The Crush

That morning, after we fucked, Amy told me that she had a crush on a boy.

I was still half asleep as she sat on the edge of the bed and slowly slipped on her bra. I watched as she fumbled a bit with the tiny bent clasps.

She was a pouting princess sometimes. There was a clumsy little girl charm to her, lazy and proud and seemingly unaware of how beautiful she was. Her little mop of short dirty blonde hair, always so perfectly disheveled. Her curious eyes, always hunting for clues. And her lips. My thoughts and my eyes always came back to her lips. Fat bee-stung, always a little chapped and often imperfectly stained with red lipstick.

Her lips made my cock hard.

She didn’t look at me as she explained that the boy she had a crush on had a girlfriend and that “they weren’t like us.” He was just a good boy who didn’t know any better, but he was tall and charming and had a crooked smile, and she liked him.

If he was good, what did that make me?

“His name is Matt. I see him all the time at school, he’s in the same graduate program as me. Sometimes we go out for drinks,” she said, as she pulled her underwear up her long legs.

Sometimes when we got dressed after sex, it felt like an affair. It felt like we weren’t in my apartment, but instead a seedy motel room and we had to gather…