Gustavus Adolphus Day

"Fuuuuckk..."

Riley's voice sounded painful, headache-inducing not for being high-pitched or even overly loud, though it cut through the noise of John's shower easily as she staggered into the bathroom, accompanied by a change of light, the mid-morning sun pouring in from behind her, but more for how it triggered latent memories of his own experiences with being hungover. He shook his head slightly before leaning it back into the flow of the hot water, letting the shampoo he had just finished working into his hair be rinsed out and start to trickle down his body.

Closing his eyes to shield them from the suds, he had to rely on the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back, followed by the unmistakable sensation of another body coming near his own to know Riley had entered the shower. He opened his eyes again just as her hands made contact with his torso and confirmed it: a few inches in front of himself, naked and as gorgeous as ever despite the sleepiness of her eyes, stood Riley.

"Good morning," he greeted her, "I take it you're feeling a bit hungover."

Her answer came first in the form of a kiss planted on his lips as she drew towards him, pressing her body against his under the hot water, only when she had gotten sufficiently wet to be followed by a verbal response. "I've had worse," she said.

"Kisses or hangovers?" John responded, reaching past her to grab a bottle of body wash.

She smiled, then responded, "Both," as John began spreading body wash over his body. "Do me?" She turned to face away from him.

"Very forward of you," he replied. "I guess you're not that hungover."

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "I meant with the soap. You can do me after."

He squirted some body wash into his cupped hand; it was cold but quickly warmed up as he replaced the bottle and then began spreading it onto Riley's body, starting on her neck, which elicited a tiny shiver, then down her shoulders and to her back before his hands parted ways, on remaining on her back side while the other snaked around under her arm and began soaping the front of her torso. "So," he began as Riley scooped up some of the soap and spread it down one arm and then the other, "no other negative consequences from drinking?"

"What do you mean?" she asked as his hands wandered down her body.

"Nothing, really," he replied cautiously, "just alcohol can, well, sometimes get us to act a bit, I don't know, recklessly? Out of character, maybe?"

"You mean do I regret fucking a girl?" she asked.

"Nnnn," John made a non-committal noise as a response, which prompted her, after far too long, he felt, to turn and look into his eyes.

"You didn't enjoy it?" she asked.

"On the contrary," he responded, "I quite enjoyed it. I'm a little surprised you did..."

She squeezed past him, forcing him out of the warmth of the shower to take his place and rinse herself off. She ran her hands over her body for a few seconds, no doubt for his benefit as much as her own as the soap bubbles slid down to the floor of the tub, then shrugged. "Everybody likes getting their dick sucked."

"Fair enough," he responded, drawing in close to her again and wrapping his arms around her. "I was thinking more like maybe regretting fucking someone you know. You know, like, someone who knows you. Knows you're engaged."

Her response, another shrug as she closed her eyes and threw her head back to wet her hair under the shower, was frustratingly insufficient.

"People talk, you know," he said.

She returned her head to its normal position and opened her eyes. "Some people, yes," she replied, matter-of-fact.

"Melody strike you as a particularly reliable confidant?" he asked. The warm water, though only reaching his arms, felt especially good dribbling down her back and he couldn't help following its flow down to her shapely ass.

"Not particularly, no," she answered.

He let out a frustrated sigh, not knowing where to begin.

"But," Riley said, looking him directly in the eyes, "in this case I think she'd do well to keep her mouth shut. And she may be a fucking idiot but even she knows that."

"And why do you say that?" John asked.

"Why do I say she's an idiot?" Riley asked.

John's only response was a look.

She rolled her eyes. "Because if word were to get around about us, then it would surely get around about her. And it wouldn't be long, I assure you, that that word got around to her boyfriend, as well." Riley's voice carried no hint of either sarcasm or anger as she reached past John to grab a bottle of shampoo.

"Her boyfriend?"

Riley squirted a glob of shampoo into her hand before continuing. "And I think he's unlikely to keep paying her rent if he finds out about last night's little rendezvous. So, yes, I think she'll keep her luscious little cocksucking lips closed." She started smearing the shampoo into her hair, casually pushing John a step back to give herself space. "Now I need to wash my hair."

"You want some help with that?" he asked.

She considered him for a few moments. "I don't think our relationship has reached that level of intimacy yet," she said finally.

Our relationship? Is that what this is? He watched silently, her eyes not moving from him, as she systematically worked the shampoo throughout her hair.

"Just the level where we fuck one of your coworkers together?" he asked as she leaned back into the water, running her hands through her hair and rinsing out the shampoo, letting the soapy water run this way and that until the last of the bubbles had been washed way.

She pushed wet strands of hair away from her face, opening her eyes once again to look directly into his. "Is that level not enough for you?"

He found this question frustratingly difficult to answer, becoming very aware of just how cold it was to be wet but not directly in the shower as Riley picked up the bottle of body wash and squirted a few drops into her hand. He watched her reach behind herself, her arm moving awkwardly as she worked the soapy goo into her asshole, then change her motions, holding her ass cheeks apart with one hand while she rinsed with the other, her eyes never leaving his.

"And what if it's not?" he asked finally as she finished cleaning herself. "Are you actually going to leave him, or what? Do you plan on keeping me as a side piece after you get married?"

While he spoke, she had busied herself by squirting more body wash into her hand, this time a more generous glob of the stuff. When he had finished, feeling simultaneously that there was more to be said and that he would never find the words, she reached out her hand and placed it on his cock, sending a chill running up into his guts before the heat from her hand and his dick combined to warm the liquid up. She started gently working the liquid up and down his shaft, his body reacting automatically to the sensation. She said nothing, only watched her own hand work as he grew harder and harder in her fingers.

"Well?" he sputtered.

She leaned in close to him, her body warm and wet, and planted a soft kiss on his chest, then another and another, working across his chest to his shoulder and then up his neck, her hand only slightly speeding up as she gripped his now almost completely hard shaft. Her fingers slid sensually over the ridge of his cock head and back, back and forth as the water slowly washed away her improvised lubricant.

Her kisses had reached his face and so she jumped directly to his lips, her lips pressing hard against his and extended her tongue into his mouth. It took a few moments for his brain to overcome the sensations enough for him to push her away, though her hand remained tightly wrapped around his member even as she took a step back, once again looking into her eyes.

"So?" he asked.

"Actually, fuck it," she said, "do me now."

"Are you serious?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"Stop talking and fucking put your cock up my ass," she demanded. "Now!" She spun, finally releasing his cock and placing her palms against the wall, pushing her ass back towards him.

"Will you just talk to me?" he asked, not trying to hide his exasperation.

"Talk later," she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder as the shower splashed on her back, "fuck now."

Any further objections he might have had were overcome by the desire he felt seeing her under the shower, water flowing over the curve of her ass. His cock, already at full attention, demanded entrance into her and his brain was in no position to deny that demand. He moved to her, pressing against her hot body. His cock pressed into her balls and he reached around her, putting one hand on her chest, while his other hand slid his cock head up into her ass crack.

He toyed with her nipples, first one, then the other, then back again, as he slid his cock head up and down her crack, eliciting a shiver each time it moved slowly over her asshole. "Put it in," she moaned. "Stop teasing me and fuck my asshole."

He chuckled and she pushed back against him, trying to force his cock inside herself, to no avail. "Are you going to talk to me later?" he asked.

"Put your fucking cock in me," she groaned.

"If I do, can we talk?" He smiled, pausing his cock head directly on her hole but not pushing in.

"Yes, now, fuck my ass, please," she moaned. "I promise, just fuck me."

As you wish, he thought and pressed into her. He knew from experience that despite their tempting texture, body wash, shampoo and the like did not make for the best of lubricant, and besides, it had all largely washed away so he had to admire even more how easily her asshole engulfed his cock head. He formed a glob of spit in his mouth and let it fall down to her ass crack, hoping to add a bit more lubrication, though he doubted the effectiveness of such a move under the flowing water. In any case, her tight asshole accommodated his cock without apparent complaint, Riley's soft grunting as he slowly worked himself in and out of her hole, going slightly deeper with each thrust, indicated she was enjoying the struggle.

"Oh fuck yes," she moaned as he pushed in again, this time nearly up to the balls. She fumbled for the bottle of body wash as he slowly withdrew and then inserted again, frantically squirting it into her hand before trying and failing to set it back in place. It tumbled to the floor of the shower as she started jerking her cock, using the soap as lube. "Oh fuck yes, fuck my slutty little asshole..."

Her ass squeezed him tightly, barely letting him pull out at all. He couldn't help smiling at the sight of her pucker straining to hold him, how it stretched around his throbbing member. "You like that fucking cock in your ass, baby?" he purred.

"Oh fuck, yes, I fucking love it," she moaned back at him. "I love your fucking cock in my little slut asshole. Fuck it harder!"

He did as asked, increasing his pace. His thrusting became powerful enough that she nearly smashed into the wall, eventually giving in and letting her face press up against it as his thick cock drove deep into her guts. Each successive thrust sent more and more pleasure coursing through him, inching him closer and closer to cumming, while the sound of wet flesh on wet flesh muffled Riley's moans.

Sensing he would cum if he didn't slow down, John pulled out, leaving Riley's asshole a gorgeous, gaping void. He only got to admire it for a second, though, as she immediately spun and dropped to her knees in front of him, wasting no time in taking his cock into her mouth. She paid no attention to the hot water pouring down on top of them, only pushing her wet hair away from her face as necessary, focused as she was on sucking him deep. She moved like a woman possessed, stroking him rapidly while bobbing her head, forcing his cock into the back of her throat over and over again.

"Oh fuck yes," he groaned, having replaced one overwhelming pleasure with another. "You like how your ass tastes, baby?"

"Mmm," she answered while sucking before popping her mouth of just long enough to pant out "Fucking tastes so good." She jammed it back into her mouth and her tongue moved frantically over it in every possible direction. John pushed her wet hair back for her while he watched her frantically suck him and jerk herself.

Suddenly she stood back up, kissing him hard on the mouth for an instant and then almost wheezing, "Put it back in my fucking ass. I need your cock up my ass!"

She spun and a moment later he was forcing himself back into her hole. It put up no resistance, eagerly letting him in. A moment after that, he was already back up to full speed, his balls slapping against hers as he fucked her ass with all his might. "Cum in my ass," she moaned, her face pressed pathetically against the wall. "Give me that fucking cum in my ass, I want it so bad..."

Her hand was moving rapidly, stretching and squeezing her hard cock as he slid in and out and in and out of her. "Make me fucking cum," she begged again, "I want to fucking cum together, baby, please..."

As you wish...

He felt that familiar switch get flicked inside him and a geyser of cum came pouring out of him. He pressed into her deep and held himself there, his balls pressed against her, rapidly emptying themselves into her guts. "Oh fuck," he grunted, "Take that fucking cum, you little fucking slut!"

"Oh god yes," her voice a high-pitched whine, "give me that fucking cum... oh fuck I'm cumming... oh fuckkkkk...."

Her body shook and he had to wrap an arm around her to keep her from collapsing to the floor of the tub. Her cum rocketed out of her, some hitting the wall, the rest falling down into the water below, only to swirl its milky way down the drain as they both panted. She straightened up, still seeming a little uneasy on her feet and his slowly softening cock fell out of her ass. She turned and kissed his lips tenderly, the hot water flowing over their embrace for a few seconds.

She pushed him gently away from the kiss and out of the shower's warmth. "Ok, perv, get out of here so I can clean my asshole again in peace," Riley said before John had even finished catching his breath.

"You're just going to kick me out of the shower like that? Just 'thanks for cum, later?'" he asked, hoping his tone would come off as playful as he leaned back against the wall of the shower.

"You're clean enough, right?" she said. She had already squirted some body wash into her hand and was busy working it into her butthole.

"Yeah, but," John began.

She cut him off without looking up as she continued to finger her asshole under the shower. "That's the problem with shower sex," she said, "water plus cum always equals glue. I wonder why that is."

"No idea," said John. He reached out of the shower and took hold of a towel.

"Look into it while you're making coffee, would you, dear?" she said.

He shook his head as he stepped out of the shower and began drying himself. "Alright, I guess we can talk over coffee."

"About the stickiness of cum?" she asked from the other side of the shower curtain.

He let out a little grunt of frustration. "Among other things."

***

"You know, technically I didn't even fuck my idiot coworker," Riley said. She seemed, as she sat in only a towel opposite John in the kitchen, more interested in the steam rising off the mug of coffee that sat in front of her than in offering anything like a coherent response. "I never even touched her pussy. As far as the two of us went, it was just a blowjob."

"Just a blowjob," John repeated sarcastically. "And do you think your fiance would be alright with that? Since it was just a blowjob, as you say."

She looked up from her mug but said nothing with her mouth, though her eyes were speaking volumes.

"But I suppose it doesn't matter, considering what the two of us did after that. And after that. Hardly worth hashing out the technicalities there," John continued, his eyes retreating from her gaze to his own half-empty mug.

"Don't judge me," she said, her voice colder than he had ever heard it. When he looked up to meet her eyes again, she continued. "Don't be an asshole. Don't judge me." She paused for a few moments, the only sound that of the breath pouring from her nostrils, her lips closed tight. "You're not better than me. You're just as bad as I am. You're not allowed to fuck a girl you know is engaged and then cast the first stone."

She's not wrong, the voice popped up to side with her.

"I'm not judging you," he said. "And you're right, I'm as bad as you. I'm not mad that you're fucking around on your fiance."

Her face grew incredulous at this response. "Then what? You're disappointed in me? Don't you dare be fucking disappointed in me. That's just another way of judging and it's just as shitty. Fuck that and fuck you."

She got up to leave but he grabbed her wrist and she paused, turning to look down at him with anger burning in her eyes.

"I didn't say that," he said. "I'm not disappointed in you and I'm not judging you."

"Then what, John?" Riley asked. She yanked her arm away from his grip. "What is it? If you don't care that I'm a horrible, filthy fucking cheating slut, then what is it?"

"Don't say that," John answered.

"Don't say what? That I'm a horrible slut? That I'm a filthy fucking whore? A cum hungry little whore who just can't get enough sex?"

He didn't say anything and she continued, "Why not? It's true. I'm a piece of shit, filthy little slut. And I let you put your cock up my ass and you fucking love it, so what's the problem? Isn't that what you wanted, anyway? Just some casual hook up, some piece of ass you could empty your balls into on the regular? So why," she paused, then bent at the waist to bring her face close to his, then continued, "The fuck. Does. It. Matter?"

"Because you matter," he answered.

This was evidently not the response she was expecting. She tried her best not to show it, but the momentary look of surprise on her face before she quickly replaced it with a scowl was enough to give it away. She straightened back up and looked around the room as if it held the answers she was searching for, then responded. "Do I, though?" She looked at him for a split second before returning her gaze to the kitchen door. "Or am I just the girl you fucked because I was available and your heart was broken over the girl who really matters to you?"

"That's not fair," he objected, taking to his feet and immediately feeling stupid for getting so upset while wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Isn't it, though?" she responded, turning her tear-filled eyes back to meet his. "You're the one who told me to go back to Nick or to fuck around on him or do whatever I want. That's not what you tell a girl who matters. With a girl who matters, you do your fucking best to hold on to her, you refuse to fuck another girl, even, who's standing right in your kitchen, drunk and begging for your cock until that other girl, the one who matters, has to straight up tell you that you don't and you should fuck off. I'm not that girl, that girl who matters."

John tried to respond, but the words were caught in his throat.

"So you can fuck me," Riley continued, "and fuck me and fuck me and fuck me and, hell, even just hang out and play Nintendo with me like I'm your fucking girlfriend, like I'm one of those girls that matter, but at the end of the day we both know what I am: a dumb fucking tranny whore, a fucking porn subgenre fetish for you to stick your dick into and then push away."

"That isn't..." John started.

"It is," Riley said, the tears making long, thin tracks down her cheeks. "I'm not complaining about it. I told you, I'm a dumb fucking cum slut and you know what, I fucking love it! So go on and use me as a cum dump when you need to and then stop worrying about me because, hey, I have a boyfriend, anyway. It's not like you need to fucking worry about it. Pine over her, I don't care, just give me that good fucking dick and then kick my ass to the curb. It's what I deserve, it's what I want. Why do you have to make it so fucking difficult, John? It's not that hard! Fuck me and move on. I'll just come back the next chance I get and beg for more."

He put his hands on her bare arms and turned her to face him straight-on. "Is that really what you want? Is that really what you think?"

She blinked a few times, then wiped her tears away, breaking free of his loose grip in the process. "Enough talk," she said. "I have to go in a bit. Carrie's coming over and I'm not about to let her snarky ass see me like this, crying over your stupid ass."

He looked into her eyes, trying and failing to understand what he was seeing.

"So come on," she continued. She brought her hands down to John's towel and quickly loosened it, letting it fall to the floor. "We've got enough time for one more good fuck before I have to go."

"Are you serious?" he asked, unable to process what was happening.

"Just, please," she said, her lips turning up into a strange little smile despite the tears, "just please fuck the shit out of me one more time. And for the love of fucking god, don't say anything."

He opened his mouth, thought better of it, then closed it again, pantomiming a zipper.

She smiled, loosed her own towel, and dropped to her knees in front of him. A moment later, the head of his cock was in her mouth, one of her hands stroking him, the other stroking herself. She looked deep into his eyes as her tongue danced on the head of his cock, teasing the hole and the ridge and everywhere in between.

God, she's good at that. Maybe the best I've ever had. Although Liam was pretty skillfull... he let his thoughts drift as her tonguing turned to sucking.

Peh she ejected a fat glob of spit onto his cock and smeared it up and down his shaft, then somehow managed to produce even more of the stuff, letting it flow out between her pursed lips while she jerked him.

Yeah, no, might actually have to give her the blue ribbon...

She stood and planted a deep and very wet kiss on his lips, pressing her naked body against his. As their tongues danced, she brought their cocks together and began jerking them both, one against the other. She broke off the kiss and stared hungrily into his eyes while her hands continued to work, pressing shaft against shaft, smearing the spit she had applied to himself onto herself as well. "As exciting as kitchen sex is," she said, "I think we should move somewhere more comfortable."

He responded with a silent nod, which elicited another smile before she turned and led him, hand on his cock, out to the living room. She let go of him only when she reached the arm of the couch, at which point she bent over, placing her hands on the arm and pushing her ass back towards him, then looked back over her shoulder. "Well?"

He practically lunged at her, dropping to his knees and pressing his face into her ass. She let out a little squeal of delight, wiggling her ass as his tongue explored her crack, quickly focusing on her tight little pucker. His tongue danced around the rim, exploring each little wrinkle before dipping inside. Her taste was, as always, incredible and he would have been happy to continue this process, simply worshiping her perfect little asshole for hours, if his cock hadn't been insisting on doing some exploring of its own.

He placated his cock with his hand while his tongue continued, moving in and out of her, then around the rim again, then back in. His spit began overflowing her hole, dripping down her crack and to her cute, hairless ballsack, which moved as she jerked herself.

His cock then took control and he rose to his feet. "Put your fucking cock in my ass," she said, climbing forward onto the couch and remaining on all fours. He leapt onto the couch and located her hole with his cock head, finding it more than sufficiently lubed and ready. It quivered in anticipation for him as he ran his cock head up and down, over it. "Fucking put it in!" she begged.

He complied, jamming his throbbing cock into her tight asshole. The head slipped into her easily, disappearing into her cute little brown hole, followed by the shaft, inch by inch until finally he was in up to the base, his balls pressed up against her.

"Oh, fuck yes..." Riley groaned, "fuck my ass, baby..." Riley was already frantically jerking her cock before John had even gotten up to speed. Her ass milked him, squeezing each and every inch of him. Then suddenly, she drove forward, forcing him out of her. He had only a brief window to enjoy the view of her gaping ass, because she immediately turned and jammed his cock into her mouth.

"Mmm..." John moaned involuntarily as Riley sucked him, slurping his cock noisily as she continued to jerk herself. "Fuuck..."

She pulled her mouth from him, a strand of spit clinging to her lower lip. She sucked it up noisily, eyes locked onto John's, then brought a finger to her lips. "Shh," she said, then immediately went back to loudly gagging on his cock.

I guess she meant what she said, John thought. He resigned himself to enjoying one of the best blowjobs he'd ever had without making too much noise.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sensation of Riley's finger on his asshole. It moved quickly and with purpose, circling his hole while she continued to fuck her mouth with his cock. And then it was inside him, pushing past any resistance his hole offered. It moved inside him, pressing a button only she seemed to know the location of and sending yet more pleasure cascading through his body.

She pulled her finger from him and her lips from his cock, then brought her finger to her mouth, theatrically licked it, sucking it while moaning a loud "mmm." She licked her lips as she pulled her finger from her mouth. "So fucking good," she said, "More."

He lay back onto the couch, pulling his legs up as she sank down in front of him. He watched as her tongue extended, then slid down his cock, stopping briefly at his balls to tease and coat them with spit, and then to his asshole, pushing inside of him. Her tongue moved this way and that, stretching him open and filling him with her copious spit.

"Fuck, I need this ass," she panted, wiping spit from her chin as she rose up. She pressed down on him. He managed to stop himself from replying "Take it," in the moment she gave him before her lips were on his. And then another moment later she was inside him.

Her cock, almost burning hot, filled him deep, stretched him tight. "Ooh, fuck," she moaned as she pulled out of him, only to ram herself into him again. "Fuck, your ass is so tight. I fucking love this ass."

He opened his mouth, but she silenced him by jamming her tongue, still tasting delightfully of his own asshole, into his mouth. When she pulled away from the kiss, it was with a smile that quickly morphed into a pucker, from which began to ooze a globule of spit. It quivered above him, shaking with each powerful thrust into his ass. Once more he opened his mouth, but this time in expectation: the spit finally broke free, falling into his mouth and then oozing down his throat.

"Fuck," she groaned, her voice strained as she pulled out of him. "I'm gonna fuckin' cum. Your turn."

He stretched his legs and she climbed on top of him. A drop of cum clung deliciously to her engorged, red cock head as she worked his cock into her asshole frantically. She squeezed her cock and the cum oozed out onto John's belly, then started bouncing on top of him. "Fuck me," she moaned, "fuck me fuck me fuck me... oh god, make me fucking cum, baby... oh fuck..."

He had barely even gotten inside her and already he knew he would not last long. Her hole milked him, squeezing every inch of him as she slammed herself down on him repeatedly. Her hand moved in a blur, desperately jerking her cock as she impaled herself over and over again. "Oh fuck... fuck... cum for me, baby..."

She needn't have asked; the cum erupted from him involuntarily, filling her guts with hot stickiness. "Oh fuck yes, baby, give me that cum," she moaned, "Oh fuck, I'm coming for you, baby..." A second after his own orgasm had begun, Riley's followed, the thick white goo spewing forth from her cock and hitting him in the face, then chest until slowly dying down to a trickle which pooled on his belly. She leaned down, still shaking slightly, and slurped the cum off his face, ending her lick with a kiss on his lips.

She slipped off him and slid into the space between his body and the back of the couch, squeezing her soft, hot body next to his while they both caught their breath.

"Fuck," John sighed, "that never gets any less amazing."

Riley turned her head towards him. She studied his face, a dreamy expression on her face for a few moments. "It never does, does it?"

"So," he began, pushing himself up onto one elbow.

"Don't," she cut him off. She put a finger to his lips. "Please, just don't." She rolled over him and off the couch in a comically lazy fashion and rose to her feet, the picture of beauty even as she glinted with sweat and her cock flopped around. "But now I really have to go."

He watched her wander off into the kitchen, returning with the towels they had discarded there. "I don't want to see what Carrie's like if you keep her waiting."

John chuckled, sitting up. "No, you do not," he said. "So I guess I'll just see you again whenever, then?"

She stared at him for a couple seconds silently, so he quickly added, "Sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to say anything. Forget it, sorry."

She looked down for a split second and then returned his gaze. "No, it's... I'm sorry. You can come hang out with us if you want. I mean, if you are really that desperate to see me without getting your dick sucked."

"Oh yeah?" he said, sitting up.

"Yeah," she responded, then, "but we're just going to be talking girl stuff. Maybe watch one of those Korean dramas you hate. But you can come by if you want. You know where my place is. But like I said, I'm not going to be sucking your dick or anything so don't blame me if you're bored out of your mind."

"Thanks," he said, "I'll keep it in mind."

He got up to follow her as she headed to the stairs, but she stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Don't," she said.

"Sorry, did I say something again?" he said, freezing in his tracks.

"No, I mean, don't follow me upstairs." She crossed her arms in front of herself, a gesture that struck John as funny given her state of undress. "If you don't let me get dressed in peace I'm going to end up fucking you again and then we'll both be in deep shit with Carrie."

John chuckled, then gestured to the stairs. "Ladies first," he said.

***

Should I have brought something? John asked himself as he turned off his car's engine. He looked out the window at the apartment building he had first set eyes on what felt like years ago but was really only a few months prior, on that first fateful night with Riley. What would I bring? It's not like she needs to be drinking wine today.

He opened the car door and started on the path up to her apartment, hoping to slip in when some other resident either entered or exited, but found unfortunately on arrival at the entrance that he would have to use the intercom.

"Yeah?" came the response to his button press.

Carrie. Not that that's an unpleasant surprise. Or a surprise at all for that matter, he thought. "Hi sweetheart," he answered.

"Hi, asshole," she replied, buzzing him up a moment later.

This is fine, right? Just hanging out with my adulterous lover and my ex?

Certainly a normal thing to do, nothing to worry about here, the little voice in his head responded.

He found the apartment door unlocked, knocking on it as he opened it. Inside, Riley and Carrie were seated on the couch, seeming to pause a conversation the instant he popped his head inside. "Hey," he greeted them cautiously.

"Hey," Riley said, her smile growing wide. And like that, the pit that had been growing in his stomach seemed to disappear at once.

He noticed Carrie's gaze moving between each of the two of them for a few moments. "Ok, asshole," she said finally, locking her eyes on John. "Riley said you might be coming over and I didn't object..."

"You definitely objected," Riley interrupted.

"... I didn't object too strenuously," Carrie continued, not turning her head to look at Riley as she spoke. "But that was on the condition that you would not bitch and moan the entire time we watched our show."

"No bitching or moaning," John promised, putting up his hands, "cross my heart."

Carrie scowled her adorable little amused scowl. "And hope to die?"

"I wouldn't go that far," John answered.

"Whatever," Carrie said. She got up. "We were just about to put on an episode. So you can sit on the floor there."

"Oh, thank you," John said, moving to the spot she had indicated. "I'm going to get some refreshments. What are we thinking, red? White?"

John shot a look at Riley, who seemed to understand.

"None for me," she said, returning his look with one of mild annoyance. "I'm still recovering from last night."

Carrie shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, moving off towards the kitchen, then adding, "And don't you two start fucking while I'm gone. I'm being very nice letting your lover hang out. I don't need to see you two suck each other off again."

"Yes, ma'am," Riley replied, firing off a salute with one hand while Carrie disappeared into the other room. When Carrie had gone, Riley slid over next to John and, bending over him, planted an upside-down kiss on his lips. "Thanks for coming over," she said, pulling away from the kiss with a smile.

"Thanks for the invite," he responded. "You're sure it's alright?"

"You mean Nick?" Riley asked.

The name caused his stomach to do a flip. She must have read the surprise on his face, because she quickly added, "Or I guess you mean Carrie? Nah, she's just being her usual cunty self." She looked into his eyes for a few moments, searching for something, it seemed to him, then said, "But he won't be here."

"You mean today or...?" John asked.

Riley hesitated. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Carrie's voice that next sounded. "Cunty self?"

Riley looked up with a smile. "Yeah, you know you're just mad because you're not getting any and you're taking it out on poor John here." She placed a soft, warm hand on his face and ran it down his neck as she spoke.

Carrie rolled her eyes. To John's surprise, instead of a bitchy comeback, which he actually would have thought appropriate given Riley's words, she simply said, "Well I can't really argue there," and sat down on the other end of the couch. After picking up the remote and beginning the process of selecting a program to watch, she added, "But at least when I'm cunty I have an excuse. You don't even have a proper cunt to blame."

"Is that penis envy I hear?" Riley snarked back.

Carrie started the playback on the third episode of some Korean drama John was unsure if he had seen the first two episodes of at some point during one of her periodic appearances at his house. "Envious of that little thing?" she asked sarcastically. "Does it even work?"

"Worked on your ex last night," Riley replied, sticking out her tongue.

"Ugh, gross," Carrie responded, feigning a gag but unable to conceal her smile as an establishing shot of a palace played on the screen.

As the establishing shot gave way to a conversation between two courtiers he was almost certain he did not recognize from a previous installment, John found it even harder than usual to concentrate on the subtitles, as Riley's fingers began playing with his hair.

"Ugh, somehow even grosser," Carrie teased.

"What?" John asked, craning his neck around to look at her, mildly surprised to find a smile in place of her usual grimace.

"Somehow G-rated petting is even grosser than watching you two fuck," she said.

"Aww, you really do need some dick, don't you?" Riley teased.

Carrie's response was a formless but not entirely unamused grumble.

"I got a nice big fat one right here, sweetheart," Riley said. Even facing the wrong direction John could intuit she was grabbing her dick and waggling it around.

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Hard pass."

***

"Do you think in places Korea or Japan there are more foot fetishists than here or fewer?"

Carrie's initial reaction to John's open question was a curious look. Her second was "The fuck are you talking about?"

"I get it," Riley interrupted. "It's because of the taking off the shoes thing. Like, are people more or less likely to develop a foot fetish when people are so frequently barefoot around them?"

"Yeah, exactly," John said. "I'm going to say less likely. Like how in cultures where women go shirtless all the time, people aren't turned on by breasts."

"Hmm," replied Riley. As she considered it, she ran her own bare foot up and down John's arm. "I'm going to say more likely. Because they probably have some kind of weird association with being at home and being barefoot, like being comfortable or something. But that's per capita, who knows in absolute terms?"

"I'm going to say you two are both fucking weird perverts," Carrie said.

John couldn't help but laugh at that.

"What?" Carrie said. "You are. You're both weird little pervs. And dorks, also. But I guess that makes you perfect for each other." She eyed his continued smile curiously.

"Nothing," John replied, adding mentally Says the girl who fingered her own asshole watching me fuck her roommate not two weeks ago.

He once again wondered if he didn't have some kind of latent telepathic ability because the scowl on her face told him that she had certainly understood his thoughts.

"Whatever," Riley cleared the air, "at least we're not foot fetishists. Completely incomprehensible perverts, if you ask me. No worse in some abstract sense, but totally alien."

"Riley!"

The voice that carried her name, being distinctly masculine, befuddled John's brain for a moment, having been expecting Carrie's. Turning his head a moment after both the girls had, he found Nick standing in the doorway.

"What the hell, baby?" Nick said. "Are you seriously not ready to go?"

In the moments of silence that followed, John turned his attention to Riley, finding her simply staring and unable to determine if she was thinking at all, and then back to Nick. After another moment, she spoke up. "Fuck," she said. "I completely forgot."

"Baby, I swear to god," he said. "How can you forget? You can't forget these things. We need to pick out flowers."

She finally started moving, getting up off the couch and stepping over to him, her leg brushing John's arm as she moved. "I know, baby," she said, "and I'm sorry. I just totally forgot."

Nick sighed. "Yeah," he said, "well, whatever, we can still get over there if you get your ass in gear. It's not like they're going to run out of flowers."

"I guess that's true," Riley said. Only then did she turn back and look at Carrie and John. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just totally forgot we were supposed to pick out flowers for the wedding today."

John was surprised that no words would form in his head. He just sat, looking blankly at the two of them until Carrie's voice grabbed his attention. "It's no problem," she said. She glanced at John. "We should probably get going, anyway."

"Sorry, Carrie," Nick said. "I didn't mean to interrupt your girl time. You know Riley, she'd forget her own head if it weren't attached. I swear, sometimes it's like she forgets we're engaged at all."

"Yeah," said John involuntarily, not even realizing he had said anything until everyone else turned to look at him. Fuck, why would you say anything? It was going so well with you saying nothing.

"Oh, hey," Nick said, "you're... the party guy. Hey, sorry about my friends, they're real dickheads. They didn't mean anything by it. They don't hate gay guys or anything."

Before John could respond, Carrie did so for him. "Yeah, this is John. He's a friend. Of mine. My ride home, actually. So you're not interrupting anything this guy wasn't already interrupting."

"Yeah, that's me, the stereotypical gay friend, just inserting myself into my girls' events," John said, rising to his feet. "Good to meet you properly, Nick, right?"

"Yeah," Nick replied. He extended a hand for an awkward shake. "Look, sorry to interrupt girls' night or whatever. We can probably put the flower thing off and hang out if..."

"No," Riley interrupted. "It's not important." She paused, looked at John for a split second, then turned her attention back to Nick. "I mean, we were just screwing around, watching crap television. It doesn't matter."

John's stomach seemed to crumple in on itself at her words.

"You alright?" Nick asked him.

Fuck. Fuck me an my stupid stomach and my stupid cock and my even stupider heart. "Yeah," he managed, the word itself seeming to resist being enunciated.

He opened his mouth again in an attempt to explain whatever outward sign he had given, but fortunately Carrie cut him off as she rose off the couch. "He's just overly excited that we're turning this shit off." She pressed a button on the remote, ending playback prematurely, and tossed it onto the couch behind her. "He absolutely hates good tv."

He looked over at her, finding her eyes softer than he remembered.

"Just doesn't have any taste," she added. "But what do you expect from a guy who loves cum in his mouth, right?"

This seemed to leave Nick speechless, but Carrie just ignored his reaction and slipped on the shoes that she had discarded earlier. "Anyway we'll get out of your hair. Have fun with the wedding prep. Can't wait to see what you settle on."

John took a breath, realizing just then that he had been holding it for far too long, then glanced at Riley. He couldn't understand her expression, but at that moment he didn't want to. "Yeah, have fun," he said and picked up his jacket.

"Cool, yeah, sorry again. Oh, and, Carrie, thanks for the invite to that party. Sorry Riley couldn't make it." Nick said, then turning back to Riley as Carrie and John made their way out to the hallway, "Come on, Riley, get dressed and we'll get going."

She nodded while watching John and Carrie, who had turned back to face her from the hallway as she held the door open. "Sorry," she said. "Maybe we can hang again soon."

"Yeah, sure," Carrie answered for John. "Later, slut."

"Yeah, later, bitch," Riley responded with a half-hearted smile before closing the door as they walked away towards the elevator.

John and Carrie waited in silence while the light on the elevator traversed its way up from one. When it arrived, the elevator was thankfully empty and they began their descent.

"So..." Carrie said.

"Yeah," John replied. No one spoke further until the doors opened on the first floor. "You need a ride, I guess?" he asked finally.

"Beats walking," she answered, then a second later, "if you don't mind."

"Yeah, why not," he said. She followed him out to the car and hopped into the passenger seat. His hands and feet worked the controls of the car with no conscious input from his brain, putting it into gear and setting it on a course towards the apartment Carrie shared with Chloe as if by pure instinct. He watched her, out of the corner of his eye, watch the streets go by in silence for a few minutes, then suddenly, she turned to face him, opened her mouth for a second, then quickly shut it again.

"Hmm?" he asked.

She just shook her head.

"So that was fun, huh?" he said.

She laughed, "Yeah, right, Jesus..." As was her usual modus operandi in John's car, she kicked off her shoes, exposing her bare feet and leaving her naked below mid-thigh, as she was, as was also typical of her, still wearing shorts even as winter rapidly approached.

"So, looking forward to the wedding?" he asked.

Her smile disappeared and she rolled her eyes. "I don't fucking know," she said. She shifted her weight back in the seat and plopped her bare feet up on the dashboard, taking a second to study the toenails which she had evidently painted a deep red at some point in the recent past.

"But you are invited, I guess?" he said.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice quiet. "Look..."

He cut her off with a shake of his head. A traffic light turned red and he stopped the car. "Look nothing," he said. "I'm a fucking idiot. You invited Nick to the party?"

"No," she said, then, clearly reading disbelief on his face, continued, "I invited Riley. He was just there at the time. I guess she didn't even want to go, made up some bullshit about being sick or..."

"You invited Riley?" he asked. His voice sounded far angrier than he had intended. Ahead of them, the light turned green. He noticed it out of the corner of his eye, but it did not register. "Why did you invite Riley?"

Her expression hardened into a defensive little scowl. "Why not?"

"Why not?" he asked in disbelief.

Beep! Beep beep beep!

The horn of the car behind him kicked his mind into gear and he pressed on the gas, slightly too hard, the sudden acceleration jerking both of them back slightly. "Why the fuck did you invite Riley?" he asked again.

She shrugged, turning away from him. "What?" she said. "We're friends. We were having a party, I invited my friend. Your friend. Our mutual friend. To a party. Seems like a normal thing to do to me."

He grumbled and turned the car onto a side street.

"What's the big fucking deal?" she continued. "You said it. You said, and I quote, 'We're friends. You can be friends.' So why does it matter? She didn't even come. Who gives a fucking shit?"

"Chloe, for one," the words popped out of his mouth before he had even fully formed them in his mind.

He could feel her eyes on the side of his face as he drove, though she said nothing for a few moments. They reached another red light and, having heard no response from Carrie, he turned his attention to her, only to find her staring out the window. She had drawn her legs back in towards herself, bending them at the knee so that her bare feet sat on the seat, one arm wrapped around her legs to hold them close to herself. He watched as her fingers slid aimlessly through her silky black hair for a few moments. She evidently noticed his gaze reflected in the car window and turned to look back at him, yet remained silent for another moment, returning his look with an expression he could not parse, then turned to face forward. Finally she spoke. "Are you going to move or what?" she asked.

"What?"

"The light's green," she said. "Are you going to go or are you kicking me out of your car here or something?"

He glanced forward, saw she was correct, and stepped on the gas, fortunately resulting in a less sudden acceleration this time. The next few blocks passed by without registering whatsoever in John's mind. He always found this strange, how seemingly easily one could operate a car without any thought, arrive at a destination and find, perhaps surprisingly, no memory of the drive itself. It was, he had to admit, somewhat frightening, this realization of how dangerous it could be; most of the time even this realization never even occurred, he supposed. He only noticed it this time when something about the subsequent light (or had there been others?) turning green brought to mind her words and he realized they had nearly reached the apartment she shared with Chloe. "I'm not kicking you out of the car or anything," he said.

"What?" She pushed some hair behind her ear, looking at him with what he took to be a genuinely confused expression, then, evidently realizing his reaction had been delayed, "Oh. Yeah, I mean, I wasn't serious. Are you really mad about Riley or something?"

"No," he replied reflexively. "Yes. I don't know. I mean, I don't know. You know Chloe hates her, right?"

"No she doesn't," Carrie answered, her face still showing confusion. "She doesn't even know Riley."

That this was at least technically correct only annoyed John further. "Fine, she knows about Riley, then. And she doesn't like what she knows."

This had evidently been the wrong thing to say, as Carrie's expression rapidly shifted from confusion, right through irritation, to anger. "Ok, so what?" she said, her voice now empty of the sympathy he had detected at Riley's. "So you're mad at me for inviting a friend of yours who didn't even show up, by the way, to a party because your now ex does not care for her? Something which she, for your information, has not even mentioned one single time since. What's the deal?"

"The deal," John said, trying to force his anger back down into his stomach, "is Chloe broke up with me because of Riley."

"Because Riley came to pick up her drunk boyfriend? That's why you think she broke up with you? Are you mental?" Carrie was staring directly into his eyes and it seemed to be burning a hole through his brain.

He slammed the breaks, parking at an awkward angle in the parking lot in front of the girls' apartment. "Am I mental?" He felt as if more words should have come spewing forth from him, but oddly nothing appeared.

"Yeah, like, what the fuck, dude?" Carrie snapped back angrily. She unlatched the seat belt and practically flew out of the car, not even bothering to put her shoes back on, just grabbing them before slamming the car door closed behind her.

He quickly shut off the car and followed her out, having to jog to catch up to her as she fast walked to the entrance. Without turning to look at him she continued. "I swear to god, if your relationship was so fucked up that the mere fucking appearance of another girl can make it fall apart, you should be fucking getting down on your fucking knees and fucking thanking me for having some tiny part in that girl showing up for thirty goddamn seconds because it was even more fucking doomed than I thought."

"Some 'tiny part'?" John was almost shouting. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around to face him. Her eyes burned with an anger that frightened him but he could not stop the words that seemed to finally have found themselves and were pouring out of him. "You fucking invite Riley? And then Chloe breaks up with me because of it and I should be fucking thanking you for it?"

"I didn't fucking do anything, asshole," Carrie snapped back, pulling her arm from his grasp suddenly. "Why in the absolute fuck is it my fault if another girl breaks up with you because you're hung up on yet some other fucking girl? Maybe you need to fucking check yourself and stop blaming me for YOU being a GIANT FUCKING ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE." She turned and proceeded to the entrance.

Just let her fume, the little voice in John's head advised him.

"Fuck off," he snarled at the voice out loud, almost sprinting over to Carrie just as she opened the door and following her inside.

"The fuck, dude? What do you want?" she growled at him.

She had, he had to grudgingly admit, despite having said very little, a point: there was no real purpose in following her in, no argument to be had. That this was true only annoyed him further. "I want to know why you invited her."

She reached the elevator with John trailing behind and rapidly, if calmly, pressed the button and waited for the car to arrive. "Uh, because it was a party and she was my friend, dumbass," she said, then turned to face him. Her eyes studied his for a few moments. "That's not really what you want, though, is it?"

"What?" he spat the word out.

She brushed by him, heading for the stairs, evidently unwilling to wait while the light indicating the elevator's position held in place, floors above them. "You don't want to know why," she answered without looking back as he began climbing the stairs after her. "You want to blame me. You're upset about your life and you want to make it my fault."

"No," he responded. Even the sound of his own footsteps tromping up the stairs felt like a hammer to his head.

Yes, the voice piped up to say.

Shut the fuck up, he thought back at it, biting his tongue painfully to prevent the words slipping out.

"Yes," she replied. They had already managed to traverse half the distance up to the girls' apartment when she spun to look at him, crossing her arms. "I get it, you're mad, shit sucks, you're alone, you feel like a piece of shit for fucking a girl who's more interested in picking out flowers for her wedding than being with you. But you want to blame me for it when I didn't FUCKING DO ANYTHING." When she had finished shouting those last few words, she wheeled once again and moved, with surprising speed, up the remainder of the stairs, leaving John trailing after her.

"You fucking invited her," he sputtered, annoyed at the impotence of his words.

"So fucking what?" she responded without turning back. She reached the door leading to her floor and angrily yanked it open, then stomped through it. He found her a few moments later, fumbling with her keys at her apartment door. They jangled as her hands shook. Before he even had a chance to say anything, she whipped her head around to look him in the eyes again. "What did Chloe even say? 'I'm breaking up with you because another girl dropped by the party for five seconds'? Or was it more like 'You're hung up on Riley and I can't deal with that'? Which of those sounds more like Chloe, huh?"

His lower lip cried out in pain as he bit it, trying to force his anger back down. She watched him for another second, shook her head slightly, and, apparently having calmed her nerves, opened the door.

"She said," he began, catching the door that she had half-heartedly tried to close on him as he followed her in, then realized he did not want to finish the sentence.

Carrie wheeled around again. "What?" She waited a moment for his response, and when it did not come, spread her arms, palms up, then continued, "What? What did she say?"

"She said she loves me," he answered. He could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes and so blinked, hoping in vain that they would dry.

Carrie's arms fell to her sides and she let out a little sigh. She looked down to the floor for a moment, and when her eyes returned to meet his, they had softened again. "Yeah," she said, paused, and then continued, "well, she's twenty two. She might even believe that."

He just shook his head, unable to form words as a tear rolled down the side of his face.

"If it's any comfort," Carrie said, "she probably did. At least in some way."

He searched her eyes, trying to figure out for the umpteenth time what was going on behind them, to no more success than usual.

"Look, dude," she said. "She's fresh out of college and you come along, this cool older dude with a house and a car and big time daddy vibes and she gets a little crush on you. She talks about you, talked about you, all the time, like some little school girl, for what it's worth. You came along and you put your dick in her ass and of course she thinks she loves you and then, I don't know, the next day she wakes up and realizes you're not that guy, you're never going to be that dependable guy that she wants. You're the kind of guy who fucks around, hooks up with randos and exes and married women without a second of consideration. You're stupid. I've told you this. You're a good guy but you're stupid and you're hung up on Riley and fuck me if I don't get that but you can't expect a sweet, innocent girl like Chloe to just deal with that like it's nothing. Poor girl couldn't even find her own clit until you came along and then you're off fucking other people like it's no thing."

"I didn't," he started. "I didn't fuck around on her, though."

"You didn't?" she asked. "What about Curtis? Does that not count because it's a dude?"

"It doesn't..." he tried again.

"Look, dude, you don't have to justify any of this to me. Why would you? Who am I to you? Just some fucking bitch of an ex, right? You don't need my approval for fucking guys or even some engaged girl. Just don't pin it on me, that's all I'm asking right now." She put her bag down on the kitchen counter and stepped towards him.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but instead of words, the next sound John heard was a sort of creaking. They both automatically turned to the source of that sound, which turned out to be the door to Chloe's room. Chloe stood in the door frame, backlit only dimly and dressed in pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt. She blinked a few times, then made her way over to the kitchen near them. Wordlessly, she took a glass from a cabinet overhead and filled it with water from the kitchen sink's faucet. She brought the glass to her lips, then paused and, without turning to meet either of their eyes, asked "Could you guys maybe keep it down?"

"Sorry," Carrie was the first of the two to react. "Thin walls, I forgot."

Chloe met Carrie's eyes, nodded, and said "Thanks." She drank the water, rinsed out the glass, and left it to dry near the sink. "I should probably get up, anyway," she said. "Not going to be able to sleep tonight."

She took a step back towards her room, then paused and turned her attention to John. "Hi," she said.

"Hey," he responded.

No one spoke for a few seconds, and then Carrie broke the silence. "Well, thanks for the ride."

This snapped John out of a trance and he looked to her. "Oh, uh, yeah, sure, no problem. I guess I should get going."

She just nodded. As he opened the door, Chloe gave a little nod.

So that was fun, the voice in John's head remarked as he closed the door behind himself, leaving him alone in the hallway outside the girls' apartment.

"Shut the fuck up," he said to nobody.

***

THUD.

"I need to get a fucking punching bag," John grumbled, having dropped the dumbbell he had been curling, only narrowly missing his foot in the process. He checked the floor to see if he had damaged it, grateful that his carelessness had not led to anything broken, floorboard or bone.

One of the things that's most annoying about being upset is knowing you'll get over it, eventually, he thought, because that knowledge does not make it any faster to get to that point. He stood up and took the hand towel he had draped on his neck before starting his workout, a vain attempt at forgetting his frustrations with women for a while, and wiped the sweat from his face with it. Chloe gone, Riley evidently never going to leave her fiance, and Carrie...

Carrie what? the little voice that he had temporarily managed to silence popped back up to inquire.

Carrie nothing, he grumbled inwardly. I know that she's fucking right and I have nobody to blame for being alone but me, chasing fucking married women and girls way too young for me. But that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating to hear it from her.

Good, you've identified the problem, his inner voice continued, Now all that's left to do is fix it.

He stepped out of the junk room, ready for a shower. Uh huh, and how am I supposed to do that?

You tell me, the voice replied. You're the conscious mind with all the fancy complex reasoning that entails. Formulate a plan or something.

"I need a fucking drink," he said. "Now there's a fucking plan."

He was just about to head to the kitchen to check if there was any bourbon left when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out to find a message from Riley.

Sorry

He looked at it for a second, then went to get a drink. By the time he had poured it, he had formulated a response. For what? he quickly typed out.

For the unexpected company, she replied.

He shook his head, downed the glass in a single gulp, and then picked up the phone again. Not entirely unexpected, though, right?

He left the phone on the counter and headed upstairs to the shower. The hot water did what it could for his mental state, washing away the outermost layer of frustration along with sweat, so that by the time he had finished toweling off, he estimated it was at only 95% of the level prior to the shower. He chucked the towel into the hamper and stepped out into the bedroom.

... and nearly fell back on his ass. On his bed, messing with the laptop that sat on a nightstand near the bed, lay Carrie. She turned her attention to him and said a casual "Hey."

"Hey," he said, retreating to the bathroom for a second to retrieve the towel and wrap it around himself.

She watched him for a few silent moments with evident amusement, then said, "Sorry."

He stepped back out to the bedroom, glancing at the laptop screen, only to find it showing some innocuous-looking social media feed. "What are you doing here?"

She followed his gaze to the computer, then shut it. "Nothing," she said. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm doing fine, thanks," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

She watched with detached interest while he slid a pair of boxer briefs up under the towel awkwardly. "Yeah?" she said when he had finished. "You didn't seem like it earlier."

"Oh yeah?" he asked sarcastically, then, feeling the emotions come back suddenly, turned back to the dresser to escape her gaze. "Well I'm fine, I'm great. Why wouldn't I be? One girl leaves me for reasons I still don't understand, and another insinuates she's leaving her fiance for me only to kick my ass to the curb as soon as he shows up, so, yeah, I'm doing just great." He had managed to suppress it enough to keep from bawling right there in his undies, and so turned back to find her still watching him intently.

"Yeah, sorry, dude," she said after a moment's silence. "Heartbreak sucks."

"More pearls of wisdom from my beneficent ex, I see," he replied, pulling on a pair of shorts for lounging around the house in.

"Sorry if I can't fix your fucking life for you, bud," she responded immediately, then, after another pause, "I would if I could."

"Sorry," he replied. He pulled an old t-shirt from another drawer. "I know it's not your fault and I'm a huge asshole for even getting mad at you. I'm just... I really liked her, you know?"

Carrie looked away for a second, then back at him as she popped to her feet. "Who?"

"Who what?" he asked.

"Who did you really like? Chloe? Riley? Who exactly are you pining over?" She took a step toward him.

He sighed, then took in a breath just as she stopped a few inches from him, taking in her somehow comforting, vaguely floral scent as he did so. "I don't know," he said finally.

Then she nearly knocked him back again with surprise, this time by wrapping her arms around his bare midsection and pressing her body against his. "I know. And I'm sorry."

He found his own arms wrapped around her automatically. They stood there for a few moments, saying nothing, until she pulled back from the hug, looking into his eyes expectantly. "What are you sorry for? Inviting Riley?"

"No," she said, adding a smile that was as annoying as it was charming. "Like I said, I didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what?" he asked.

"I'm hungry," she said. "Do you want to get dinner?"

***

"No fucking Chinese."

Carrie's response was, while not unexpected from their time together, not particularly helpful. John scratched his head, despite it not being particularly itchy, as he scrolled up and down on his phone. That this scrolling would not actually do anything to help answer what they should order for dinner similarly did not preclude him doing it. "I know," he said. "It's not the real thing, it's blasphemous, heretical, all that. But even you like General Tso's and you know it."

Carrie, opposite him, bare legs curled up under her body on the couch, did a little head motion. "It's alright," she said. "Just not tonight."

"Mexican?" John offered, leaning his head back onto the chair, already sensing what her answer would be.

"If I eat Mexican tonight, it's your toilet that is going to suffer tomorrow," she said, raising a finger in facetious warning.

"Alright, Mexican's out," he said. "I don't know, any ideas? What does your stomach say?"

"It might be saying 'Thai'?" she responded, her voice perking up at the end of the sentence.

"Nnn," John made a noise.

"Alright," she said. "I'm sympathetic to a point. You took Riley there, you took Chloe there, now you don't think you'll be able to get it down without bursting into tears, right?"

John sighed. She did, for all her faults, have his number like no one else ever had. "Something like that."

"Something exactly like that," she shook her head, a thin smile playing on her lips. "Like I said, I'm sympathetic. But I do want to point out that you took me there a long time ago, too. And that didn't seem to spoil your appetite."

"That was a long time ago," John offered, gesturing slightly.

"Not that long ago," she said. She seemed to consider something for a few moments silently, but as always John had no idea what. She then said, "Alright, let's just make something."

John laughed. "Ah, yes, let's I make something, you mean. That's fine."

"Hey," she said. Her voice, although not without playfulness, was not entirely devoid of hurt. "I'll help." After a moment of silence, she added, "What? I will. I'll help. I cook all the time on my own."

John smiled. "You?"

She nodded.

He blinked a few times. "You cook? You, Carrie?"

"Yeah, what? I've been living on my own for a long time now. Somebody has to cook for me and Chloe." She shrugged.

"Not Chloe?" he asked, honestly surprised.

"Yeah, Chloe cooks sometimes," Carrie answered. "And when I'm in the mood for spaghetti and literally nothing else, that's fine."

John chuckled. "So I guess all that Food Network has made you a master chef?"

She shook her head and shifted her weight, bringing her feet in front of her. "Hardly," she said. "But I can make more than spaghetti. I love Chloe, don't get me wrong, but I am not exaggerating when I say she only knows how to cook spaghetti. Maybe that's a white girl thing..."

John chuckled again as he rose to his feet. "Alright, you've convinced me to offer you the position of sous chef for the night. What are we making?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Spaghetti?"

***

"Truly a feast fit for a king," John said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin before getting up to clear the table.

"Ha ha," Carrie responded sarcastically. She sat, opposite him at the little kitchen table and pulled her leg up to herself as he reached for her now empty plate. "Seriously, though, not bad, right?"

He took a look at her and a smile crossed his face involuntarily at the sight: cute as ever in her hoodie and unseasonable shorts, barely hiding any of the smooth tan-yellow skin of her shapely legs. "Not bad," he said, "At least as good, if not better, than any spaghetti I can remember having."

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and stretched her bare feet down to the floor with a little "Hmph" that sounded more playful than honestly indignant. "Well, whatever," she said, rising to her feet and moving towards the refrigerator as John began the process of washing the dishes, "it's time for the most important part of the meal."

He eyed her curiously.

"The dessert," she continued, and opened the freezer door. "Where the fuck are you hiding your ice cream, asshole?"

He looked at the freezer, attempting to replay its history in his mind for a few moments. "Fresh out," he said. "Maybe. Is there not any in the back?"

She rearranged the contents of the freezer noisily, then harrumphed and answered, "No." She turned to face him as he continued to wash dishes. "Seriously? Aren't you supposed to be heartbroken? How can you not have a freezer full of ice cream after getting dumped by not one but two girls in the span of a week?"

John began rinsing dishes, watching her over his should as he worked. "I fail to see the connection here, sweetheart. Enlighten me?"

"Really?" she said more than asked, closing the freezer door. She stepped over to him close enough that he abandoned trying to crane his neck to watch her, relying on the heat of her body to tell she had positioned herself almost directly behind him. "You know, breakups, ice cream, crying on your besties' shoulders, swearing off of men, or I guess women, ice cream, ice cream, ice cream. You seriously don't know about that?"

He placed a plate on the rack to dry, then turned his head trying to see her but only catching a fuzzy glimpse as she leaned over his opposite shoulder at just that moment. "I don't know, seems like a girl thing. Actually seems like a movie version of a girl thing."

She turned around, leaning back against the counter next to him and forcing him to snap his head back around the other direction. "Yeah, maybe," she shrugged. "What do guys do when they're heartbroken? Go out and get drunk?"

John considered it, bobbling his head from side to side as he rinsed off the last of the dishes. "I guess. Punch a wall? Cry jerk, maybe?"

"Sounds fucking awful," Carrie said. She was leaning back casually, but her eyes betrayed a deep interest in John's responses.

"It is," John said. "I read somewhere that women are a lot more resilient about break ups because they have a support network of friends so it's not as big a loss. Guys usually don't have that, so a break up is like being sentenced to solitary confinement."

"Pretty sure we've had this conversation before," she said. She pushed away from the counter and looked around the room as if trying to find something to do. "But whatever, you have always just read something somewhere so maybe not. Probably true, though."

"Almost certainly," John replied with a smile. "I mean, I read it somewhere once so..."

She rolled her eyes and plopped back down on the chair with a sigh.

"So I guess for you," John said as he dried his hands and turned around to take up Carrie's recently vacated leaning spot, "you get to be the comfort squad for both sides."

She looked at him quizzically.

"I mean Chloe," he said, "I guess she's already done crying on your shoulder so now you're free to offer it to me."

"Do you really want to talk about Chloe?" she asked.

The bluntness of the question, coupled with her eyes looking directly into his, took him by surprise. "I don't... nah, I was just saying."

She waited a minute to respond, the gears clearly turning in her head. "Nah, sorry," she said, "She's fine, by the way, and yes, my shoulder has seen its fair share of tears lately. I just meant maybe you don't want to ask about her, think about her right now. For your own sanity. Make a clean break."

"Like the one you made with me?" he asked. He had intended it as a joke, but her expression told him that it didn't land as one.

"Yeah," she said, looking down, "like that." She sighed, drew in a deep breath, and then brought her eyes up to meet his. "Seriously, no ice cream?"

"Should we go to the store?" he asked.

She smiled.

***

"See? Tell me you aren't feeling better already."

Carrie popped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, her lips curling around it into a smile in reaction to John's reaction to her words, itself an un-suppressible smile. "Not feeling any worse," he said. They had each managed to put away an embarrassing amount of the stuff while the tv played some nonsense which neither of them had really been processing.

"Don't be an asshole, asshole," she said after licking her lips clean. She put her carton down on the coffee table and turned to face him, sitting cross-legged next to him on the couch. "Just admit it. Ice cream and a girl friend and you're already feeling less heartbroken."

"A 'girlfriend'?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I said don't be an asshole," she said with a smile. "A girl who's a friend. A girl. Friend. Not a girlfriend. A meager example of one of those fucking 'support networks' you were talking about." She gestured the various punctuation marks as she spoke, an affectation that John could not help finding a little bit endearing.

"Sorry to be an ass. Hole," he replied, mocking her gestures by making a small hole with his hand while he spoke.

"Pff," she rolled her eyes. "Whatever, you're heartbroken so I'll let my usual standards for tolerable assholishness slip a little." She sighed slightly and looked at him. "And anyway you wouldn't be you if you weren't at least somewhat of a dumb asshole." She placed a hand on his arm and asked, "Seriously, though, you are feeling a little better, right?"

Her fingers felt far too warm and soft on his skin. "Yeah, a lot better, thanks," he replied, fumbling to pick up the ice cream as he stood. He got halfway to the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to her. "You were done, right?"

"No," she said with a smile, "but sure, why not. My ass doesn't need to get any fatter. Take it away from me, please."

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, raising his voice as he entered the kitchen and began putting the remaining ice cream away in the freezer, "It could get a bit fatter."

"Bullshit," she called back from the other room.

He closed the freezer door and headed back to the living room, stopping in the doorway and leaning against the door frame. She really is right about that ice cream, he thought as he looked at her.

And cute, too.

Shut up, you, John chided his inner voice. I don't need to add a third ex to my list of girls to pine for. And besides, she's being a good friend.

"What?" she interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, nothing," he answered. "Sorry, I was just distracted, thinking about that ass of yours."

"Pff," she rolled her eyes. "You're so full of shit. Really, what were you just thinking? Don't be an asshole and lie about it; I'm extending an olive branch here for an ex in need so you're not allowed to be an asshole. Well, more of an asshole than usual."

"I was thinking about your ass," he said as he took back his spot next to her on the couch, "I mean, it's a really nice ass."

"Mmmhmm," she said, shooting him a look somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"Well, not just your ass," he said. "Nice as it is. I was actually just thinking how sweet you are for coming over here and comforting me when really all that's happened is my fault, anyway. You're right, I pushed Chloe too hard and she's too young for me and deserves somebody who won't... and Riley, I mean, fucking hell, what am I doing with that girl? She's engaged, for god's sake, and maybe crazy to boot. I should..."

The words stopped coming, leaving him looking silently into Carrie's eyes. She blinked at him, evidently waiting for the words to continue as much as he was.

"... I don't know what I should do. But anyway I was just thinking how sweet you are." He found she was still looking at him expectantly when he finished.

After a moment's silence, she evidently sensed he was done, as she said, "And my ass?"

Somehow she seemed closer to him now than she had been when he sat down, though he had no idea how this had occurred; neither of them seemed to have moved. "Yeah, well, I mean, you're not just sweet, but, I mean, I was also thinking how beautiful you looked sitting there, how you're just so cute and really..."

She was still staring at him as he spoke.

"... really nice, I mean, when you're not being a bitch, of course."

She nodded but said nothing. John was starting to feel the heat from her body.

"Ha, I mean, just kidding, you're not a bitch, you're being great and, uh, just like really sexy and I was thinking, well, yeah, I was thinking that is all."

"Oh," said Carrie. She suddenly turned to face forward again, letting her legs drop off the front of the couch.

For a few moments John watched the light of the tv play on her face. Judging that she was satisfied with his admittedly stumbling answer, he relaxed, slumping back onto the couch and trying to figure out what they had been watching.

"I mean, we both know I have a great ass," she said after another moment. "This has been established. Many times."

He flicked his eyes over to her, finding her still watching the tv. "Uh, yeah, I mean, I think we both know how I feel about that butt of yours."

"Uh huh," she replied, her eyes unmoved from the screen. "And you're feeling better now?"

John stretched unnecessarily, stalling for time while his brain tried in vain to process Carrie yet again. "Uh, yeah, like I said, you've been great, making me feel a lot, uh, less... bad."

"And so I should go?" she asked, still watching the screen.

"Um... I mean, you can? Did you want me to drive you home? Obviously I'm not doing anything..." he began, but stopped when her head whipped around, bringing her eyes to meet his. After a moment of fumbling for words, he began again, "Or you can stay for a while longer. I mean, no rush or anything, I can take you back any time. Probably you've got work in the morning..."

"It's Saturday," she replied, her eyes locked onto his.

"Oh, yeah, right, duh, I'm a fucking idiot. Sure, I mean, stay as long as you want." When she said nothing in response, he continued, "I mean, I love it when you hang out."

"Hang out," she repeated his words in such a flat tone that he could not be sure whether it was intended as a question. Just as he was about to speak again, she said, "Just like old times."

For another few moments there was silence, until words seemed to bubble out of John again of their own accord. "Well not just like old times."

She turned back to the tv and again John tried to relax, though his eyes continued to dart back towards Carrie intermittently. "So," she said finally, "if I stayed longer, it would help, right?"

"Um..." John tried to formulate an answer.

Without turning to look at him, she continued. "I mean, I'm helping you feel better, right? So should I stay? Or maybe I should just go?" When she had finished her question, she turned to look at him again, her eyes burning into his.

"Oh, uh, yeah, stay," he answered, "please. It's helping... take my mind off things. You, you're helping."

Her intense look suddenly melted into a smile. "Ok," she said. With that, she popped up off the couch. "I'm gonna borrow some pajamas, if that's alright."

"Uh, yeah, sure," John answered, finally letting out a breath he had not realized he'd been holding in. "You know where they are."

"Upstairs," she said, again without the clear indication of a question, before circling the couch and moving to the stairs. He watched her go, then stop at the foot of the stairs. She reached down to the bottom of her hoodie and, facing away from him, pulled it off over her head, revealing the bare skin of her back. As he watched, transfixed, she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder, smiled, and then proceeded up the stairs.

"So..." he said to nobody in particular, turning back to the tv. For a few more moments, the images from the screen washed over his eyes without registering. He then shut off the tv and waited for a few more seconds, listening for any sign of Carrie. When he was satisfied that there was none, he stood, turned, and proceeded up the stairs and to the bedroom.

Here he found Carrie, once again lounging on his bed, much as he had earlier in the day. The main, obvious difference was her attire, or, rather, lack thereof. She lay completely naked on the bed, toying once again with the laptop on the nightstand. He glanced at it, only to find it was now displaying a porn video. He watched for a second as the female performer, who he was unsurprised to see was Asian, began sucking off the male performer, a well-endowed white man.

"Hi," Carrie said with a smile.

"Hi," he responded. "I guess you couldn't find any pajamas?"

She smiled again. "I'll find them later," she said. "Not quite time for bed yet."

"Ah," he said. In front of him, Carrie had spread her legs, giving space for her free right hand to slide between them. When it had, it began slowly moving up and down over her pussy lips. "So, I guess we're watching a movie first?"

She shrugged without stopping her hand. "You said it's how guys deal with breakups," she answered.

He chuckled.

"So come on," she said. "I'm here to help, remember?"

I guess this is what we're doing, he conceded. Her eyes moved lazily back and forth between him and the screen, her hand continuing its slow motions as he undressed. When he had finished, he climbed onto the bed over her.

"Tut, tut," she said, taking her left hand from the keyboard and touching it gently to his chest. "I swore."

He followed her gentle touch, flopping over onto the bed beside her. "Really?"

"Really," she answered, watching him with a slight smile. "You do you. I'm just here to help."

"Oh, why, thank you," he responded, amused but, as always confused.

"So, come on," she said, "It's not going to jerk itself."

"I suppose not," he replied. He took his cock in his hand and started stroking it, already feeling the blood starting to fill it. Beside him, Carrie watched for a few seconds, then returned her attention to the screen.

"What a nice cock," she remarked. Her hand motions had gradually changed, becoming less vertical and more circular, focusing on her clit.

"His or mine?" John asked.

She turned back to him with a smile. "I meant his," she said, then, following a tiny laugh, "but yours is very nice, too."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically.

"What?" she asked. "You have a really nice cock. I've told you before."

"Just his is nicer," he chuckled.

"No," she said. "His is bigger, maybe. Not nicer, though."

"The big ones scare you or something?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Not at all. Guys are too worried about that shit, though. I never thought you of all people would be worried about it. I mean, you have a nice fucking cock, dude. Very much above average."

He laughed. "Not worried, just thought it was a funny thing to say."

She made an adorable face and went back to watching the screen for a few moments. "Now stop worrying and jerk that nice fucking cock of yours, already."

He followed her gaze to the screen, on which the girl was licking at the guy's balls while stroking him. He had to admire her technique. In the short span of time he had not been watching her, she'd managed to coat his entire cock with a fairly impressive layer of spit, which was now squeezing between her thin fingers with each stroke, and the wet sounds she made while sucking his balls, moving from one to the other before applying spit to them and repeating the process was just the type of thing that would have made his own cock spring to life if it hadn't already been fully hard. There was just something about a woman being so hungry for your cum that she would go right to the source, worshiping one's balls, that more than made up for it perhaps not feeling as good as simply working the shaft.

"Why don't you shave your balls?" Carrie asked. Her tone was one of genuine curiosity, her eyes still watching the screen as she asked.

John watched her finger toy with her clit for a few moments before he answered. "I trim," he objected. "Never really wanted to take a razor to my ballsack, though. Seems like an accident waiting to happen."

She turned to look at his eyes, then down to his crotch, which she watched, a pleasant expression on her face, for a few moments before responding. "Eh," she said finally. "I wasn't complaining. I've never actually met a guy with shaved balls but all these dudes in porn are totally shaved. Kind of wondered if it's a thing."

John couldn't help chuckling at this. "Yeah, I think it's a porn thing," he said. "Not really sure why, but I have a gut feeling it's to make their dicks look bigger."

Carrie laughed. "God, guys are just like, totally obsessed, aren't they?" She returned her eyes to the screen before adding. "You really do have a nice cock, though. How's it feeling?"

"Not bad," he chuckled. "Did you want to find out yourself?"

She turned her attention back to him, and he noticed her hand stopped as she briefly studied his face.

"Or I guess you swore..." he said.

She gave a little shake of her head, then reached her free hand down to his shaft and gripped it tentatively, pushing his away in the process. In the process, she turned from the computer.

"I guess the vow didn't include hand stuff," he said.

"Shut up," she said, her voice almost a whisper, her words followed by a tiny laugh. Then, after a slight pause in which her hand began moving up and down his shaft, she added, "It wasn't that specific."

He admired her ability to work both hands at once, the fingers of one moving in a tight little circle on her clit, those of the other running back and forth over the ridge of his cock head, pulling the skin of his cock over it first one direction and then the other. I guess all those piano lessons as a kid paid off for her, after all.

"Did you want me to move the screen?" he asked.

"Nnn," she shook her head dismissively. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on her work as a droplet of pre-cum oozed out of him. She put her thumb on the droplet and spread it down over his cock head. "I've seen more than enough porn these last couple months," she said.

With the arm that she wasn't pinning to the bed, he reached around, placing his hand on her side. His fingers had made it perhaps an inch before she slapped it away, momentarily releasing her grip on him to do so.

"Vow covers that, I guess," he said.

She laughed again, an adorable little sound that brought a smile to his face as if by magic. "Shut up, seriously. Don't distract me, I'm trying to help."

"You're helping, alright," he responded, which elicited first a little laugh, and then a look up into his eyes.

"Yeah?" she asked.

The question seemed so obvious he was surprised to hear it. "Uh, yeah," he answered.

"Does it feel good?" she asked.

What a peculiarly un-Carrie-like question, he thought.

"Uh huh," he answered. "Do you feel good?"

"Mmmhmm," she answered. The hand manipulating herself had been speeding up for a while, but as she had begun jerking him, the pace had leveled off, a steady, circular motion that she seemed to have designed to leave her on the edge of coming without going over that edge.

"Can you cum?" he asked.

She brought her eyes back to meet his but said nothing.

"Can you cum for me?" he asked again.

"Mmmhmm," she answered. Her fingers sped up.

"Cum for me," he said calmly.

"Mmm," she replied. Her eyes, locked onto his, began to close. The muscles in her face tightened as her fingers sped up more and more.

The fingers wrapped around his cock stopped their methodical movements and squeezed, tighter and tighter as her eyes finally snapped shut. "Oh... oh... I'm..." Her hand stopped and the motion transferred from it into the rest of her body, which began jerking irregularly. She writhed against him, her soft little body pressing against him, her hand clinching him tightly.

"Aah," she sighed softly as the last violent motions of her body gave way to tiny shivers. She pressed against him and her hand started moving up and down his shaft again. She turned her attention briefly to the laptop, craning her neck to see. The female performer was riding her partner, his thick cock sliding in and out of her pussy, coated with a more than generous helping of her fluids. The camera, positioned behind her, seemed to focus on her cute little brown asshole as she rode. "Did you like that?" Carrie asked, looking back into John's eyes.

"Yeah," he answered. "I've liked it every time you did it for me."

She smiled a shy little smile. "Can you do it for me?"

"Rub your clit?" he asked. "Sure."

He started to move but she pushed his hand away again. "No, I mean, can you cum for me?" she asked. "I want to see it."

"Alright," he said.

To his surprise, she reacted by slipping away from him, sliding down the bed to bring her face near his engorged cock. She rolled onto her stomach as he grabbed his dick, and she placed an arm across his thigh, getting herself as close as she could to it. "You can watch the video," she said, surprising him again. "It's about to get to the best part, anyway."

He looked at her curiously for a moment, then turned his attention to the screen as he began where she had left off jerking him. She had been doing a more than adequate job but he was reminded, as always, that nobody gave a handjob as good as oneself. On screen, the girl climbed off of her partner and, after a perfunctory addition of another glob of spit to his cock, clambered up on top of him again, this time facing the camera. Taking hold of the cock with one hand, she lowered herself onto it, impaling her ass with practiced ease. In no time at all, she was bouncing atop him, the camera catching a nice view of his long, thick member disappearing into her ass, only to reappear a moment later before repeating the process. The girl busied herself fingering her clit and moaning various "fuck me"s and "fuck my ass"es as she rode.

She wasn't wrong about the best part, John had to admit.

The girl stopped, letting the cock fall out of her ass, and her partner took the opportunity to manhandle her, displaying her now gaping asshole for the camera, which zoomed in appropriately as she continued to finger her juicy pussy.

"Oh fuck," John groaned involuntarily as the cum inside him begged to be let out. He managed to suppress it, wanting this to last.

"You like that?" Carrie asked. Her question had a tone of genuine curiosity to it. "You like seeing her asshole get wrecked?"

"Mmmhmm," John answered. He glanced down at Carrie, whose attention was completely focused on his cock.

"Cum for me," she said calmly. "Can you cum for me?"

"Uh huh," he managed to grunt just as the cum won the battle and started its hot course up the length of his cock. The first burst of the stuff flew out almost completely vertically, landing a few moments later on his belly.

Before the second had even started, Carrie had closed her lips around his cock head. He struggled to keep his eyes open, seeing hers look up to his face as the cum poured out of him and into her mouth. Without even flinching, she took the remainder of his cum, letting the hot, slimy load hit her in the throat and fill her mouth. She remained latched onto him tightly well after his orgasm had subsided, then, with a little slurping sound, she sucked it all up and swallowed it, then returned to her former position next to him, cuddling against his side.

He rolled onto his side, getting a better look at her face. God, she really is beautiful, he thought, and wrapped an arm around her. This time she did not object to the presence of his hand on her side, though it did evidently draw her attention, as she turned her face to look him in the eyes. "What?"

"That doesn't violate the vow?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Meh."

"So what was that?" he asked.

"That was nothing," she answered, pouting adorably. "I told you, I swore to myself I wouldn't let you fuck me again, and I didn't. That was not fucking me. That was a blowjob, at most, and not even that, really. It was really more like just helping you clean yourself up."

He laughed. "Have I ever mentioned how weird you are?"

She pouted again, this time not so facetiously. "I'm not weird," she said.

"Yes, you are," he replied. "You are by far the weirdest girl I have ever dated. Hands down."

She scowled. "But have I also never mentioned how much I love that weirdness?"

She looked into his eyes for a second, struggling to maintain her scowl. "No," she said finally, "Which is just another reason why you're an asshole."

"Can't argue there. I definitely should have said it more often." He tried to reach past her to shut the video off, but she reached out and took hold of his wrist. "Still watching?"

In lieu of an answer, she pushed his wrist back down to his side and climbed atop him, straddling him in one fluid motion. The hot wetness of her pussy pressed down onto his now mostly flaccid cock and he looked at her questioningly. "We're not done," she said.

"Didn't you just say you swore not to...?" he began.

"I say a lot of weird things," she answered, leaning down on top of him and bringing her face to where it was almost pressed against his. "But you love it."

"I do find it..." he began.

"Shut up," she cut him off, then, whispering, "Just don't. Say. Anything."

Before he had a chance to disobey, she pressed her soft lips against his. Her fingers dug through his hair as she began grinding her wet pussy on his cock. Surprising even John himself, it sprung back to life at the sensation, growing harder each time she slid her pussy lips along the shaft. "Mmm," she purred, pulling away from the kiss with a smile.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him, first with a look, and then with a finger placed gently on his lips. "Please," she whispered as she continued to grind on him, "don't." She reached down between her legs, rising slightly up off him, and took hold of his now mostly hard cock, then proceeded to rub it along her slit, stopping at her entrance. She sank down on top of him, taking its head inside herself with a tiny gasp.

Her pussy was almost unbelievably tight, so despite her more than sufficient juices, it took a few attempts, Carrie moving her hips while gripping him in one hand, before she could let go and let him sink in further than the head. When his shaft was comfortably partially inside her, she leaned down again and kissed him. His cock grew harder inside her and he started moving his hips, thrusting up into her, and she met his motions, her pussy slowly but surely opening to allow him deeper and deeper.

Her tongue teased his lips and he opened them, letting her inside. It did not so much explore his mouth as comfortably make itself at home, moving slowly this way and that. "Mmm," she moaned, sending vibrations through his mouth.

She ground on top of him, her soaking wet pussy squeezing and massaging his cock, coaxing it back to full hardness inside herself. He rested one hand on her hip and let the other glide up over her smooth skin to her soft, perky tits. Her nipples, already protruding nicely, reacted by hardening even further as his fingers tweaked one and then the other, eliciting coos of pleasure from Carrie as she rode, eyes closed, into her own private world of pleasure.

"Do you like it?" she purred, opening her eyes to look into his.

"Uh huh," he answered as her juices dripped down his balls.

"Tell me," she moaned. "Tell me you like how it feels."

"I love it," he answered.

Suddenly, she pressed herself down onto him, bringing her mouth to his ear, her hips going onto overdrive, forcing him in and out of her rapidly. "Tell me," she moaned hot into his ear. "Tell me what you like."

"I love your tight little pussy," he groaned.

She sped up even more pushing her ass back against his hands as he struggled to hold on.

"More," she moaned.

"I love this tight little pussy. It feels so fucking good on my cock," he gasped.

"Oh, fuck yes," she whined, suddenly kissing him hard on the mouth, then pulling away again. "Fuck my tight little pussy... more... oh fuck... make me fucking cum with your big fucking cock..."

Suddenly she stopped and her pussy went wild, clamping down on his dick over and over again. "Oh... oh..." her moans were almost painful as her entire body seemed to tense atop him. "Oh fuck, I'm coming for you..."

She practically collapsed on top of him, falling forward and burying her face in his neck. Her hips had only started moving again slowly as she kissed his neck listlessly, slow, wet kisses coming seemingly at random intervals and at random places. He snaked one hand between them and applied gentle pressure to her shoulder, rolling her off him and onto her back.

She watched him with a dreamy expression on her face as he got up on his knees and, moving her limp leg out of the way himself, took up a position in between her legs. Her tongue played slowly across her lip as her leg flopped back down onto the bed and he took a hold of his throbbing cock and guided it back to her slit. Her arms wrapped loosely around him as he pressed down on her, his cock sinking effortlessly back into her sopping wet pussy.

"Ooh!" she let out a cute little whine of pleasure as his cock slipped into her, once more stretching her tight little pussy. He kissed her softly and her arms tightened around him, pulling him into her, one hand on his back and the other sliding down to his ass. As his kisses moved from her lips to her neck she moaned softly, "Mmm, yes, mmm..."

As he thrust gently in and out of her, savoring the way her pussy worked his dick, he let his right hand make its way down the side of her body, settling on her soft but firm ass. His other hand on the back of her head, their tongues intertwined, dancing to the beautiful, wet sound of her pussy, happily accepting his thrusts while her juices overflowed her slit. His fingers found these juices as they explored her, reaching to her crack. She shivered, and as his fingertip brushed her asshole, she tensed in anticipation. He pressed in, sinking in slowly. Her hole allowed him entrance, relaxing slightly and then pulling him deeper. "Ohhhh" she moaned, breaking off the kiss in reaction to a jolt of pleasure that was visible on her strained face.

He kissed her neck as she whimpered, moving her hips in time with his. She drove him deeper and deeper with each thrust. "Oh fuck..." she groaned, "I'm gonna... oh..."

She came hard, her holes clamping down on him and then releasing, only to clamp down once again. Her eyes, closed tight against the pleasure, finally opened as her quivering slowed. He let his finger slip from her ass and she flinched in the moment, only to limply take hold of his wrist and guide his hand to her mouth. Her tongue darted out quickly but lingered on his extended finger. She locked eyes with him as she licked, savoring the taste of her own ass.

She released his hand and when he felt Carrie's body fully relax around him, John pulled out, leaving his cock, soaked with pussy juice, feeling suddenly slightly cold and alone. It throbbed in his hand as he looked down at Carrie's shaved pussy. It gaped slightly open, the lips deliciously engorged, a mixture of her juices and his own pre-cum oozing out of it and down her ass crack. She regarded him for a moment, then reached her arms down and snaked them under her knees. She pulled them up to her chest, exposing her cute little brown asshole to him. "Please," she said in almost a whisper.

He breathed deep, suppressing the urge to come again onto that deliciously gaped pussy, and pressed the head of his cock against her asshole. She sucked on her lower lip, eyeing him in anticipation. He pushed forward and his cock had sank in, forcing its way past the rim of her asshole to the sound of Carrie's excited whimper. He continued pushing in, his shaft slowly, slowly disappearing inside her. She quivered, visibly trying to control her breathing as he worked himself into her, slowing, stopping, reversing, then pushing in once again until at last his body pressed against hers, the full length of his throbbing member buried in her tight asshole.

"Mmm," she whined, her high pitched voice adorable. "Fuck it... fuck my ass..."

He began moving in and out of her in earnest, long, slow strokes, which brought his cock out just up to the head before sinking it back into her. Her hole stopped resisting as she continued to moan "Oh fuck, oh god yes... oh fuck..."

He took a hold of her ankles, freeing her hands as his thrusting grew more and more forceful. She grabbed her tits, stopping their bouncing in time to his thrusts, and toyed with her nipples. "Oh fuck me... fuck my ass... oh god yes..."

"You like that?" he purred, their eyes locked. "You like my cock in your tight little asshole?"

"Mmmhmm," she answered, her voice a high-pitched squeal, "Fuck my little ass... make me fucking cum with my ass... oh god... oh fuck I'm gonna cum!" Her ass went crazy on John's cock, squeezing it tight, releasing, then squeezing again.

"Oh fuck," John grunted as she pushed him over the edge, "I'm gonna fucking cum..."

"Oh yes, baby, give me that fucking cum! Cum in my tight little fucking ass!" she begged, her voice a high-pitched wail.

He did as asked, though he could not do otherwise, releasing a hot torrent of thick cum deep into her bowels. His cock jerked involuntarily, spewing his seed in spurts until he had nothing left to give. Her tight asshole pushed his softening member out, followed by a beautiful stream of milky white cum. As he panted, taking his sticky cock in hand without thought, her legs fell back to the bed.

He looked into her eyes and smiled. She smiled back, then reached a hand down between her legs and, as he watched, jammed two fingers into her leaking ass, pulling them out again a second later coated in his cum. She brought them to her mouth, then sucked the cum off enthusiastically, ending by displaying it briefly on her tongue before swallowing it.

He almost fell off the bed, collapsing backwards away from her. His head was light and he felt as if he had emptied his entire self into her, leaving him sweaty and slightly cold as he breathed heavily. He'd managed to catch himself before he completely passed out and now sat, propped up on his elbows, watching Carrie.

For a few moments, she said nothing but ran her hands over her body as if trying to settle the nerves which were still firing intermittent shocks of pleasure to her. She twitched slightly here and there, gradually calming herself, then took a deep breath and rolled over onto her side, then onto her knees before crawling over to him. The weight of her head, placed gently on his chest, pushed him back and he eased down to the bed, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. She wiggled in close to him, laying her arm across his chest.

"That was..." he began, not knowing where the sentence would lead.

Her hand moved quickly upwards and she placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered.

He looked down at her and she must have sensed it, because she looked up at him, her head still resting on him. "Are you feeling better now?" she asked, pulling her finger from his lips.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Thanks. So I guess this is another one of those 'one-time' things?"

Her lips moved, signaling her thoughts, which for once, John made no attempt to guess at, then she answered, "It doesn't have to be." Her smile, so slight and yet so unmistakable, was the last thing John saw before he drifted off to sleep.