LOUIS
There's a moment, once I've orgasmed and my stranger is worn out and giggling, where I wonder why we agreed to something so intimate again. I watch Harry's hand close around a boob, tongue swiping across a hard nipple as his pace increases. He groans when he comes and moves onto his stomach to use his mouth on a stranger as pretty as mine. She squirms and moans, burying a pair of tiny hands in Harry's curls as an orgasm steals away her breath and consumes her entire body.
"Jesus fuck."
"I'll say," my stranger says, agreeing as she sinks a hand into my hair. "I can't move."
I'm not impressed. I've never minded pounding a woman into my mattress, or eating one out, and sometimes I enjoy something as easy as not preparing. There's just an apparent contrast between women and men. As much as women arouse me, men give me orgasms that ruin me to an extent I can't put into words.
"I'd request more," Harry's girl says—names passed right over my head, "if my body wasn't protesting."
Harry is pleased as usual. His smirk proves as much as we come back to ourselves moment by moment and start moving. Our strangers put everything back on as I stay put and permit myself a cigarette. My stranger interrupts me to snog me prior to going, though I can't complain. Harry goes as well, sends both girls away pleasantly and comes back to me, worn out and spent. He relaxes against my mattress, meeting my eyes as I continue smoking.
"Everything okay?"
I shrug. "With girls, my orgasms are adequate at most."
He's quite a moment, glancing at me. "And with guys?"
"I assume it is to me what women are to you."
"But you're into women as well."
"Doesn't mean my preference isn't guys. But yours isn't, so your orgasms are presumably..."
"Right. Yeah."
On occasion, Harry's preferences cross my mind, mainly once we're caught up in something as we are now and were a moment ago. He watches me as we're sorting out condoms, as we're getting sweaty and caught up in pleasure, his more intense than mine, though we've never strayed or permitted our hands to wander—me because I'm not one to overstep and Harry because... well. Sometimes I'm assuming we engage in mutual sex because we need intimacy that Harry won't give in to. I'm hoping it won't last, that at some point he'll snap and pound me into a state of pure ecstasy.
"I'm gonna clean up," I announce, worried I may say something wrong. "You can stay if you want."
His room is across mine, so it isn't a prolonged journey, yet I expect his presence once I come back. The warm water eases my mind, washes away our night and my unwanted urges. I worry it isn't merely sex I want, that I at some point during our years of sharing an apartment got caught up in a fantasy of someone straight becoming my boyfriend.
I'm starving once I'm out and wearing underwear again. I sort out a toast and eat it as I rest against our counter, sort one more out and put it on a plate so I can bring it back to my room. Harry accepts it as I groan in appreciation of my new sheets. He eats it and goes to clean up as well but comes back to snuggle me beneath my clean covers.
"Good night."
"Good night, H."
A week passes and we're out again. Harry is chatting someone up, putting on an extra amount of charm, so much it nearly charms me as well even when it isn't meant to. He urges me to chat someone up as well, presumably so we can repeat Friday's rendezvous, though my head isn't in it. He comes over as soon as his conquest excuses herself and goes in search of a restroom.
