I fucked my childhood friend [MF]

Have you ever been to Amsterdam?

To me, it’s the perfect city. It’s a semicircle of concentric canals, with small roads occupied by thousands of bicycles, and six-storey Victorian or earlier townhouses.

The people there are beautiful: straightforward, tall, thin, and handsome. The music scene is great, the beer is amazing, and you can walk pretty much from one end of the city to the other.

I’d know Edward for fifteen years then. We’d been at Primary School together. We were inseparable as children; I loved him. He was my best friend. We started growing apart when we were nine or ten – as boys and girls who are friends do – and went to separate Secondary schools.

For Americans, Primary School is ages 5 – 11. Secondary School is ages 11 – 16. I met Edward when I was 5.

We did our own things through Secondary School. Our families were close, and I saw him at barbecues or around the New Year. He was awkward, seemingly always covered in acne. His limbs always the wrong length. I wore dresses and flirted with his older brothers.

As we got to the end of Secondary School, we grew closer together again. I started seeing all the people I went to Primary School with more, including him. We fell back into an easy rhythm: I would tease him, he would blush and tease me a little, until I got annoyed at him.

Our whole group – those who knew each other from Primary School – all went off to Uni. Whenever we came home for the holidays, we’d see each other pretty much straight away. It became a planned thing, and we started putting more and more effort into it: hiring holiday houses, driving to interesting places. That’s how Amsterdam happened.

I was twenty when this story took place; it was five years ago next month.

There were six of us in this group: three girls, three guys. Edward, Daniel, David, Rebecca, Rachael, and myself.

It was the last full day of our trip. Amsterdam’s interesting as a tourist: there aren’t actually a tonne of attractions. I’m fairly used to London, where there are a billion things to do. That’s not the case so much in Amsterdam: it’s a city you settle into, and get cosy.

We’d spent our last real afternoon settling into the tap room at the Brouwerij ‘t IJ: a brewery in a beautiful old windmill in the west of Amsterdam that serves their own brands of delicious, strong beer. It was good: the ends of holidays are good. Jokes came easily, and silences were comfortable: a mutual, unacknowledged sadness that the trip was coming to an end.

A couple of hours in – maybe 3PM – I started to feel a little light-headed. I told the group I was going to go back to the Apartment and sleep off the beer. They were all going out that night to a nightclub – maybe to De School – and I told them I might join them later.

Edward told me he’d go with me back to the apartment, and then go back to the brewery, which was sweet of him. We rode the tram pack to the apartment together. It was raining a little bit. The trams swing hard on the corners, and Edward was sat by the window. I let myself get thrown into him a couple of times, looking up at him, laughing. I let my arm rest against his.

He turned his body slightly to point out something, maybe the zoo at Artis. This moved his body closer to mine. I leaned to look out of the window, and our faces were almost touching. We laughed at the tram stop called Mr. Visserplein.

At the apartment we had a little cannabis left. We’d bought it for the trip, at the beginning, at the Paradox coffee shop. Probably a Silver Haze, if I remember correctly. I’m not a big cannabis smoker, but the quality of the stuff available in Amsterdam – relative to what was available in my British university town – was pretty intense.

I began rolling a joint.

‘Is that a good idea?’ Said Edward.

I told him yes, it was a good idea. It would settle me. We smoked it on the balcony.

The wind was cold. I shuffled up to him, and put my head on his shoulder.

‘You know,’ He said, as if he was about to say something. Then he just smiled and exhaled audibly.

‘What?’ I said. He laughed.

‘I always had a thing for you.’ He said. ‘A big thing for you.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I said. I moved away from him, grinning.

‘Yeah,’ He said. ‘You were so cool.’

‘I was?’

‘Yeah.’ He said. ‘Cool. And unattainable.’

‘Well,’ I said. I took a drag on the joint, and bounced my hair in a mock ‘glamorous’ way. ‘That’s understandable.’

‘I’m being serious.’ He said. ‘I wanted you for so long.’

‘What changed?’ I said.

‘I don’t know.’ He said. ‘I realised you shouldn’t want things just because you can’t have them.’

That hurt me a little.

‘There are other reasons you might want me.’ I said. I – very obviously – pushed my breasts together and stepped towards him again. I saw him look down my dress. I looked up at him.

I moved my face up towards his, and kissed him on the cheek very lightly.

I passed him the joint and walked inside. I could feel myself starting to cry.

I heard the balcony door close, and felt his hand on my arm. He span me around. He put his hand on my face and kissed me long and hard.

I opened my mouth and let his tongue touch mine. His hands were in the small of my back. I had my hands on his face, and up the back of his shirt. I pulled him towards me.

We kissed for a moment longer, and then I stepped back. I pulled my dress over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and stood there in front of him for a moment, naked, except for my thong.

I love the moment when a man sees my body for the first time: I love to watch their eyes and their face. Men are so openly adoring, so vulnerable, when they see your breasts for the first time.

He stepped towards me and I grabbed and pulled at his belt. I pulled the waistband of his underwear down. His penis sprang, teenage hard, from his boxers.

I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. He was average-sized, and I could take him all almost straight away. I was high, and he felt hard and sensual in my mouth. I looked up at him.

He was looking down at me: this boy I’d know since I was five. A person who I had now shared almost everything with.

I took his balls in my mouth now, and started with my hand on his penis: pumping forward and back, then slapping it against my face. I wanted to absorb him completely: to share all of myself with him.

I moved backwards and kept my hand on his penis.

‘Hit me,’ I told him. ‘Hurt me.’

He slapped me hard across the face. I kept my hand moving.

‘Again,’

He hit me again. I made a noise.

‘I need you inside me,’ I said.

I moved backwards, onto a sofa. He pulled off his clothes. I leant back, and opened my legs. I pulled off my thong. He kneeled and pushed into me.

It hurt a little, but not too much. I inhaled hard. I was very wet. He eased into me, then pulled out almost all the way.

We locked eyes, and he pushed back inside me. All the way this time. We stayed like that for a moment.

‘Hit me again,’ I said.

He held back for a moment. He started fucking me: building up a rhythm. Then he hit me, really hard. I moaned.

I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted to be his property: to be owned by him. To be his. For him to make me his.

He started fucking me hard and fast. He didn’t have a condom on.

Without me telling him to, he put his hands around my neck. I felt myself getting light-headed. My windpipe felt constricted.

I held eye contact with him, and came, hard.

I felt my body buckle. After the convulsions stopped, he hit me again.

‘I’m going to cum,’ He said.

‘On me,’ I said.

He pulled out, and I moved off the sofa and knelt in front of him. I stuck my tongue out and put one of my hands under his balls and the other on his glute.

He came: hot cum spurted from his penis onto my face.

Once it had subsided, I took his penis in my mouth again. I held it there for a moment, moving my tongue across it.

I took it back out and used my hand to move his cum into my mouth. My cheek was hurting from the times he hit me. I grinned at him and went to go shower.

When I was out of the shower, he wasn’t in the living room and our clothes had gone. I found him in his bedroom. He was lying on the bed.

I moved over to him and climbed in with him. He opened his arm up so I could lie on his chest.

‘I wanted that for a long time,’ He said.

‘Me too.’ I said. ‘That was really good.’

I cried a little, and we slept like that for a while. We woke up around 10PM.

I won’t bore you with the non-sexy details of what we talked about when we woke up. Essentially, we agreed that while we were close friends – and had a deep affection for each other – we don’t want to be permanent sexual partners. One of those lovely, high conversations where you’re able to be honest with each other.

Lots of people sent really lovely messages after my last post here; if you want to read more of my work, I have a novella (fictional, not real) available on Amazon that’s free right now. [Check it out!](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CX6NLXB) It’d mean the world. Mods, if I’m not allowed to promote my (free) work that’s available elsewhere, just message me and I’ll remove this para!

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8j6wi0/i_fucked_my_childhood_friend_mf