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The afternoon quickie session with Douglas



Sim just returned from a boring lecture in school, and the cool breeze was doing things to the lower part of her body until she got interrupted by Douglas in a good way.

No one gave much thought to what Mr. Olu said. He spoke very mildly and calmly, as though he spoke to himself, he spoke as though the words were heavy for him to say. He will stand in his oversized worn out coat, and read remotely from his book.

The book that he was going to make us buy by hook or by crook,

“Your exams are going to be from this text book, you all better get yourselves a copy” His voice always sounded rusty.

He spoke for thirty more minutes before he dismissed the class. I couldn’t wait to get home, the hunger was overwhelming, I have had to trek from the schools premises to my house, and bless the heavens there was light.

I rushed in and switched over the metre. I ran down and turned on the stabilizer and the house theatre came on with standing fan. I felt a sense of ease flowing through my spines, the weather wasn’t friendly. I sat on my bed and took off my shirt and pushed my skirt up so the freshness of nature could drove its way in.

My legs felt numb, probably because I had walked a long distance or because it’s been forever since I had sex.

It felt like the breeze from the fan was fiddling with the top of my vagina, surfacing its thumbs (if it had one) round and round, teasing my very existence. I felt the urge to touch myself, to pleasure myself hard.

My eyes closed, my hands already in my bra, my cold and ever moist palms circled my nipples, I heard myself mourn I felt my clits contract, beating at same pace as my heart, my breathing built. I was about to pull off my bra when I heard a knock on the door.

“Crap” I thought, “people and bad timing… Who is it?” I asked dragging my skirt down and looking for my shirt.

“Who is it”?

“It’s Douglas”

“Oh, okay, I be there shortly.” I replied still confused as to where I had kept my shirt, now that I look at my room it looks, Emm not arranged seems appropriate and now I got a nigga coming in, and not just any nigga, Douglas, oh no, Douglas, I hope he’s just gonna see me at the door.

After a few more seconds of trying to phantom where I had swung my shirt I took another from the wardrobe. I pulled the door knob and open the door bolt.

The look of his smile slapped my face, a cool slap though, the kind that hurts in very pleasurable way, the kind of slap you wanna always have, the type the cold does on harmattan. He had the perfectly well arranged teeth, his lips are pink; there are days I stare at them and imagined they tasted like strawberries or a well prepared pineapple juice.

I had made one a few days ago and while drinking it I closed my eyes and imagined I was kissing him. He looked handmade, like the heavens had used a hammer and chisel to carve and mold his physique, and there he was standing in front me smiling that smile, the very one that drove me nuts.

“So… you gonna let me in or….?

“Oh I am sorry, I…. Didn’t, sorry… Come in” I moved aside to make way for him to pass, I glanced from behind him, I did a quick recon to ensure I hadn’t left a pant or bra unattended anywhere.

“Took you forever to answer the door, if I didn’t know better I would say you were masturbating” he said as turned to look at me and he chuckled.

“Ha ha, very funny” I replied and my mind did a crash course flashback, well didn’t masturbate, I was gonna but didn’t so technically he isn’t correct.

“So what brought you to my troll house?”

“If you call this a troll house then mine will be a sewage dump for trolls”

“Well, what’s up, you just disappeared from class just wanted to ensure you weren’t rushing home to another guy.”

“Yeah you just missed him, we had a quickie” I said

“You did?” He said and walked closely to me

“Yes, we did, if you were early we would have generously let you watch”

“You would” He said

“Yes” my voice trembled, he was close now, very close, his broad shoulders clouded me, he was tall, very tall.

He stared straight into my eyes, I saw what he felt, well not in his eyes, from his zipper, it popped up slowly and I knew his game was on, down below, right there between his legs was his real face.

He slipped his right hand around my waist and in that instant my oxygen ran out, my body temperature dropped, cold ran through my joints, trace of ice spread wide through my spine, I took a deep breath and attempted to take his hands off, I didn’t want to, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna just let him take me.

He didn’t let go, my knee became literally numb now, the standing fan rotated down and it blew my skirt and some of the breeze found its way through and felt my clits pounding again.

He pushed me closer now his body pressing mine, he slid his left thumb across my lips, his palm was cold, he pushed the strings of hair hanging around my face and drown his lips to mine. My head traveled to a planet far away from earth.

I wasn’t thinking my thoughts anymore, his tongues did the thinking, I closed my eyes and imagined the pineapple juice and in that moment I realized the juice wasn’t as tasty. I felt a thousand sparks go off in my head, like a firecracker only that they were making banging sounds.

He held my waist with his hands and sprung me up, my legs gripped his waist, and he walked slowly towards the bed. I felt my hard nipples struggling to make its way out of the bra, my body felt tiny itches, the smell of his cologne made it easy down my nose, it served like some kind of ecstasy it drove in more urge.

He laid me mildly on the bed, my arms still around his neck, my legs spread he slid in his left leg between my thighs fiddling my vagina, gently sliding up and down his knee cap, his took off my blouse and like a pro he had unpinned my bra, and he bent over to kiss me.

“Take me Doug, take my train to Orlando” I said my voice shaky.

“Sure Sim, I am gonna take your train go way pass Orlando to the middle of the pacific” he replied and smiled.

He kissed my hard nipple gently and slowly, he paid attention, he listened and kissed to the tune of melancholic mourning rhythm as it escaped my lips.

“Fuck me” I say and took a sloppy like kiss

“Fuck me” and he does it again.

I took long and lengthy breath, he kissed down to my stomach, and he slid his middle finger inside of me, my waist pulled up, I saw my ceiling climbing higher, it no longer stood still it went in circles and in never ending heights, he kissed the surface and slid his fingers in, this time his index and middle finger and the tension climbed.

The room became smaller at each stroke, I found myself groping for words. I gripped my breasts and kissed the nipples. I felt as though I was swimming in the clouds, like the world had gone upside down. “Oh my”.

He pushed my legs up and he took a pillow and slid it under my waist, with both his hands supporting my waist, he slid his penis in, it hit the walls of my vagina and the songs of sexual cravings clouded my thoughts; I was having sexual healing.

My legs gripped his waist and with each strokes, I felt the pleasure climbing, it climbed higher to distances I never before met, he didn’t kid when he said my train will go past Orlando. I could perceive the stench of pleasure as the fan circulates it round the room. As he stroked I heard my moaning louder and he smiled he felt proud, his ego was fed by the songs of sex I sang and he kept building up pace, I knew our heart had synchronized same beats when his strokes were pounding as fast as my heart.

Climbing higher by the second, and then he dragged me up to a sitting position and with his hands support in my waist he pulled up and down, and I heard my boobs clap. He gripped them and squeezed the nipple and my head pulled back, my breathing was hard, it began to escape through my lips in rhythmic tunes, chanting languages of probably ancient Greek. His eyes grew wider.

I kissed him and his lips tasted anew, like the juice only with honey, sugar and a lot of horny in it, I fiddled his nipple, and I heard him moan, I pushed him to his back and kissed his neck down to his nipple, he pushed me closer, I could hear the urge from his mourning sounds and felt it from the heat has skin emit.

I sat back up and twerked on his lap with his penis still inside of me,

“Fuck” he said and he sat back up pushing me to my back, he pulled out and took out two pillows from the bed and turned my belly facing down and supported my waist with the pillows again and he went in from behind, my brain froze, I sunk my face into the bed, I was chewing the bedspread and it didn’t seem so, he went in and speedy, my vagina felt a burning sensation.

He kept on going and I was screaming now, his adrenaline was pumped now he was fucking me I thought, then he slowed and made some chanting, pulled close and close and I felt him cum inside of me, and then he stoked it in a few moments more and he pulled off.

I laid straight down with my legs spread, I needed the fan now, not for pleasure no, it needed to cool off the steam, my vagina felt heated.

Like he knew he looked me, placed my legs on top his laps to ensure better ventilation and smiled

“Perhaps the quickie wasn’t this good, perhaps it was, but I know you didn’t need a fan to cool off”

I looked up and saw my shirt hanging on the bathroom door, I shook my head and enjoyed the feeling of him racing his fingers on my thighs.

Victor Fungai Muzvidzwa is the founder and senior editor of magazine.

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REAL LIFE STORIES: I slept with my daughter’s boyfriend



Trapped and lonely after almost 20 years of marriage, Mary-Jane Clare faced temptation – and couldn’t resist. Here the 39-year-old mum-of-six from Oxford recalls the affair that tore her family apart.

‘Sitting side-by side on the couch his thigh brushed mine. I knew it was wrong but it was thrilling and dangerous and I couldn’t fight the passion.

I’d been married to Mark for 18 years and we had six children, but our relationship had turned stale. We hardly talked and rarely had sex.

Even when we did it was dull. I would just lie there, thinking about what I was going to give the kids for tea.

I was crying out for attention and when David noticed me, I couldn’t resist. There was only one problem – he was my 18-year-old daughter’s boyfriend. Vikki met David, 20, at school. He seemed nice and I was pleased she had found herself a decent boyfriend. The three of us would do puzzles or watch TV while Mark was at work in the evenings.

After a while we agreed that David could move in and they were old enough to share a room. Vikki was ecstatic, and it felt great to be able to make them both so happy.

David was unemployed and would spend the day at home with me as I looked after my four youngest children.

Then one day I was taking time away from the chores when I logged on to the internet and a message popped up on my screen from David, who must have been online in the other room.

“I hope you’re taking a well-earned break,” it said. “Just a little one, and then straight back to it,” I replied.

It seemed silly to be emailing each other from rooms in the same house, but I soon realised that David needed to tell me something he wasn’t able to say face-to-face.

“I can’t help thinking there might be something between us,” he said. “Do you like me?”

I thought back to all the times when I had caught his eye and he gave me a sneaky wink and the way he would lean in really close when we talked.

I’d wondered if there was anything in it, but dismissed it, telling myself I was just lonely.

And anyway, he was my daughter’s boyfriend…

But here he was, telling me he cared for me. I couldn’t remember the last time my husband had told me that.

I nervously typed “yes” and soon I found myself telling him how lonely and unhappy I was in my marriage.

David really seemed to care about me and as we talked my feelings grew. But we were still only able to express our secrets online.

Until, after two days of online talking, I decided to act. I knew I should feel guilty but all I could see was the chance for happiness so I walked into his and Vikki’s bedroom.

We still couldn’t say the words we wanted to out loud. Instead we slowly peeled off each other’s clothes and made love. It was fun and exciting, but mostly it felt good to be wanted by a man – a young one at that. I was almost 40 and David was 19 years younger than me.

I never stopped loving my husband, but I knew I was falling in love with David. “This is cosy,” he grinned afterwards, kissing me as we lay together in my daughter’s bed.

Only a few days after we had sex, we all went to a karaoke night at the local community club.

Seeing Vikki with David, I was suddenly overcome by guilt. Not only had I cheated on my husband, but I was in love with my daughter’s boyfriend.

Needing to get it off my chest, I confided in a friend. I told her I was thinking of leaving Mark, when a voice bellowed over my shoulder “You cheated on my dad!”

It was my oldest daughter, Kayley. “What?” I heard Vikki gasp as Kayley told her what she’d heard. “Mum and my David?”

Vikki marched towards me. I knew guilt was etched all over my face, there was no denying it now. Mark stood, stony-faced, even now he can’t tell me how he felt at that moment. I don’t know how, but I took David by the arm and announced that I was moving out with him and taking the kids with me.

I couldn’t look at Vikki, but David mouthed “I’m sorry,” as we walked by. We moved out straight away, and even when Vikki called my mobile the next day, I didn’t allow myself to think about how she might be feeling.

I had spent so many years thinking of my family. “Don’t worry,” David told me. “I’ll look after you now.”

Then, a couple of days later, Mark turned up at the door looking devastated.

But he didn’t have anything to say. I wanted him to beg me to go back, to show me he wanted me, but he didn’t, so I asked him to leave.

I missed him and Vikki but David seemed to offer so much more.

But David still didn’t have a job and money was tight. In the end I had no choice but to take my children back home.

Mark ignored me and Vikki seemed to hate me but I knew it was all my own fault.

But I missed David and I could barely believe it when Mark agreed to my suggestion that he move in. Soon David and I spent our time upstairs having sex in our room while Mark and Vikki sat downstairs watching TV.

I never stopped to think what I was doing to them until one day, Mark snapped and threw us out. This time I had to leave the children with Mark and it broke my heart. But me and David were happy and he promised to stand by me.

In the street people stared, but we ignored it. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. But David started spending too much of the little money we had on booze.

I’m not sure what made me come to my senses, but when David was out buying milk, I found myself calling home.

Mark answered, and I told him that David had changed and I was worried about his drinking. “Pack your bags, and come home before he tries to talk you out of it,” he said.

He was finally putting his foot down. I wasn’t sure if he could forgive me but he was showing some fight. Back home I kept saying: “I’m so sorry”. It wasn’t enough but I hoped that given time, I could make it up to them. It wasn’t that simple for me and Vikki. She moved out and refused to forgive me. I know how terrible my betrayal was and I’m not expecting anything soon.

Mark and I had a long talk and I told him how I’d felt before starting the affair with David. Finally, he showed me the love and affection I’d craved for so many years.

Now we make a big effort to talk and express our feelings. We go out for long walks and our sex life is better than ever.

I realise my affair was the biggest mistake of my life and I feel so lucky my husband was took me back. Not many men could find it in their hearts.’

David says: “I regret my relationship with Mary-Jane. We should have left it as a one-night stand, but we pursued a relationship that was never going to work.

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SEX CONFESSIONS: The First Time I Had Sex For Money



When people think of a prostitute they generally visualise a woman in a short skirt and fishnet stockings walking the street, getting into strangers cars. They also think that the women who do this kind of work are uneducated, from low socioeconomic backgrounds, drugs addicts – the list goes on. People also think that the only type of clients who see prostitutes are dirty, unattractive, seedy old men.

Well, let me shatter any preconceptions you may have and fill you in on the truth.

I didn’t grow up in a poor household but we certainly weren’t rich. I came from a middle-class family and I was educated at private schools.

My parents divorced when I was thirteen. My mum ran off with another man and my dad started having sex with anything that moved.

I started becoming curious about sex and became sexually active in my early teens. I ran away from home a few years later and I started dating different guys. I was essentially sleeping with them to keep a roof over my head.

It was at this point, at around sixteen years old, that I first thought about exchanging sex for money. I mean, I was already sleeping with men so that I would have food and somewhere to stay – why not just sleep with them and get actual cash money?

I had seen some advertisements in the local newspaper for some pretty classy parlours and when I called, they asked me how old I was and I told them the truth. Sadly, they told me to call back in a couple of years once I was eighteen.

I put the thought to the back of my mind and pretty much forgot about it – until I was eighteen and down to my last R500.

Being a full time student and supporting yourself living out of home isn’t easy. I tried to find work that would fit in with my hours at college but no one would hire me. While I was flipping through the newspaper looking for a job, I came across the adult section once again.

I found an advertisement for what looked like a decent place. I called the number and a softly spoken yet husky sounding receptionist answered. I told her that I was looking for work and she gave me some more information about the job. She seemed nice and made me feel comfortable and at ease. I was told that I needed to come in for an interview and the receptionist scheduled me in for the very next day.

I was nervous but also excited at the same time and I even thought about cancelling. I tried to convince myself that I was crazy for even contemplating doing that type of work but the fact was, I had R500 to my name and I needed to get an income so that I could continue my studies.

I arrived at the establishment and was met by the sheepish receptionist I had spoken with on the phone. The place was gorgeous. It was modern, clean and even had a fully stocked bar. The owner, an older Italian gentleman introduced himself to me, sat me down, made a cappuccino for me and had a general chat explaining what was expected of me and how much I would get paid. He seemed extremely pleased with me and told me that I could start the very next day.

After leaving the premises, I decided that I had to buy a sexy outfit or some lingerie to wear for my first shift. I found a small boutique lingerie store and found a little dress which was light pink with black pinstripe and had a matching pair of panties. I used the last money I had to purchase the outfit. No chance I could back out now – I had no money left whatsoever and just enough petrol to get me to ‘work.’

I arrived for my first shift and was taken to a room where all the ladies got ready and was also the place where they spent their time in between job. There were only a couple of ladies there as it was early, around 10am. We each applied our make up and put on our lingerie while chatting.

I asked one of the ladies what her first time was like, meaning her first time being paid for sex. She laughed and said ‘I don’t even remember the first.’ Which is odd, because I remember my first – it’s a pretty significant point in your life.

The bell rung which meant that we needed to walk out in a line to present ourselves to the client which made me feel as if we were cattle walking in a line to show off our A+ grade rumps.

I followed the two ladies and we each walked up to the client and introduced ourselves. I had decided to call myself Honey because I had just seen the dance movie with the same name starring Jessica Alba and I had the same style of hair she had in the movie and the same figure, plus it sounded cute.

When I met the client, I was shocked. He was a young, extremely good looking European man. He was wearing a Ferrari jacket, like a race type jacket. We made eye contact, I shook his hand and told him my name to which he smiled back and decided he wanted me.

Wow. This was really happening. We walked to the lavish room together making small talk on the way. The first thing I was told to do at the beginning of a booking was a health check. I had to look around his genitals for any signs of infection or disease, so basically looking for any lumps, bumps, cuts etc. Luckily his personal hygiene was great and he was also clean shaven which made it much easier for the check.

He had a shower and then laid down on the bed. I was nervous, but sex has always come so naturally to me, perhaps it’s the Scorpio in me. I imagined he was just someone I had met in the real world and was having a one night stand with – it worked.

I undressed as he watched, it was a turn on for me to see how hot and bothered he became as I stood there in my nakedness. The fact that this gorgeous guy was also paying me to sleep with him also added to my excitement. It made me feel as if I had a type of power of him. It was really sexy.

I walked over and climbed onto the bed. I began kissing and licking his body from his stomach, next to his belly button, up his torso an onto his nipples. I sucked and nibbled them lightly and then made my way up to his neck, running my tongue up to his ear and gently sucking on his earlobe.

I rolled on a condom while keeping him focused on the pleasure he was feeling from the kisses. He then grabbed my neck and pulled my mouth to his, kissing me deeply, intently and passionately. This took me by surprise, I didn’t think there would be any kissing, after all, that’s what Julia Roberts taught us from Pretty Woman right? ‘No kissing, it’s to personal.’

I worked my way back down his body, to his inner thigh. He shivered and goosebumps appeared over his skin as I ran my tongue up the thigh, to the delicate fold of skin between his leg and genitals.

I took his cock into my mouth and started sucking slowly at first while my tongue traced circles around the top of his shaft. I began moving faster but I could tell he was very close to climax, so I stopped.

I waited a moment for him to calm down and then I climbed on top, straddling him as my pussy slid gently down his sheathed cock.

I began to grind and rock my body back and forth, rubbing my clit on his pubic bone as I moaned – but within 30 seconds, he exploded.

Wait. That was it? I just got paid – for that? That was so easy and it was all over?!

After he came, I told him to lay on his stomach so that I could give him a massage and while I was rubbing his back, we talked about him. He told me he was a race car driver which I naively believed at first, but over time, I realised all men come prepared with a story they can tell the woman, to wow us, to make him feel more important. This clients fantasy was that he was a masculine, race car driver. Good for him.

We both showered, he thanked me and then he left not long after that. I went back into the change room and sat down whilst comprehending the events that had just unfolded. ‘Wow. That was nothing to be scared of. I think I am going to enjoy this work,’ I thought to myself.

Over the years, I have worked in many different types of adult jobs. I have been a sex worker, an erotic masseuse, a stripper, a web cam model and a few other things.

So – back to the beginning of the story! I am an educated woman, from a middle class family, I didn’t become a sex worker because of drugs or because someone forced me into it. Sure the circumstances were that I needed the money to support myself while studying, but I assume money is generally the reason anybody gets into sex work. I have never walked the streets or done anything that goes against my morals and I’ve never let a client degrade me.

The clients that see women in the adult industry vary. They vary in age, ethnicity, size and shape but one things applies to the majority of them – they are normal, everyday people. They are husbands, boyfriends and fathers. Some work in an office while others work in a physical job like construction. Some are high powered at the top of the chain and others are just entry level.

They can be anyone and they don’t just see sex workers for sexual relief. At times, some just want to feel the affection that they aren’t getting from their partner anymore, or to feel that they have someone to listen to their problems and help try to make them feel better.

The clients are normal people, just as sex workers are. You’ve probably noticed I’m using the term ‘Sex Worker.’ That is because that is what we should be called, because that is what we are to our clients. To them we are not just sex on a stick – we are their girlfriend or wife, we are their therapist or life coach, we are their friend in their time of need – even if it’s only for the hour.

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CONFESSIONS: Here’s What Happened When I Slept With My Best Friend



Neither of us intended for it to happen.

Katie had been my best friend since childhood. It was a friendship first orchestrated by our parents. We ran around in our diapers and watched Barney, or whatever it is you do when you’re a very small human. We attended each other’s birthday parties and continued having playdates, even when we learned about cooties.

I don’t remember a time in my life when Katie wasn’t part of it.

There’s this thing that happens when you’re a heterosexual guy and one of your closest friends is a girl: you think about fucking her.

I know that sounds gross. Sometimes we men are gross. It doesn’t mean you ever act on it. It also doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of a genuine friendship. But yes, it’s something that you think about at least once. It’ll cross your mind.

The first time I looked at Katie differently was during puberty. I could blame the hormones, but Katie’s also just an obscenely beautiful person. And not just physically. Katie is kind and sweet and everything that equates to perfect Girl Next Door.

But she was my best friend and any inappropriate thoughts I had I learned to control. That’s just what you do when you have a super hot friend. You train yourself to not focus on the hotness.

I was sort of the Gordo to her Lizzie McGuire.

Yeah, I thought she was cute, but most importantly, she was my friend. We survived high school together. Instead of attending our prom, we held our own very 90s movie inspired Anti-Prom Prom. She wore all black and I wore my converse. We ate popcorn and watched shitty movies all night. It was perfect. I couldn’t have imagined a better night.

When it was time for college, we landed at schools in different time zones. I was accepted to NYU and she went to The University of Texas at Austin. It was the first time we’d been apart for that length of time. We promised to stay in touch and Facetime and text. But college happens and we got sucked into our new lives.

The contact became less frequent. We weren’t talking on the phone anymore. It was a ‘like’ here or there. Someone would send a text about something crazy that happened, but the conversation would quickly fizzle out.

During our sophomore year, we were both home for winter vacation. The previous year she’d gone away with her family and spent the summer break in a study abroad program. We’d barely seen each other since leaving for college. But we were both home for a month at the same time so she texted me about catching up. I picked her up from the airport and was pleasantly surprised at how quickly we fell back into a familiar pattern. It was like no time had passed. She was still the same Katie that had been my best friend my whole life.

One night, whatever was left of our group of high school friends congregated in our stoner friend Paul’s garage. His parents were always pretty lax about what we did and unless something was on fire didn’t even check in. Katie made everyone screwdrivers and we spent the night reminiscing and being obnoxious.

By 3 am, people were starting to fall asleep or call Ubers to go home. Despite being bartender for the night, Katie wasn’t drinking. Her mom was a recovering alcoholic so Katie preferred to stay sober. I was a shade under tipsy. Wouldn’t have driven but definitely wasn’t drunk. Katie offered to drive me home.

During the drive, she told me about a guy she met in one of her classes. They’d apparently hooked up a few times and she liked him, but wasn’t really sure what he felt. I gave her my standard advice (“Guys are terrible, don’t trust them”) and she laughed.

“Why can’t they all be like you?”

I don’t know if it was all the time away from each other or the fact that I’d been awake for nearly 24 hours, but I couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to kiss her. She has these heart shaped lips that always form such a perfect pout. I wondered if they were soft. I could kiss her gently. I could slam her against the wall, if that’s what she wanted.

A mile or so from my house, Katie suddenly veered left. To get to my house, you go right. I asked if she forgot where she was going.

She shot me back this smile I hadn’t seen from her before. Never intended for me, that is. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she was flirting with me. And turns out, she was.

She pulled over on a street that dead ends. There weren’t any streetlights and I assumed everyone in the nearby houses were sleeping, so it was practically total darkness. We were both silent.

I wanted to kiss her and had she been anyone else, I would have made my move instantly. But this was Katie. The girl I had sleepovers with when I was nine and brought me soup and the homework I missed when I was out of school for a month with mono. This was Katie.

I awkwardly fumbled and started talking Netflix’s TV model and how eventually cable will be a thing of the past because apparently that was worthy of mentioning?? But Katie stepped in. She kissed me. And I kissed her back. It went from there.

I’ll spare you the details because hooking up in a car is never as sexy as it’s advertised to be. But there was something undeniable about it: Katie and I had something. Whatever our relationship had been, well, it was different now.

I could tell you about what happened after. I could tell you about the nervous giggling and the week of pretending nothing happened. I could tell you about going back to college and missing her. I could tell you about the phone call at midnight. I could tell you about deciding we were going to visit each other. I could tell you about flying to see her in Texas. I could tell you about the confessions and the kissing and the sex in places that weren’t cars. But that would take far too long. And you’re not interested in hearing years worth of stories.

But what I will tell you? Katie and I effectively ruined our platonic friendship that night.

Because we’re getting married this summer.

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