It was supposed to be a joke. You know, something you do to prove a point and laugh about it afterward, then life goes on. I simply wanted to shut her up since she thinks she’s always right.
Just once—I wanted to be right.
I hate fucking losing, but this little stunt of mine has backfired big time.
How does a man like myself, who’s spent years studying medicine act on a whim and change everything between us? And her lips taste so… fuck, I can’t even go there. I’ve kissed many women, yet no one—nobody—in the space of ten seconds has ever kissed me in a way that left me breathless. Geez, that sounds so fucking corny.
It was the French vanilla ice cream mixed with her Coca-Cola Lipsmacker. You love French vanilla. Don’t mistake this situation thinking her lips always taste like that. Might as well blame my dick getting hard on that as well. Just don’t go there.
After she told me this lame joke about a monkey, we agree to make our way back home which suits me fine. I’m worried her body’s still recovering from today’s events and don’t want her to push herself.
The walk back feels longer than usual, but she’s appeared to let the kiss go, and on the way home we talk about random things like we normally do.
Well, she’s talking. Rambling. And boy can she talk. I’m simply nodding and listening like I usually do. Thank God, because bringing up that bathroom incident has left me with a walking hard-on.
It was all her fault, the entire thing. I still remember it like it happened yesterday. It was a year ago, and with a mouthful of pizza, she told me she was going to her room. Obviously, I misheard.
My mind is all over the place. Melinda, this hot, older exotic dancer, just propositioned me via text. All I need to do is take a quick shower and get over to her place with a pack of rubbers.
I clean the kitchen, quickly discarding the pizza box that lies on the countertop since Zoey can’t be bothered. Zoey mumbles with a mouthful of pizza that she’s heading to her room and grabs a bottle of soda as she walks away. With the kitchen tidied, I head to the bathroom and open the door.
“Holy fuck, Drew, get the hell out of here!” Zoey yells, her high-pitched voice piercing my sensitive ears.
In a state of disbelief, I continue to stand frigid on the spot. Zoey’s sitting on the edge of the bath with her leg up and spread open armed with a razor and some cream. I can’t look away. I mean her pussy is staring me in the face.
It’s shaved.
It’s pink.
It’s so…
Her legs close abruptly. She grabs the towel hanging on the towel rack and places it over her legs in a frantic rush. Then, she throws my toothbrush at me.
Unfortunately, it lands in the toilet.
“Fucking hell, Drew, why aren’t you listening to me? Get the hell out! Stop staring at me.”
“I’m sorry, you said you were going to your room,” I yell back at her. “You were carrying a soda, for Christ’s sake.”
For some unknown reason, the soda is sitting on the bathroom vanity.
This is not my fault.
How was I to know she’d drink soda in the bathroom while shaving her pussy? Oh my God, Drew, fucking stop using that word with Zoey’s name attached.
“I said ‘the bathroom!’” She holds the towel with her hand and scrambles to push me out of the room.
“Jesus Christ, Zo. Why the fuck are you shaving your—”
Pointing her finger directly at me, her face is bright red, the shade complimenting her bright-green eyes filled with anger. “Don’t say it… don’t ever say what you saw. You got me?”
I nod and almost tumble out of the room like an awkward teenage boy.
Revert to Rule Number Five, the clause about accidental nudity. The rule was there to serve a purpose—I just never thought it’d be for something like this.
I struggled for weeks after that incident, banging every girl I could to get that image out of my mind. Equally as affected, Zo took a trip to her parents’ beach house and returned a couple of weeks later. Thank God everything between us went back to normal, but every now and then, the image pops up, much to my discontent. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she has a great looking pus… genital area.
Yet, I was a fool to kiss her tonight. Something odd’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. The thought of losing her almost killed me, and having her sob into my chest as I held on to her tightly drudged up questions that shouldn’t be asked. We are roomies. There’s a code of conduct that is attached to that label. We aren’t allowed to think of each other in any way aside from friends, let alone entertain sexual thoughts.