Lust vs Love; Him vs Her

You see him in the changerooms. She is in your dream.

Both make you feel hot under the collar and increase your heart rate.

They take their tops off. His reveals a flat stomach, yet to be invaded with the hair that no doubt will be there soon. Hers gives you a glimpse of the past. It's that 4th date. The one where things could have gone so much further than they did. It was your doubt, which made sure they didn't. You still remember the sensation of her smooth stomach to your hand. You're reminded of it again now. You had her, but you let her go.

Painstakingly, you try to avert your eyes from him. You know sooner or later one of the other guys will notice your gaze, or worse, he will. But, the thought of how long it could be until you can get another glimpse causes you to hesitate. Your eyes linger, while his look up.

The memory continues. The way she worked your top up and then off. Her fingers tracing figure-8s and the shortening of your breath as she did. The smile as she saw your excitement.

You know you've blown it. You can see him looking at you, eye brow slightly raised, questioning. God it looks hot. You shake your head, trying to clear that thought from it. You focus on your clothes, getting changed and then getting as far away from here as quickly as you can. You can feel your cheeks glowing red. Hopefully he'll dismiss it as you still cooling down after training. You can feel his eyes still boring into you. Your hands are shaking as you pull on your pants.

And then the frantic nature of her hands as they began to expose your underwear. Like snakes, only the venom wasn't poisonous, but still damn intoxicating. Your breathing quickens, your body tenses and you let slip a quiet moan....

You rush out the room. Bag barely on your shoulders. You head for the street, but you turn away from the bus stop and head in the opposite direction. You can't bear standing there, waiting for the bus to come, or for any of the others to walk past. Just walking, in the general direction of home, but in no rush to get there.

She is lying next to you. You can feel her warmth and pressure on your skin. And then there is a crash. A plate slamming into the bench. Someone is up. And now you join them in the land of the conscious. The dream, the memory, is just that. Nothing more. No matter whether you want it that way or not.

You're kicking yourself. How could you have been so stupid?! You're not thinking about where you're going, you can't. That thought circles around the inside of your head as you walk in automatic. You try to come up with ways of explaining it to him, or anyone else that asks, but no excuse comes to mind. You replay what happened. However, the top comes off and the frame freezes. His torso takes hold and your imagination runs wild. 

You lay there. Trying to work out who it is that disturbed you. You've released the pillow, the one that had been her. Is that what it is though? Is it the situation, or her, that gets you going? Do you love her, like you thought you did once? Or is it what she does that you lust for. 

A bare chest. Figure-8s. Hands grappling with underwear. His underwear. You are no longer with her. Instead, you are doing what she did to you, for him. You imagine the feel of it on your throat, as his breathing becomes more shallow. You feel that intoxicating venom again, although this time it is different. It is pulsing from him, to throughout your body. 

You're home, finally. Exhausted, physically and emotionally. You head straight for your bed. In seconds you're down for the count. And she is removing her top...

What is this? What is going on? How can you swap and change so readily from one to the other? How long is it until they are both there, at the one time? What would you do then? WHO would you choose? Him or Her?

The next day you get your answer. He confronts you after school. He takes you to a corner. Not accusatory, but curious. Initially on the back foot, you see this and steady. He is interested. He asks about the change rooms and your wandering eyes, which did anything but. He asks if you got a good enough look yesterday, but doesn't wait for an answer. He sheds his top again, revealing his now very familiar upper body. Only, it's no dream, and it's no accident. The tonsil hockey the two of you are playing make that blindingly clear. Thoughts of her drift out of your mind. To leave forever, or to be stored for a later time, you don't know. Nor do you care. Here he is. Now. And you're not going to let this slip. Although your hands do. Down. So that you can feel how much he is enjoying this and make him enjoy it even more. 

Everything has that amazing freshness of something new. It's not something you've known before, but now that you do you sure as hell want to repeat the dosage. As for the boxing match that was going on inside you, he just landed the knockout blow. She is down for the count. Time will only tell if she gets up again....