I want to have sex with my friend, Peter. 

I want to fuck him. 

I want to make love to him. 

I want to taste his skin; I want to see what his body looks like under those neat and tidy clothes. 

When I sit next to him on the couch, I can smell his cologne and it makes my mouth water. 

He sits cross-legged. If I look over, my eyes fall to his crotch. I'm depraved. 

I touch him any time I have a reason. I rub his back when the others are teasing him about something. I touch his arm and squeeze it when he tells a joke. Everyone marks it off as being affectionate. Rich is affectionate too, I let him touch me, so my obsession with Peter won't be so obvious. 

I slip on his shoes when someone comments that they are the same size as mine. It feels so intimate; inside I'm getting hot because my feet are where his were. 

We carpool every week. When he gets out of the car and I'm alone watching him walk up to his door I say out loud "God, I want him."

Sometimes, he's running late - so I go into his room and wait. I sit on his bed, surreptitiously running my hands over the spread, picturing him lying asleep.

Lying next to me, lying over me. 

His room smells like him and I can feel my face getting hot.

His turn to drive; there's a candy waiting on my seat when I open the door. A typical friendly gesture for him. It makes me want him that much more. I have an almost uncontrollable urge to lean over and kiss him.

We all go to a movie; I sit next to him. That conspiratorial whispering that people do in movie theatres turns me on. He's commenting on the previews, but it affects me like he's talking dirty. I cry during a sad part, and he hands me his handkerchief. I want to rub it on my naked body. 

Afterwards, we all go for coffee. He makes a self-deprecating remark about his attractiveness. I want to grab him. I want to pull off his clothes. I want to prove him wrong in front of everyone. 

I can't.

I can't have him.

I want him.

I want to have sex with my friend, Peter.

Copyright © 1999-2001 A. M. Bÿlin. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.