This is a story about how one of the showers broke in my house, and how it led to me fucking my roommate/best friend. Told as if you, the reader, are me.
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Your mind snaps back from its transient haze. Promptly, yet begrudgingly, you begin to work through your normal routine. Pulling the shower curtain back, twisting the knobs ever so slightly, positioning them with precision. Again you turn and face the mirror, wondering how he could have the gall to CONTINUOUSLY suggest you shower together. You scoff. Your relationship had never been more than platonic.
Laid before you loosely in the mist, almost in a projection, your thoughts rush back to the first time you kissed him. That certainly wasn’t platonic. That was fun, more than fun, heated even…and you started it. That day is still clearly impressed upon your mind, despite your attempts to convince yourself it was meaningless.
He wanted more, he wanted to close the bedroom door and fall into you. Part of you wanted the same, but no, it wasn’t right.
Plus, you kind of wanted someone to see. No, that can’t be right either. This isn’t what you wanted.