Yes. He should try it out. We should skip all this talking.
I should invite him over.
But he's already said he has family visiting.
He's unavailable for banging.
And this… talking to him… it's nice.
Iris: You should.
Walker: What else should I do?
Iris: Throw me on the bed and take me from behind.
Walker: Next time.
Now.
Damn. It's like the coffee. I want my fix. Not the release of an orgasm. But everything that comes with sex. The smell of him, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body against mine.
I've never wanted someone like this.
In this visceral way.
Is it sobriety?
Or is it him?
Walker: Are you panting yet?
Iris: Yes.
Walker: I'll have mercy. Change the subject.
Iris: You're kind.
Walker: No. I'm hard. And I'm not gonna fuck myself with my sister in the next room.
Iris: Oh.
I let my eyelids flutter together. I let my head fill with thoughts of him stripping out of his clothes, wrapping his hands around his cock, and—
Buzz.
Walker: Isn't going to therapy part of training?
Iris: In my program, it's strongly encouraged. I see someone every week.
Because it's supposed to help me figure out how to stay clean. How to want to stay clean.
Not because it's required.
But this is the truth.
And it's really none of Walker's business.
We're fuck buddies. Not lovers. He doesn't get the key that unlocks my heart. That's the whole point of casual.