The apartment was descent - a single guy’s pad, casually unkempt. But not trashed. The warehouse-style brick walls were covered in framed rock-band posters, and his collection of bass guitars hung everywhere.
On the bed I felt the heat quickly rush between my legs. At that point I was all his.
We resounded, loud and ferocious.
I morphed into an animal, gripping his ass, forcing him along.
My blaring discharge allured Tim’s desire to take advantage of my pause so that he, too, could reach an equivalent monster climax. Maneuvering his searing body to my back, Tim entered me from behind. A screeched moan pummeled my lips. There was no self-control left.
I had no idea sex could be so fucking amazing.
“Hey, asshole,” Brad yelled from the club entrance, eyes blazing on the path to Tim.
I was oblivious to the fact that Brad even knew.
“Yeah you - pretty boy.” He pointed a livid finger at Tim.
It was then that I knew the jig was up. My guilty eyes went to the floor in front of me. I couldn’t face either of them.
“What?” I heard Tim say genuinely confused.
He leered at me. I didn’t recognize him. Back to Tim, Brad was ascending the stairs of the stage, moving in closer.
“Did you take advantage of her, you piece of shit?” he spat, once facing Tim.
Tim kept diverting his penitent gaze from the floor to me then hastily he met Brad’s red-rimmed eyes and blazon face. It was clear that he didn’t want to fight Brad, but I sensed that he could hold his own if he was forced to.
“She’s only seventeen, scumbag.” Brad roared, pushing Tim.
Tim’s eyes flourished with shock. He turned to me reproachful.
Not able to confront Tim, I looked away – guilt engulfed my face.
Tim never asked me my age. And I didn’t think it necessary to offer it. Him perceiving me as an adult was precariously liberating. So I kept up the charade by playing along. Evidently that was a large mistake on my part.
“Yari,” Tim’s voice beckoned. He turned to face me.
“Don’t speak to her!” Brad yelled to Tim, closing in on his face.
My attempts to talk were overpowered by Brad’s rage.
“Brad!” I screamed, pulling his arm toward me. He was stiff with vehemence, barely noticing that I was even present – even though his tirade was over me.
So I yelled louder. “BRAD!”
For an instant Brad gave me his attention. I jumped on it. Forcing my frail frame between Tim and Brad’s firm bodies, I addressed them.
“He didn’t know my age, Brad.” I pleaded then turned to face Tim’s disappointed face.
“He was still told to keep his fucking hands off.” Brad pushed me toward Tim with his chest.
“Brad, please?” I begged, pulling his face to mine with shaking hands.
Brad froze in place, gazing down at me.
“It was mutual. Don’t blame him. If anything, it was my fault because I wasn’t upfront about my age.” My frightened green eyes were enough to calm Brad. He looked at me aggrieved, like there was nothing left to live for. I dropped my hands immediately.
What was he thinking - that I was a whore? The last thing I wanted was for Brad to lose respect for me. I cherished the way he valued our friendship. I would rather die than hurt him.
His voice broke when he spoke. “You wanted to sleep with him?”
My best-friend’s betrayed face stabbed me hard in the chest. I looked away. Tears started to surface.
“Yes.” I muttered softly, looking at his trembling hands by his side.
Brad pulled his face down to mine without making eye contact and whispered, “Why?”
I was confused. Up until that point, I never imagined that Brad cared much about what guys I liked. But, it was at that very moment, when I understood undeniably that he loved me in a way that was more than just as a sister.
“Not here.” I whispered. This conversation was far too emotional and personal to discuss in front of everyone’s prying eyes, especially Tim’s.
Brad’s face tightened. He forced his agony into check. Giving Tim one final evil eye, he then stormed off.
My mind was anarchy. I wanted to cry, scream, and die in that order.
I faced Tim. “I’m sorry.” My voice cracked. I was too humiliated to say more.
“So am I.” Tim’s crushed voice stunned me. There was finality in his tone - I knew it was over with me, and with the band.
Victor, the club owner hastily replaced Tim that night with another bassist. “The show must go on.” When it came to money he didn’t fuck around with petty drama.
Relinquishing my emotions to mush, I had become a robot on stage that night. My mind was still languishing over everything that unraveled earlier that day. As much as I hated myself for not being honest with Tim, there didn’t seem to be any valid reason for me to feel guilty. Tim and I weren’t technically a couple, and there was no way for me to know that Brad had intimate feelings for me. He never led me to believe we were anything more than friends.
Was I so blinded by the friendship and security I needed in Brad that I overlooked his true feelings toward me?
From that night on, Brad avoided any mention of what took place, behaving like business as usual. This confused me even more, lending the belief that maybe I misinterpreted his feelings altogether.
I never heard from Tim again. I didn’t blame him for writing me off. Vanity would cause me to miss the sex though.
My thoughts were focused on Brad. I was worried about his masked emotions. The frustrating pattern of not being able to penetrate his blockade, with constant inquiries into his personality shift was becoming poignantly taxing for me. I couldn’t make sense of his detachment. I was left in the dark. Brad was naturally an upfront guy. This shut-out was blatant.
Why couldn’t he tell me that he was in love with me? Did I scar him so badly with Tim that he would never feel the same about me? How had he perceived me before finding out? Was I an innocent to him – some seraphic humanoid? How could he view me in such an unrealistic light?
It wasn’t fair.