“My name is John Daxly. I’m a Southern gentleman at heart and I like to open doors for women. I’ve been raised to always, always pay for dinner. I’m in the Army and I love my country…”

“Stop. It’s already a no.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I meant Hell no.” I laugh at his confused expression.

“Why?”

“First of all, your writing style is way too simple. What are you? Five years old?”

“Hey… I thought—”

“Oh, and you sound so fucking boring. Polite, but no woman is going to want to grab your face and sit on it from this introduction. Seriously.”

“Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“Really? We’ve been friends for how many years? I know you and you’re all about making the kitty purr. Second of all, you're only going to attract gold diggers and needy basket cases with this spiel about paying and being a gentleman.”

“That isn’t true.” John looks at me and my face remains set in a passive, sarcastic dead-pan. His lips straighten and he squints before groaning in annoyance. “Why did I ask for your help? You’re so judgmental when it comes to me.”

“Don’t complain, be grateful. My brutality is why you need me as a friend and it comes from a place of love. I’m not going to stroke your ego like every other woman in your life, including your mom.”

I slide his laptop over to my side of the kitchen table. We always hang out at his apartment because he owns more furniture, a top-of-the-line 48-inch flat screen, and, most important to me, a Keurig machine.

“I don’t even know why I’m joining this stupid site. It’s not like I need it to get girls to come home with me.” John raises his eyebrows, reverting to his charming and flirtatious self.

“This isn’t just a dating site. It is designed to ‘find the lifetime companion you could only dream of until this moment. The person you want to spend the rest of your existence with is right here, just a few clicks of fate away.’” I quote the create-a-profile page that was aptly named ‘Start Your Journey’ in a sickly and romantic matchmaker voice. He rolls his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“You love me. Let’s try again."

'Petty Officer John Daxly of the United States Navy. Born and raised in Texas, currently living in Charleston, SC. Country boy at heart.' My fingers skim over the keys as six years of writing courses apply themselves on instinct.

John gets out of his chair to grab a beer. After the snap of the bottle opening, I hear him take two healthy gulps, the bubbles floating up the neck of the bottle to his lips. He creeps up behind me, as he’s prone to do, and puts his hands on either side of my forearms resting on the table. I grab the bottle from his left hand and take a swig when I feel the familiar goosebumps prickling my neck. The warmth of his chest raises my own body temperature when he moves closer and rests his chin on my head. Eight years of friendship and I still get a slight thrill from his nearness.

“Hmm….” His hum resonates from the top of my head to the nerve-endings in my toes. “Simple, straightforward. This is good.”

“It’s insulting that you sound so surprised.”

“Can we add some more?” he asks.

“You’re so high-maintenance.” He leans over and bites my right shoulder playfully before heading to the bathroom. I keep typing. When I hear the flush of the toilet signalling his return, I jump up and leap onto the couch.

“Let’s see here.” He scrolls up in the text box. “Known as the Stallion, I like to get tied up, and beat down. So, I want a freaky girl with boobs like fresh canteloupe and -.” He continues to read to himself the rest of my bio for him that includes his obsession with Japanese anime, his daily phone calls to his mother, and his homicidal cat. Only one of those details is true. Hint: it’s the one about his mother. When he finishes, he stands and turns to face me.

“You know you’re gonna pay for this right?”

I shake my head and cross my arms indignantly, but there’s a smile on my face. I fold myself into the tightest fetal position possible as he strides to the couch, quick as lightning. He grabs my legging-clad knees and pulls my body half-off of the couch. With one graceful swoop, he wraps a strong arm around my waist and hoists me over his shoulder.

Instead of kicking and screaming, I go limp and pull a dead-body. He doesn’t so much as falter under my weight. He launches me onto his bed and tries to whack me with a pillow. I cover my face with my forearms, my little bit of boxing training barely helping me in this situation. He’s laughing and I am willing myself not to bask in the glow of his grin.

John and I have been good friends six out of the eight years we’ve known each other. We’ve fought consistently, but it’s the mark of a good friendship that we usually patch things up over a night of beers. We fight drunkenly, slur insults that we don’t always mean, and in the morning we face the music. It’s a flawed system, but it’s ours. Have we ever hooked up? Yes, of course we have. He’s a six foot three Naval Officer with biceps the size of basketballs. Give a girl a break here!

One night I’m looking for some warmth, he doesn’t have a one night stand in his queue. Three long island iced teas and an accidental thigh graze later, and that’s all she wrote. I’ve always wanted to do it again, but then John met Marieanne, then Kylie, then “Kelli with an I.”

Sometimes I meet these floozies; I’m just being honest here, and they don’t like me. I’m a threat with my deep brown curls and dark caramel skin-tone. I already mentioned my affinity for boxing to keep my muscles trimmed and toned. I tend to be over-protective of John, but he’s the same when it comes to the guys I date, which are few in number.

The reason John and I have stayed comfortably in the friend zone is that I am a serial monogamist and it is safe to say he is not. My shortest relationship to date lasted two and half years. I was in high school. After that, I had a string of serious boyfriends through our friendship, none of whom liked John. Who could blame them? We’re really close.

John has pinned my arms on either side of my head. His hips weigh down my own and I can’t move. I look into his blue eyes less than a foot from my brown ones and blink a few times. This is one of those moments when I imagine that we’re actually dating. How hard could it be? We already spend all of our time together, he sleeps at my place at least twice a week, and his mom hates me! It’s strange that he likes that I piss her off, but I’ve got no issues with it. That woman is a bitch.

He tends to lean towards less serious relationships with women because he could get deployed or stationed elsewhere. It works for him, but not always for me. We didn’t have sex the last time we hooked up, apparently I got sick and threw up in the drawer of his bedside table. What can I say, I’m a classy dame.

My point is I want him. Inside me, on top of me, under me, all over me. So, when he decides to get playful and touchy, part of me enjoys it and the other part is waging war in my head because it knows our friendship is too precious to ruin over some sweat and a few condoms. He doesn’t make it easy.

“You know Zoe, I could kiss you right now,” he whispers.

“But you won’t,” I reply and look out of the window to my left.

“I won’t?”

His voice sounds throaty and deeper than usual, but I don’t look at him for fear I’ll lose control. My chest rises and falls; I'm sinking in the bed while trying to stay away from his heavy trunk. He’s pushing closer. I’m frozen beneath him. His thumbs brush the tattoo of my father’s birth date on my right wrist and death date on my left. He was there when I got them after my father passed. Goosebumps interrupt the smooth surface of my arms and the wet spot between my thighs is yearning to be explored. Then, I feel an exhalation of breath from his nose when it grazes the beating vein in my neck. He kisses its quick fluttering and I hold back a gasp, letting my bottom lip sneak beneath my top teeth. His tongue trails from my clavicle up to my ear lobe where teeth sink in, cold on my hot skin.

My lower back lifts off his navy blue and silver sheets.

“What are you-”

“Shhh.” He turns my head with his fingertips so I have to look him in the eyes. They’ve darkened and I see pure lust blazing around his pupil. The irises have shifted to a darkened blue, like going deeper into the Pacific Ocean. I keep my gaze locked on his until his mouth reaches mine and he engulfs me with a hunger I did not expect. Lips open eagerly. A hand moves from my cheek and down my chest. When he gets to the bare sliver of skin beneath my tank top, it’s all heat with not a hint of coldness or distance. My brain shuts off and my body is in full-on primal instinct mode.

I reach up and grab his buzzed head. John shifts to the right and pulls me on top of him in a straddled position. Now, he lets me take some control. I use his thick chest for balance and push up. My hips swivel in little circles as I dry grind on his hardening cock. His head falls back and his hands grip my muscular thighs. The thinness of my leggings is working in both our favors and I have no problem getting a better impression of how big he is through his sweat pants.

He comes up to me, anchoring our bodies together with a strong right arm around my back. I pull my shirt over my head and then rip his off immediately. I need to feel his bare chest, muscular and mine, at least for now. He kisses the valley between my breasts because he knows it’s my most sensitive spot.

“Mmmff.” The moan is involuntary and uncontrollable. His little chuckle spurs me on and I lift my hips up and down over him. His strong fingers dup beneath the cups of my bra to fiddle with my nipples. Then, he wants more. He tears the fabric off of my shoulder and my eyes shoot open, accusingly. He gives me a crooked smile and lifts his left eyebrow in that charming way of his. I shove him back onto the bed.

Trailing kisses from the center of his chest to his sexy happy trail, I grasp the elastic on his pants. I slide them down slowly while looking up at him, my brown eyes blazing and my body on fire.

I slip a hand beneath his boxers and finally hold his hardening cock in my hand. Air seethes from between his teeth when I squeeze. Gently, I graze up and down his length, teasing him with my touch. By the time I get his underwear off, he’s already panting a little. I like the effect I have on him, because he’s always tortured me with the way he looks at me, whispers to me, and lets his embraces linger. It’s my turn to make him sweat.

I lean in to taste him. For just a second, I flick my tongue around the head. Pre-cum glistens, mine for the taking. But, instead, I shoot him a lustful and avenging look. With a small smirk, I stand tall and swivel around so he can see my ass. Black lace covers my plump cheeks and wide hips. I shift my weight so that I’m twisting in front of him, touching my skin. A glance over my shoulder reveals his satisfied smile. With hands behind his head, he watches me, licking his top lip in appreciation.

I bend over to show him how wet I am and slip a finger between my legs, into my panties. I stroke forward and back as I turn to him. I hold the finger out to him, but snatch it away at the last second, closing my mouth around it, tasting myself

He’s had enough of my teasing and snatches my panties off my legs. He pulls my body onto the bed, kneels before me, and buries his head in my pussy.

“Mmm, fuck,” I moan loudly and sigh when my breath begins to labor.

His tongue makes quick work of my clit, fluttering over it and brushing from side to side and around. He eases one finger, then a second into my hole and my hips lift involuntarily. He’s found my g-spot in seconds. One hand rests on his head, pushing him deeper and deeper, while the other is clutching the bedsheets with reckless abandon. Sweat trickles from my temple. My chest rises and falls to the tempo of my outbursts.

“Why the hell do you taste so good?” John asks on his way up my body. In answer, I jam his mouth onto mine, slick juices smearing on my cheeks. I do taste good. I open my legs and wrap them around his waist as he positions his dick. He pauses.

“Do it Johnny.”

“You want me?”

“Yes, mmm, yeah I do.” I'm already out of breath.

“Tell me how much you want it.”

“I want it bad, baby.”

“How bad?” His grin is too much. I need him in me.

“Dammit Johnny. Just fuck me!”

With a quick flash of his pearly whites, he plunges into me, full-length and fuck did that shit hurt. He is bigger than I’d thought. But I love it, every inch of it. His muscular ass feels good in my hands when I dig my nails in and urge him deeper. My legs stretch wider and accept his every thrust. John’s head is buried in my neck and my heart hammers in my chest. I moan deep in my throat, a guttural and trembling sound that I don’t remember ever making in my entire sexually active life.

I need control. I pull those soft, pillow-like lips to mine. His tongue is ready and willing. My hands wrap around his forearms to push him over and I sit on top of his rock hard cock. Slowly, I bite his lip, down to his chin and leave a trail of kisses across his chest. His head sinks back with a sigh while he tangles his hands in my shoulder length brown curls.

I sit up and rotate my pelvis in slow circles. He smiles, getting hotter the quicker I swivel my hips. John’s right hand grips my left ass-cheek while his other hand plays with my tits. I can’t get enough of the sound of my ass slapping against his thighs and the squeaky shaking of the bed frame. Sweat rolls between my boobs and slickens my lower back.

“I knew I’d love your dick,” I say between gasps of breath.

“I knew you’d be wet as fuck.”

John grabs both hips and is about to drill me from below, which I’ve always found impressive, but instead I stop him and turn around so my plump ass cheeks are in his full view. I brace myself, hands on his legs, and slam back onto him. I hear his sighs getting louder as he moves my ass up and down. My back arches when he grabs my hair, yanking it backward. My chest splays open when I reach behind myself to hold onto his hips for balance. Nipples are hard and tingling with the promise of my impending orgasm. When John spanks me, I can’t hold back any longer.

I am bucking on top of him, our bodies bouncing together on his tangled sheets. His exhales are verbal now and I love that I’m the one making John moan and blow breath through his gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes, yes! Mmmffuuh... Yeah.” My exclamations mix between sounds of skin slapping skin.

“Fuck Zoe,” John says with a rumble in his throat. My eyes roll into the back of my head when he holds up my hips, digs his heels into the bed,and uses his powerful muscles to fuck the shit out of my dripping, wet cunt.

“Johnny! Johnny! I’m gonna cum. Ohhh God, oh God! Yes, yes! Yaaasss,” I scream and lay back, my leg muscles weak. I let John clutch my body and keep moving inside me until he finishes with a deep sigh in my ear. We stay in that position: my back on his front, his dick inside me. Our chests rise and fall, heartbeats racing beneath the surface.

“Wow.” He whispers into empty space.

“Yeah,” I say. Then I laugh, quietly at first and soon it's my loud, embarrassing cackle. John rolls to the side and gives into his gusto-filled chuckle.

“Zoe, I know why I’m laughing, but why are you?”

“I just can’t believe how long it took for that to happen.” I somehow force out the words while laughing.

We wipe tears from our eyes before getting up to take a shower. When I stand to follow him, I catch a reflection out of the window. John’s mother’s light blue Camry is pulling into the parking lot of his apartment.

"Uhm, Johnny.”

He emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, unfortunately.

“Yeah?” He walks over and places a hand, comfortable and familiar, on my ass. I like it there. He peeks through the shades with me just in time to see his mother turn the wheel to park right in front of us. We jump and I yelp before running into the bathroom. I click the lock before John can join me.

“Zoe, open the door!” he whisper-shouts.

“Ha! Nope.”

“Come on, I smell like sex and I don’t feel like another lecture from my mother.”

“You probably shouldn’t have given her a key then,” I call just as I turn on the water to drown out that awful woman’s voice. I picture him going to greet her: sweaty, wrapped in a towel, arms open wide, with that damn charming smile on his face.