Shadows
I saw them, shadows behind the curtains, curtains closed for the first time since…God, who knows when. Her shadow was sharp and dark - the girl next door must have been standing nearer to the curtain. His shadow was soft and gray on the bed. His shadow stood and walked toward her shadow, undressed her shadow, pulled her shadow close to him. And then their shadows were one.
The girl next door wasn’t stupid. She knew that I would watch her and J* fucking from my own bedroom window. She got off on it And yet, she had stomped into the bedroom earlier in the day and threw the curtains closed. As the sun set, I began to see there shadows, fucking, showering, caressing, and fucking again. And again.
Now, I couldn’t even tell from their shadows that they were at it again. Not fucking this time, though. This time was different. It was slow, gentle, caring. J* wasn’t dominating her like usual. He wasn’t forcing his cock into ass or throat-fucking her. He wasn’t even spanking or pulling her hair. He was just loving her, loving every inch of her body with his tongue and his hands. J* wasn’t just her lover; he was in love with her. Her, not us.
The honey-colored light draped their shadows and I closed my own curtain as well. I picked up my cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Oh, wow, hey. What’s up, sweetheart?”
“Just wanted to talk. Just feeling blue.”
“Yeah? You want me to come over?”
“Yeah.”
And that’s how I found myself in bed with him again - a tall, dark-haired boy from my past who really, truly wanted to love me. Our legs tangled and our fingers laced, I gently sucked his bottom lip, playfully pulling with my teeth. He had one hand on my hip and carefully ran his fingers through my hair.
“I would love you, you know.”
When it’s love, and not just fucking, we don’t really have a say. Why do we love who we love and not the people who love us? Why, after a long day, does one person make us smile while another person is just a good time? Why do we deny ourselves love for sex? And why does it hurt so much? Love is really just shadows on the wall after all, not something tangible.
“I know,” I breathed, scratching my nails lightly down his back, as he liked. I was comfortable in his arms, safe. I began to grind against him, not a hard grind, just enough to really feel him. In a moment, he was inside of me, both of us gasping in relief and euphoria.
He didn’t make me forget that next door, J* was loving her, but he did make me orgasm three times.
And that counts for something, right? How many orgasms does it take to fall in love?
Edit from Aurora: I’ve moved! Cum visit me at Between My Sheets!
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