Thinking that she would consider having sex with me was like imagining filling up on an omelette made from hummingbird eggs… where the fuck did I come up with that? I must have read it at one time or another. Maybe my lack of originality is what stood in the way of fulfilling my sex-drenched dreams of having my way with her.
Ok. Yes, I did. I couldn’t control it! I did get an erection when we slow-danced in high school, but she didn’t move away. I was not exactly huge down there but she had to feel it… and she didn’t move away. Doesn’t that count for something? I mean, when you think about it, there is only the thinnest of fabrics between. That’s a bit creepy but this sort of thing happens when hormones are left uncontrolled by sexual satisfaction.
Over the years, I have made a few vain attempts but they were greeted by, “We are such good friends. I would not want to do anything to jeopardize that.” Oh, for fucks’ sake! How about my mental stability and the off-chance that I might die from exploding testicles? Did she ever think about putting my entire life in jeopardy? How does that compare when balanced by a mere friendship?
Suffering as I do, my longevity is certainly compromised. You would think that just for humanitarian reasons, she could do… well, anything. A handjob, a blowjob, dry humping… I would take anything. She is coming over for lunch today… with her wife.
