Through Her Eyes

My phone vibrates, it's him. I pick it up and unlock it, to see a text message asking me if I'm available to smoke one. Hell, I know what he wants, and I'm ready to give it to him, and it's not a joint.

We've been friends for a while now, and every now and then we share our bodies to achieve carnal pleasure, but no strings attached. "I'm on my way", I text back, as I put my tennis shoes on and get my bag from the hook behind my bedroom door. "Dad, I'm going to hang out with Claire, I'll be back before dinner", I tell Dad, in hopes he doesn't realize that I'm just going to spend some time with someone who can give it to me the way I really enjoy.

"Hi, I'm downstairs", I start as he answers my phone call. Outside it's the typical warm afternoon of October, and I appreciate the fact I thought in advance and brought a t-shirt with my red lace bra under it, I know he'll like it. "I'll open the door", he retorts.

I go up three or four sets of stairs. At some point I stop counting and just let the heavy breathing in, and the pain travel through my body. I shouldn't have been with that guy yesterday, my legs hurt. As I rest my weight on the creaky step, I hear him open the door to his house. He lets me in, after giving me a kiss on the cheek, and decides to show me around his new apartment. He finally got a room, just like he wanted, and my help was useless, because as it seems, he was able to find it on his own. As expected, he picked the room with the balcony directed to the main street. It had a greyish-white chaise-long against the wall near the window and had his bed right next to the bedside table. His desk was in front of his bed, and there was this modern age lamp that had nothing to with the bedroom's current personality. I could clearly see that he had just moved in. The apartment still had traces of old dust, there was no washing machine, and his bedsheets seemed to be borrowed from someone's house, and they were, I just either did not realize this at the time or maybe I did not care, because that is what I do. I fuck for no reason just because sex is good, and the best thing about this is that I have no connections I need to establish. I come in, I let them use my body the same way I use theirs with solely the goal of each of us achieving climax, feeling somebody else's skin against our own, to have the honor of feeling, even if it is ephemerally, taken care of.

I decide to sit on top of his bed while he rolls the first joint for us to smoke; it seemed to be of common knowledge that to do this we had to not be lucid, not enjoy how great it feels to be appreciated by someone, and just fuck. Then I could be on my way to the next one. I stood on my feet and went to the balcony after he passed me the joint. He told me about his day, and then I told him about mine. There wasn't much more to know, we just had to finish smoking this weed, close the window, and head on to do what I really came here to do. I needed no concern for any other person because I owed him nothing, and he owed me nothing; I know who this person is, I know what he does, I know what he likes, so let me just give it to him.

I sit on the chair in front of his desk. As I take my tennis shoes off and rest my bag upon the white tabletop, I look over at him, both of us stoned, and see him extend his arm and asking me to go in his direction just by using his hand and saying, "Come here". I can sense his boner as I sit on top of him and grab the back of his neck. He puts his hands on my waist and helps me grind on him while I caress his neck with my lips. He likes my eyes, I know that; who doesn't like the rarity of green eyes? But he doesn't seem to love them that much, as his move is to lay me down on my stomach and taking my clothes of. He removes his pants and t-shirt and penetrates me from behind while pulling my hair and calling me 'bitch'. He turns me around, us then being face to face, then puts my legs over his shoulders and gives it to me, deep. He spits on my face and comes closer to my ear, moaning. I slap him across the face and make him moan even more and give it to me harder. I love this.

He cums. This time it was a little bit faster than usual, like he hadn't had sex for a few days and just needed to get the adrenaline out. It's okay, I'm here for that and to serve myself as well. I'll surely come back.

I put my clothes back on my body, and as we finish getting ourselves together again, we decide to smoke another one. "Where did you get those sheets?", I ask. They just kept me thinking, mainly because they didn't go with the room. He tells me a friend lent them to him while his father was getting everything ready to bring to his new apartment. New things were coming, groceries, a washing machine and running tap water.

It was time to leave, it was already six o'clock and I had promised my dad I'd be home before dinner. I said goodbye, thinking it wasn't the last time I'd see him, no worries, no regrets, because as I said before, I don't think there's any value to this. In my eighteen years of life, all I've done is use male bodies for personal pleasure, and equally letting my body be used for personal pleasure. It's only fair.

Little did I know I was about to become one of the reasons to another girl's destruction.