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“My name is John Daxly. I’m a Southern gentleman at heart and I like to open doors for women. I’ve been raised to always, always pay for dinner. I’m in the Army and I love my country…” “Stop. It’s already a no.” “Hm?” “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant Hell no.” I laugh at his confused expression. “Why?” “First of all, your writing style is way too simple. What are you? Five years old?” “Hey… I thought—” “Oh, and you sound so fucking boring. Polite, but no woman is going to want to grab your face and sit on it from this introduction. Seriously.” “Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.” “Really? We’ve been friends for how many years? I know you and you’re all about making the kitty purr. Second of all, you’re only going to attract gold diggers and needy basket cases with this spiel about paying and being a gentleman.” “That isn’t true.” John looks at me and my face remains set in a passive, sarcastic dead-pan. His lips straighten and he squints before groaning in annoyance. “Why did I ask for your help? You’re so judgmental when it comes to me.” “Don’t complain, be grateful. My brutality is why you need me as a friend and it comes from a place of love. I’m not going to stroke your ego like every other woman in your life, including your mom.” I slide his laptop over to my side of the kitchen table. We always hang out at his apartment because he owns more furniture, a top-of-the-line 48-inch flat screen, and, most important to me, a Keurig machine. “I don’t even know why I’m joining this stupid site. It’s not like I need it to get girls to come home with me.” John raises his eyebrows, reverting to his charming and flirtatious self. “This isn’t just a dating site. It is designed to ‘find the lifetime companion you could only dream of until this moment. The person you want to spend the rest of your existence with is right here, just a few clicks of fate away.’” I quote the create-a-profile page that was aptly named ‘Start Your Journey’ in a sickly and romantic matchmaker voice. He Bostancı Escort rolls his eyes. “I hate you.” “You love me. Let’s try again.” ‘Petty Officer John Daxly of the United States Navy. Born and raised in Texas, currently living in Charleston, SC. Country boy at heart.’ My fingers skim over the keys as six years of writing courses apply themselves on instinct. John gets out of his chair to grab a beer. After the snap of the bottle opening, I hear him take two healthy gulps, the bubbles floating up the neck of the bottle to his lips. He creeps up behind me, as he’s prone to do, and puts his hands on either side of my forearms resting on the table. I grab the bottle from his left hand and take a swig when I feel the familiar goosebumps prickling my neck. The warmth of his chest raises my own body temperature when he moves closer and rests his chin on my head. Eight years of friendship and I still get a slight thrill from his nearness. “Hmm….” His hum resonates from the top of my head to the nerve-endings in my toes. “Simple, straightforward. This is good.” “It’s insulting that you sound so surprised.” “Can we add some more?” he asks. “You’re so high-maintenance.” He leans over and bites my right shoulder playfully before heading to the bathroom. I keep typing. When I hear the flush of the toilet signalling his return, I jump up and leap onto the couch. “Let’s see here.” He scrolls up in the text box. “Known as the Stallion, I like to get tied up, and beat down. So, I want a freaky girl with boobs like fresh canteloupe and -.” He continues to read to himself the rest of my bio for him that includes his obsession with Japanese anime, his daily phone calls to his mother, and his homicidal cat. Only one of those details is true. Hint: it’s the one about his mother. When he finishes, he stands and turns to face me. “You know you’re gonna pay for this right?” I shake my head and cross my arms indignantly, but there’s a smile on my face. Bostancı Escort Bayan I fold myself into the tightest fetal position possible as he strides to the couch, quick as lightning. He grabs my legging-clad knees and pulls my body half-off of the couch. With one graceful swoop, he wraps a strong arm around my waist and hoists me over his shoulder. Instead of kicking and screaming, I go limp and pull a dead-body. He doesn’t so much as falter under my weight. He launches me onto his bed and tries to whack me with a pillow. I cover my face with my forearms, my little bit of boxing training barely helping me in this situation. He’s laughing and I am willing myself not to bask in the glow of his grin. John and I have been good friends six out of the eight years we’ve known each other. We’ve fought consistently, but it’s the mark of a good friendship that we usually patch things up over a night of beers. We fight drunkenly, slur insults that we don’t always mean, and in the morning we face the music. It’s a flawed system, but it’s ours. Have we ever hooked up? Yes, of course we have. He’s a six foot three Naval Officer with biceps the size of basketballs. Give a girl a break here! One night I’m looking for some warmth, he doesn’t have a one night stand in his queue. Three long island iced teas and an accidental thigh graze later, and that’s all she wrote. I’ve always wanted to do it again, but then John met Marieanne, then Kylie, then “Kelli with an I.” Sometimes I meet these floozies; I’m just being honest here, and they don’t like me. I’m a threat with my deep brown curls and dark caramel skin-tone. I already mentioned my affinity for boxing to keep my muscles trimmed and toned. I tend to be over-protective of John, but he’s the same when it comes to the guys I date, which are few in number. The reason John and I have stayed comfortably in the friend zone is that I am a serial monogamist and it is safe to say he is not. My shortest Escort Bostancı relationship to date lasted two and half years. I was in high school. After that, I had a string of serious boyfriends through our friendship, none of whom liked John. Who could blame them? We’re really close. John has pinned my arms on either side of my head. His hips weigh down my own and I can’t move. I look into his blue eyes less than a foot from my brown ones and blink a few times. This is one of those moments when I imagine that we’re actually dating. How hard could it be? We already spend all of our time together, he sleeps at my place at least twice a week, and his mom hates me! It’s strange that he likes that I piss her off, but I’ve got no issues with it. That woman is a bitch. He tends to lean towards less serious relationships with women because he could get deployed or stationed elsewhere. It works for him, but not always for me. We didn’t have sex the last time we hooked up, apparently I got sick and threw up in the drawer of his bedside table. What can I say, I’m a classy dame. My point is I want him. Inside me, on top of me, under me, all over me. So, when he decides to get playful and touchy, part of me enjoys it and the other part is waging war in my head because it knows our friendship is too precious to ruin over some sweat and a few condoms. He doesn’t make it easy. “You know Zoe, I could kiss you right now,” he whispers. “But you won’t,” I reply and look out of the window to my left. “I won’t?” His voice sounds throaty and deeper than usual, but I don’t look at him for fear I’ll lose control. My chest rises and falls; I’m sinking in the bed while trying to stay away from his heavy trunk. He’s pushing closer. I’m frozen beneath him. His thumbs brush the tattoo of my father’s birth date on my right wrist and death date on my left. He was there when I got them after my father passed. Goosebumps interrupt the smooth surface of my arms and the wet spot between my thighs is yearning to be explored. Then, I feel an exhalation of breath from his nose when it grazes the beating vein in my neck. He kisses its quick fluttering and I hold back a gasp, letting my bottom lip sneak beneath my top teeth. His tongue trails from my clavicle up to my ear lobe where teeth sink in, cold on my hot skin.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32