About six years ago, I rented a large house with four friends from undergrad (it was way cheaper than any of us getting our own places). My husband John was active duty, and I had just started grad school hundreds of miles away, so it was nice to have a little community around me (and, I cannot stress this enough, the rent was very cheap). There were three guys and one other girl in the house, and for the most part we all got along. We all had our own rooms and worked a variety of schedules, so it never felt too cramped. The only big drawbacks were that I had to wear pants in communal areas, and my roommates didn’t appreciate my habit of taking a scalding shower until the hot water runs out or my skin burns off, whichever comes first. Still, it was a nice living arrangement near the university, and it left me with a lot of booze money.
Scott was one of my roommates, and he was (and is) also my best friend. At the time, we were strictly platonic; he’d had a couple of long-term girlfriends that ended in disaster, and I never understood why he stayed in relationships long past their expiration dates- especially because I knew his most recent girlfriend hadn’t been putting out. After they broke up, we started going out drinking a lot, trying to help each other pick up women. Unfortunately, we are both atrocious at it, mostly because we’re horrible at recognizing when somebody is interested in us.
I’ll get descriptions out of the way now: I’m 5’2, and when this story took place I was 23 and a 34DDD with a body that was in decent shape but still soft to the touch. Even at my skinniest, I have thick thighs, and on my small frame that leads to some exaggerated curves. My hair is dark brown with blue eyes that I’m told are “expressive,” whatever that means.
Scott was also 23, about 5’8 with dark brown hair and eyes to match. He doesn’t look strong at first glance, but every muscle on his body is lean and toned from years as a lifeguard. He’s sexy in a nerdy/academic way, partially because he’s a science teacher. At a Catholic school. And forgive me, father, for I have sinned.
Over the course of about four months, Scott and I went out drinking at least two nights a week and spent a lot of time at home inching ever closer to each other on the couch. We talked about sex like we always had, but it felt… Different. When he told me he hadn’t had a blowjob in years, I found myself wanting to rectify that… you know…. as a friend…
I talked to my husband John about these thoughts, and he was very into the idea of me pursuing things with Scott. We had discussed opening up our marriage before, but aside from a few instances of making out with other people, it hadn’t gone anywhere. He gave me his permission. I decided to go for it.
And then… A few more months passed. Same shit as always. Scott and I would hit the bar, dance, strike out with a few girls, come home, lay on the couch, laugh about the night…. And then go our seperate ways to our rooms. The sexual tension was thicker than my thighs and seemed to permeate every conversation. At least, I thought so. But what if I was wrong? This was my best friend- the person who had been there for me during some of my worst moments. What if I fucked it up? What if I threw away a perfectly good friendship just because I was horny?
One Saturday night, I was the very specific type of Sad Drunk that girls in their early 20’s get when they’re feeling Not Pretty Enough. So, naturally, I was crying on the couch after eating my post-club macaroni and cheese, as one does. Scott comforted me. Held me. God, he smelled so good. He was saying something about how John was lucky to have me but I was hardly paying attention. Between the booze and his arms around me and my heart pounding away in my chest and the way the shadows were obscuring our faces, I was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him.
No. Stop it. Focus. Listen to what he’s saying.
“… And I’m just saying… If I didn’t know you… You’d be hot.”
Wait, what? If he didn’t know me? “You…. wanna rephrase that?” I asked.
I could see him blush in the dim light. “I just mean… If you weren’t married… You’re… Extremely hot, and…”
Oh, shit. I was too drunk for this. “You can’t just say that! You know I get kissy when I’m drunk.”
“I mean… I wouldn’t mind-”
WHAM. Before I knew what was happening, my mouth was on his and all I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears. It had been almost six months since he’d broken up with his ex and the floodgates were finally open. His lips were so soft and his facial hair bristled against my face. I parted my lips a bit and he greeted me with a gentle flick of his tongue. Damn. Scott knew what he was doing. I don’t know how long we kissed like that, but I do remember that his hands were conspicuously absent- just sort of hovering above my waist, not knowing what the rules were, not wanting to intrude. Cute, I thought. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. I could teach him.
When we finally broke apart, Scott paused for a moment and then seemed to realize what we’d done.
“Shit, John’s going to kill me.”
I laughed, hard. I told him about the arrangement John and I had, and he seemed disbelieving, so I showed him some of our text messages. I could tell he was surprised, by intrigued by the possibilities.
It was late- well after 4 am. Before we headed to our respective rooms, we shared another kiss. It was a bit shy, filled with caution on his end. I could tell he wanted more but didn’t know where to start. Unsurprising, since the girls he’d been with previously were prudes. I found myself smiling at the idea of introducing him to a satisfying sex life. Why not, right? Even though it was only a kiss, it felt like the point of no return.
After a few moments of twirling my tongue around his, I pulled away, then leaned in and whispered, “Next time, try not to be so polite.”
And we both went to our separate rooms.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/gwpyvy/twoweek_fling_with_myf_roommatem_part_1_the
Part 2? Lol