonder at how soft she feels. There is much more give than there is with a man. She kisses you and you kiss her. You pull her gently onto the bed with you. No one says a word, but you listen to her breathing and watch the way she moves, the way her muscles tighten as she presses a hand to your chest and lies you flat on the bed. She straddles you.
At this point, you have lost count of the number of times you have fucked each other. Despite that, however, it remains unfamiliar. You know how she will kiss you, but you don't want it when you aren't sitting on her bed. It's not her embrace you find yourself wistfully thinking of in quiet moments when you're alone. You like her, yes. She's your friend. She's attractive. You have fun with her. But, outside of her room, most of your thoughts including her are anxious worryings that tumble fitfully through your mind.
But you are here. Her legs are strong. You grin at her and move your hands up her thighs. She rocks herself against you, her breasts brushing against your chest, and you are immediately aroused, you feel it pulling at you. It's that easy. You reach up to bring her in for a deep, desperate kiss, pushing your pelvis against hers by instinct. There are several moments only punctuated by the sounds of ragged breath and of her lips on yours. You want her. You tell her so. You tell her that you want to fuck.
Her hair tickles your face and in one smooth movement she guides your cock inside of her. She is wet. She is warm and feels better than you remember. You bite her bottom lip. Your lust feels desperate and urgent. She begins to move again, eliciting a moan from your mouth. A thought flashes in your mind. Aubrey. You ignore it, shove it to a distant corner of your mind, and focus on the tactile feel of Mallory's stomach, her breasts. Her mouth is close to yours, her breath hot on your face. She makes little sounds of pleasure. You fuck her hard. You take hold of her pelvis, her sharp bones in your hands. You want to be closer to her, but there is nowhere closer.
All you can do is say her name, and you do. Mallory.