11-11-2022, 01:00 PM
Short story in first person
Here I was, standing in front of his door. Despite everything that had happened between us, I thought that nothing really changed...
I remember when we first met, I was this stupid and naive girl that thought that she could change the world. I know I'm not smart, nor strong. But at least giving a helping hand to someone in need was something within my reach. So I helped him during a bad moment in his life.
With time, his situation improved, I was there to witness his growth and it made me happy, I felt like I amounted to something. Watching his glow up with me, I felt special. Eventually, I'd hang out with him at his house. Well, he still lived with his mom, but she was a good woman, raising her kid all on her own. So he helped pay the rent with her. That was something I respected about him.
One thing led to another and, when his mother would go to work during weekends, we'd hit it off. Like he liked to say, we "smashed". It was always funny to ask the other if they wanted to "smash", it made us laugh. We usually did it in the living room, on the couch. Despite being one year older than him, he was always the one on top, dominating me and making me unable to walk straight after that. On the rare occasion when I was on top, he'd give me more punishment, I never rode him, he just pumped me from under me. I loved when he made me feel like a sextoy, I loved knowing that he was getting pleased with my body. I loved feeling useful. We'd "smash" for a couple of hours. And I was a screamer, so my crotch wasn't the only thing that was sore afterward. I knew he loved when I expressed how much I loved getting "smashed". Being loud wasn't such a big deal back then.
A few years later, he found himself a girlfriend. At first, I was very happy and supportive of him. I even met her, she was a couple older than him and was an alright gal from what I could see. I still visited him during weekends, only hanging out and laughing at memes. It was... nice. I was surprised when he told me that he hasn't had any sexual acts since then, not even masturbating. I didn't question him too much about, after all it was his own life. As for me, I kept myself busy, compensating for the lack of "smashing", only doing it solo. But as their little couple was going strongly, I saw him less and less, and I didn't hide my disappointment. I couldn't even hang out with him during our weekends, since he was visiting his girlfriend. But I knew that I was being selfish, I was always possessive of the people I liked and maybe that was his way to punish me.
Then one day he sent me a text, saying that they broke up. I was in middle of a university lesson, I stormed off and called him, worried about him. I was willing to rush to him to comfort him, but he said that he was doing fine, that he just needed to talk about it a bit. I was a bit happy to learn that I was the second person he had shared the news with, the first being his mom. I was a monster for feeling happy that I was his second person in mind, I was happy that he reached me to share his wound. At least I was also sad that they broke up, holding a grudge against his ex. I was probably acting like an older sister during that moment.
Time passed and everything went back to normal, for the most part. I was a bit surprised when he named his kitten after me, and was a bit bothersome when we'd "smash" and the little pet would rub against me, sometimes staring at me. It was a bit of a turn off when we stared at each other while I was getting butt fucked. One time, that little shit hissed at me when I was screaming his name. I always preferred dogs anyway.
But recently, something happened in his family, forcing him and his mother to host an uncle who was barely older than me. I didn't see him much, but I came to despise him. From what I learnt during outdoor escapades, the uncle was a deadbeat. Refusing to work, nor contribute to the house chores. He was supposed to look for a new home, but hasn't done much. It was irritating me since that uncle would laze in the house, sleeping during the morning weekends. Our little routine was greatly perturbed, no more couch sex, and no more foreplay either, since I was a screamer. Despite my aversion to blowjobs, I once tried to give one, only to be almost caught by the uncle who was walking around the house. I thought about bringing to sex in the bedroom or at my place, but it wasn't the same. Our "smashing" sessions were a casual occurrence, it would happen if the both of us were feeling like it, and changing places to do it would immediately kill the mood.
The last time we had a clear window to fool around, I couldn't get wet, even with a bit of stimulation, I couldn't. I wasn't excited and I was frustrated. It threw him off and I quickly left. From that point, we started drifting apart, the situation worsened when we got conflicting schedules and too much work on our own side. We texted less and less. I tried to keep the relation as best as a I could, but I felt guilty. Was it because I never confessed to him? Was it because I got to care less? I only fooled around with him, thinking that it would have been fine. But the recent events led to more frustration, leading to deprive me from excitement, from arousal. Did I still want him after our dry incident?
And so, back to the present, I stood there, in front of his door. I took a deep breath and rang the bell. It was time that I opened to up and shared my feelings.