The hot one-night stand
I have a male friend of the best kind. We hang out, we talk and we hug a lot. We are real chummy. No one can believe we are not something more. You know that type of male friend. Anyway, this story is not about him. It is all about his hot best friend.
The first time I laid eyes on him, I knew I was done for. He is one of those sharp-dressing, smooth-talking temptations on two legs.
This fine brother loves the same music I do, even dances to it just the way I always pictured my beau in those romantic daydreams. And boy, does he dance! He has me shooting x-rated movies in my head every time he moves.
So we have been hanging out everywhere as a threesome until this one night recently when three became a crowd. That night I turned into seductress and temptress rolled into one, determined to break out of the torturous hell called Friend Zone in which Mr. Smooth had me confined.
On this night out, all my well-laid snares seemed to be working.
Either that or the wine made my target very cooperative for we danced so much and so close, the rest of the people in the bar melted away and eventually became a blur in the distance. This includes, of course, our dear partner in crime; the now relegated Best Friend who was firmly locked out of the action.
Time ceased to matter as we went on and on.
I do not know at which point dear Best Friend slipped out of the bar. This was not the night to mind our manners as we rudely discarded our company unconcerned about the consequences in the bright, shining lights of tomorrow.
I know now exactly what it feels like to lead someone or be led down the smooth path of temptation and ultimately sin.
A small, weak voice questions what this will do to my relationship with Best Friend but do I listen? No, I am having a little too much fun. This is too sweet a temptation to pass up.
Oh, and from the information I gleaned somewhere, my Mr Smooth still has one foot in the cupboard that contains the skeleton of his ex but I do not care. Tonight he is mine and I am invincible.
