Never predicted my first kiss, despite craving my biology classmate, Sophie Cockshot. Nose ring. Lips to drown in. Gorgeous.
We hung out. Studied at hers. Joked over family dinners.
Guess the signs were kinda obvious.
My opportunity to nuke FriendZone came at their Christmas party. Alcohol flowed. Flirting followed.
She signalled me upstairs. Lust responded.
The bedroom’s sanctuary muffled chattering guests. She whirled on me, guiding my grip on the mistletoe sprig an inch above auburn locks, giggling, “It’s tradition.”
Gazing up, she unzipped me. Kissed my shaft rigid, then hungrily choked and slurped as I groaned, “Ohhh, Mrs Cockshot.”
