We have been trading innuendo and flirtatious comments for months. So when he kept suggesting drinks at his apartment instead of the bar multiple times, I had finally decided to take him up on it to see what would happen. It is intoxicating to flirt with wrong. To see if something will or won’t happen the way you predict. The evening started innocently enough. No body contact, light conversation, joking. I had mixed some vodka in one of his plastic cups with some juice and sipped on it. Smiling over the rim at something he said. I hadn’t eaten much that day, and I could feel the effects fairly quickly. The conversation turned risqué and he started pouring more vodka into my glass to be funny. I didn’t add more juice, I just kept drinking. I think at that point the scales had tipped from maybe this could happen to this is definitely happening. Little did he know I’d have done it sober, but vodka helps in all situations. So I let him jokingly pour more into my cup while I worked on getting shitfaced and care even less than I would have normally. Within 10 mins he had my top off. Then my bra followed. Standing against the kitchen counter, my back to a sink full of dirty dishes, he kissed me lightly. Gauging my reaction and when I leaned into him and silently asked for more, he gave it.

The type of girl that always has an escape plan and 4 or 5 exits mapped out. Someone who blurs the line of fidelity to suit a double standard that she can’t hold herself to. This is how I find myself at 4AM in the wrong bed feeling the wrong hand stroking my thigh and the wrong lips landing softly, sweetly on my shoulder. A pretense of caring because how else is the hapless fool supposed to behave after I passed out drunkenly in his bed? He doesn’t know if I’m going to freak out, regretfully sobbing that this shouldn’t have happened and it’s his fault. If only I cared even THAT much…I chuckle to myself and turn, knowing he doesn’t have a choice but to wait until I am ready to leave. After all, he’s been conditioned against insensitivity in these situations. I use that conditioning to my advantage as I trace my lips down his chest, to his waiting cock. Six or seven inches of smooth circumcised phallic deliciousness strains up toward my mouth. He knows…ohh yes he does. This wordless sexual response is what I’ve needed. What I’ve been lacking in my current relationship. The never rejected offer of sexual pleasure. Sex is wanted/desired/sought.. hourly..not just needed after a few days.  This…yes this is what I live for as I swallow his cock down my throat, closing my eyes at his breathy moan. The lines blur again as I stroke with my tongue, while simultaneously sucking the length of his shaft. He’s just another faceless body, pretty to look at, and just as wrong and committed as I am to another. I know him, yes, I don’t do random men from bars. That would be gross. He stops me to ask if I want to be pleased at the same time. I decline and continue working his cock into and out of my wet mouth, sucking just the tip in and rolling my tongue over it and down so that he jumps a little. He asks if I’m expecting him to cum with this and I just smile, his cock filling my mouth, and keep going. He requests that I stop, flips me over and in 2 thrusts has cum. Apparently, I have done what I set out to do. Of course I am unsatisfied, but this wasn’t about my satisfaction, it was about making him remember me. Someone will fantasize about me, even if it isn’t the one I want.

The pain of that thought is swiftly pushed aside while I utilize my lover’s bathroom to clean myself up. I carelessly mention my car, waiting at a distant location, and search for my clothing throughout this apartment. Hmm, top is on the futon, shoes in the middle of the room, jeans in the kitchen…this is what happens with me on vodka and feeling dangerous. I think he was actually supposed to be meeting up with someone else that night, I’m pretty sure he’d mentioned it, so that makes these events even sweeter. I won that contest. At 5am he is driving me back, making small talk that I’d rather do without, honestly. I say goodbye as I’m hopping out of his truck. We don’t need to hug…definitely not kiss..let’s not drag this out.


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