Our Dirty Secret

A Sexual Fantasy

— By Your worst best friend

I arrive at the restaurant you bartend at just as you’re closing up shop. You always tell me to meet you then so you can make me a free drink without your boss getting suspicious. We talk as you clean. Your biceps flex as you put away extra glasses and bottles of liquor. I try to focus my attention to something on my phone but we both know where this is going.

We’re sitting across from each other at the place we always start a night out. It doubles as a cafe in the morning so while the cocktails aren’t the greatest, they’re pretty cheap since they make most of their money on overpriced americanos. This was also where we had our first date a long time ago. We both know why we keep coming.

We’re somewhere else now. I don’t know for sure. It’s usually a new bar one of us read about online and told the other we should go, or it’s one of those places that you always talk of checking out but are too chicken to go alone. A wink is passed off as part of a joke. A hand on an arm lingers a second too long. We start talking about a girlfriend, a boyfriend, someone, anyone that should be a reason to stop, but we both know only one of us will be laying in their own bed tonight.

The time on our phones switched from PM to AM a long time ago. Eyes shut. The air, heavy and warm. Our kisses were soft once but now, your teeth are biting my lip. Our touches were gentle once but now, my nails are digging into your nape. The spaces between us are full, with moans and whispers of each other’s name. Your hand tightens around my neck as my legs tighten around your waist.



Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please.

In the morning, we will part, saying that it was a mistake that should never happen again. We both know that isn’t true.