Chanel and Ethan 32 - Sex Stories

Chanel and Ethan 32

Puerto Rico with Ethan was surreal. I had such an incredible time, even the flight home was less melancholy than I anticipated. That could have been because our invisible wall still hadn't returned. It could have been the time alone finally bringing us closer, or something as simple as we just felt like it. Whatever the reason, Ethan and I couldn't leave each other alone. He held my hand and kissed me without batting an eyelash, in front of everyone, nearly the whole way home. It sounds really strange, I know, considering we've been fucking for nearly two months, and friends for more than four years. However, he and I have never been very intimate in public. This felt intimate, and I liked it. My first day back to work was tedious at best. The second was even longer. By lunch on the third day, I decided to hell with real life. I need to buy myself a shack on the beach and retire at 24. Ethan calls me the moment I'm off on Friday, inviting me over to his house to join him and his friends. I haven't seen him since the night we got back, though not by choice. Apparently his place of employment falls apart when he's not there. I go home and change into some painted on jeans and a soft cotton, Pink Floyd t-shirt. When I get to his house, he, Michael, Robert, John and John's new girlfriend Gwen are all here. "I have to socialize, but we can kick everyone out later," Ethan whispers in my ear, wrapping his arms around me when we're left alone in the kitchen. His words make me ...

... excited and selfish, I want him all to myself. I hide my impatience well though, trying to distract myself by conversing with his friends. I'm not faking it by the time Michael and I are arguing who's a better guitarist; Jimi Hendrix or Keith Richards. I love the Rolling Stones, but there's no denying Jimi could shred like a fucking god, even if Keith is still alive. Ethan busts out his stash, and the subject quickly mellows down to a list of all the concerts we've been to. Distracting hippies with weed, smart man. John and Gwen leave around nine, but the rest of us keep playing video games, drinking beer and hanging out. I go upstairs alone to grab another brew for myself, and use the bathroom while I'm at it. It's still strange being here and not living here. I wash my hands and fuck with my hair in the mirror, and suddenly the door opens, making me jump. Michael walks into the bathroom and shuts the door before his glazed eyes catch me. "Oh shit," he says, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "It's cool, I'm done," I smile at him and wait for him to move, but he doesn't. "You are really fine, you know that Chanel?" he bluntly asks me, and I force my next smile. Sadly for him, he's not what I want. I've never had a big thing for blonde guys. "Thanks Michael," I say, and step forward to urge him to get out of my way. I'd prefer not to be alone in a bathroom with him. Sometimes I catch this mother fucker staring at me like I'm a five course meal...and he's really fucking hungry. ...