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Last Night

General Disclaimer:
This is an original fiction depicting a consensual sexual relationship between two adults of the same gender.

Any person(s) uneasy with the above should leave this site now.

In the event that you are under the legal age wherever you may reside or it is illegal in your country to be exposed to any of the contents listed above, please do not proceed any further.

Please note that I will not be responsible for any trauma resulting from a failure to heed any of my warnings above. 

I have been observing her for nearly ten minutes through the peephole in my door. That’s how long she has been outside my house.

Unaware of my presence, she paces, first one way then the other, her hands wringing nervously before her as she silently debates with herself.

Will she or won’t she? That is the crux of the matter.

I close my eyes and lean against the door, the warmth of my face soothed by the coolness of the varnished wood against my cheek. My phone chooses that very moment to make its presence felt, the momentary buzz causing adrenaline to rush through my veins and send my heart racing a mile a minute.

It is only a message, just one more in the endless stream bombarding my phone since she woke from her drunken stupor earlier this morning. If I am keeping track, this is message number 67, not that it matters.

What matters is the delectable morsel on the other side of this door, dressed in a white frilly halter top and a pair of hip-hugging faded blue jeans, both of which work so wonderfully to accentuate her small pert breasts and the gentle swell of her derriere.

I want her, there’s no denying it. I have wanted her from the moment I first set eyes on her. She moves me in ways no one else has ever done. She is the bane of my existence.

Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened. But it did. And now, now, I have to make things right. A difficult enough task in normal circumstances but this…

The first knock, tentative as it is, startles me so much I jerk away from the door, dropping my phone in the process. The screen shatters on impact but it’s not my phone I am worried about. I hold my breath, hoping against hope that my fears will turn out to be unfounded.

It is not to be.

“Dee, I know you’re in there. Open the door.” She shouts, her fists pounding persistently upon the door in question.

For a brief moment, I contemplate retreating to my room and closing the door. She will eventually leave if I ignore her long enough and even though I will only be postponing the inevitable, it will buy me some time. Time enough, perhaps, to come up with a win-win solution for both of us.

The pounding stops. “Dee, open up. We need to talk about last night.” Her voice, so strong and insistent just moments ago, breaks and I can almost hear the tremor and uncertainty in her voice as she whispers, “Please, Dee. Don’t ignore me.”

I curse my softheartedness but it is a plea I cannot ignore. Ever so reluctantly, I reach out to grasp the curved brass handle, and turn it slowly clockwise. The door silently swings open and we stand awkwardly facing each other, neither willing to look the other in the eye.

She shuffles her feet, clad as they are in black ankle-high leather boots, while I study the non-existent design of my dull wrought iron gate. The silence stretches into minutes and the tension is almost palpable.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She finally asks in a quiet voice, the left edge of her mouth twitching upwards into a lopsided half-smile.

I cautiously back away from the door, watching her steady herself against the gate as she pulls off first her left boot then her right. Next to go are her baby pink ankle socks and I have a moment of insanity as I envision her stripping out of her jeans right there and then on my doorstep.

Hastily taking my eyes off her, I wait until she has reached the relative safety of my living room before closing the door and following after.

Instead of settling into one of the sofa chairs, she perches on the edge of the table, her long fingers tracing mysterious patterns upon its smooth surface. “Dee, about last night…”

“Nothing happened last night.” I say quickly in a calm voice even as every muscle in my body is as tense as a wound up spring.

She gives me a strange look which I am unable to decipher. “Caleb didn’t come home last night.”

Suddenly, everything becomes crystal clear. She doesn’t remember! I am giddy with relief but manage to compose myself enough to appear suitably concerned when I say, “Must have been a wild night. Did he call?”

“Dee, he wants a divorce.”

Her pronouncement catches me by surprise and I blurt, “What?” in a most uncool manner.

Caleb is her husband. They made their vows to love and cherish each other for better or worse, in health and in sickness, before 300 family members and friends last night. That was less than 12 hours ago.

It doesn’t make any sense. Caleb is madly in love with her and vice versa. Why would he ask for a divorce without even consummating their marriage? Is he mad? Or has he been toying with her feelings all this time?

My mind clouds with barely repressed anger. He gets her, the one prize I have been yearning for these past 10 years, and he dumps her after he marries her? What self-respecting man would do such a dastardly deed?

I smash my fist into the nearest wall and it swells to nearly twice its size as the many blood capillaries under my skin break upon impact but I do not feel any pain yet. Adrenaline is a powerful, albeit temporary, anesthetic.

“The bastard! How could he do that to you? Where’s he? I will sort him out right now.” I rage, my hands flailing through the air as if I am punching the lights out of an imaginary opponent.


Her voice brings me back to the present and I realise what a fool I am making of myself. I stop, vaguely embarrassed and mumble, “Sorry.”

I ease myself down beside her and wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Caleb’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.”

She leans into me and my heartbeat speeds up. Unable to stop myself, I turn and bury my nose into her hair. I take a deep breath and she smells wonderful. No wonder they say little girls are made of sugar, spice and everything nice. Here is a prime example.

Her hand finds its way to my knee and squeezes. “Dee…” She murmurs inches away from my neck, her warm breath tickling the sensitive skin there. Despite myself, I shiver.

 “Kate…” I murmur in response before pulling myself forcibly away.

This is the stuff wet dreams are made of but I cannot bring myself to take advantage of her. She is a married woman and life is complicated enough without adding an illicit affair on top of everything else.

“Water?” I offer, pushing myself off the table and seeking to escape into the cool quiet confines of my kitchen where I can attempt to pull myself together.

A hand on my arm, impossibly fair against my sun-browned skin, halts me dead in my tracks. I can easily shake her off but something stops me.

Perhaps it is the look in her eyes, so lost, so needy. Or perhaps it is my overwhelming desire to possess her that keeps me there.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

We start in the living room with a simple kiss, tentative as all first kisses tend to be, that quickly escalates into a hot and frantic make-out session against one of the walls. Her halter top makes its maiden voyage through the air and lands in parts unknown but we are both too busy to care.

Our next stop is the kitchen, if only because it is on the way to our final destination and we are unable to stop what we have unwittingly started. We end up in my bedroom, free of all our reservations by the time we tumble in a sweaty heap on the cotton sheets of my super single.

How we manage not to fall off a bed meant for one person, I do not know, but it is more than able to adequately accommodate us both as we lay spent in a post-coital embrace. Her back presses firmly against my breasts, and her sweet derriere rests against my lower abdomen, just enough contact to pique my interest but not enough to stir me from my contented haze.

The sheets lie tangled around our legs, a silent witness to our impassioned union. I can smell her arousal still and mine besides, the two scents intermingling into a heady mix which perfumes the air with its rightness, as if sanctifying this domain as wholly ours and ours alone. This is how it is meant to be.

She shifts ever so slightly against me. “Dee? Are you awake?”

I am indeed awake, the throbbing of my injured hand unfailingly jolting me back into wakefulness every time I begin to doze off. “Hmmm?”

“I told Caleb I love you.”

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water and jolt me out of my dreamlike state. “What? When?”

“Last night. After you left. I called him and confessed my feelings for you.”

I am wrong, after all. She obviously remembers last night. All too well it now seems. “Why Kate? You love him, don’t you?”

“Not as much as I love you. I realise that last night.”

“Kate, nothing happened last night.”

“You’re right. Nothing happened. But I wanted something to happen. I wanted this.” She says, wrapping her arm around mine and hugging it closer to her. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you but I could not allow myself to accept my feelings for you… until last night.”


She interrupts me before I can say anything more. “Last night, you felt it too. I know you did. You and me, we are meant to be together. Ten years, Dee, ten years. I have been living a lie for ten whole years. That’s nearly a third of my life wasted.” She turns over to face me, nearly pushing me off the bed in the process. “Tell me you don’t love me and I will leave, never to return. Tell me.”

I can’t lose her but somehow, that’s not what I end up saying. “We were both drunk last night. It’s not real, Kate. It’s just the alcohol messing with our heads. Caleb loves you and you love him. That is reality.”

“No. I know what’s real and what’s not. The alcohol cleared my mind. You love me, Dee. Will you deny that?”


“Come on. Deny it.”

“You’re right. I can’t.” But neither can I say those oh-so-precious three words, which is why I don’t even try.

She smiles, a pretty little thing that lights up her face like a candle. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t deny your love for me.” She kisses me and I reciprocate.

***THE END***