The water cascaded down their bodies like a veil of secrecy, shrouding them from the world outside. Alyssa stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the tile floor as she tried to will away the butterflies in her stomach. She had never been one for intimacy, and yet here she was, standing in the shower with Noah.
He shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes darting towards hers before quickly looking away. They had always been friends, but there was something different about being naked together. It was as if the very fabric of their relationship had been torn apart, leaving them exposed and vulnerable.
As the water continued to fall, Alyssa felt a drop land on her shoulder. She flinched, her heart racing at the sensation of his skin against hers. Noah didn't move, didn't even breathe, it seemed. The silence between them was oppressive, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Suddenly, he spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I'm sorry," he said, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. Alyssa's eyes snapped up to meet his, searching for answers. But all she saw was a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her own voice. "What for?" she asked, her tone barely above a whisper.
Noah shrugged, his shoulders tensing beneath the water. "For… for making you uncomfortable, I guess."
Alyssa felt a surge of compassion wash over her. He wasn't trying to make her uncomfortable; he was just as scared as she was. She took a deep breath, letting the water envelop her like a warm hug. "It's okay," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "I'm just… nervous, that's all."
Noah nodded, his eyes locking onto hers once more. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them palpable. Then, without another word, they began to touch each other, their movements slow and deliberate.
Alyssa's eyes grew wide when she felt Noah's erection against her skin. A small, shy smile played across her lips as she reached out, her fingertips grazing his hardness. Noah inhaled sharply at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as a shudder rippled through his body. Alyssa marveled at the effect she had on him, emboldened by his response.
She wrapped her hand around his shaft, stroking him gently as the water cascaded over them. Noah groaned, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily. His own hands began to explore her body, gliding over her wet skin, caressing her curves. Alyssa gasped as his fingers found her breasts and sensitive nipples, electricity crackling through her nerves. She arched into his touch, craving more. Their bodies pressed together, slick and feverish with desire.
Noah leaned in and tentatively pressed his lips to hers, his kiss tender and uncertain. Alyssa moaned against his mouth, then parted her lips and snaked her tongue between his lips. He responded, opening his mouth and allowing her tongue inside, their tongues tangling desperately together. Years of pent-up longing poured out between them, walls crumbling, defenses abandoned.
Alyssa broke the kiss, panting heavily. Her heart was a wild drumbeat in her chest. She gazed up at Noah with hooded eyes, seeing her own need reflected back at her. In that suspended moment, the rest of the universe fell away. Only this mattered, only them, and she needed more. “Fuck me,” she whispered, the words escaping her lips before she even realized she was speaking.
Noah’s hands slid down to her hips, grounding her in the reality of flesh and water and trembling need. Alyssa tilted her head up, seeking his lips again, and this time they kissed with purpose, fear and apology dissolved, desire unspooling between them with each press and slide of skin.
Noah lifted her gently, her back sliding along the smooth, wet tile. The ache in her chest deepened, not from nerves now, but from a new, pulsing want. The water beat at her, insistent and warm, until she strained toward him, wrapping her legs around his waist in instinctive invitation. He hesitated, forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling with the humid air of the shower. His voice was an ember. “Are you sure?”
She let the tension coil inside her, feeling each tiny doubt recede, until all that remained was the recklessness to say yes, so she did: “Yes. Now, please.” And that was all it took for Noah to slide into her, slow at first, as if savoring the newness, until they fit together at last. Alyssa dug her nails into his shoulders, clutching for something solid, something true, her head thrown back against the tile.
Each thrust drew a sound from her, half-laugh, half-cry, and Noah matched it with his own ragged exhalations. They moved in rhythm, awkward and wild, almost desperate. Alyssa’s mouth found his shoulder, biting down gently, unable to help herself. And when she felt the release building, cresting inside her like a swell, she let go of the old self, of the hollow distance, of everything except the press of Noah against her.
She clung to him, shuddering under the onslaught of sensation, and felt his body tense in turn, his own release wrung out of him with a low, guttural sound. They stood for a moment, wrapped around each other as water continued to rush down, a curtain isolating them from anything but the present.
Eventually, Noah set her down, hands trembling slightly. He met her gaze, eyes shining with something unfamiliar. Was it regret? Shame? “What does this… um, mean?” he mumbled. “I mean, between us?”
Alyssa's brow furrowed in contemplation, forehead against his bare chest. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice muffled by the warmth of his skin. “But it felt good, didn’t it?” She realized how flimsy the words sounded, how little they explained the crackling, terrifying joy blooming behind her ribs.
Noah let out a shaky laugh, the humor in it colored by something almost mournful. His arms circled her, resting around the small of her back. “It did,” he said. “It really did.”
They stood like that, the world narrowing to steam and the slow drip from their hair onto naked shoulders. For a long moment, neither could summon the energy to move. When Alyssa finally peeled herself from him, it was with reluctance and relief in equal measure.
They washed in silence, and Alyssa noticed a new stiffness in the set of Noah’s jaw. She watched his hands as he soaped his chest in practiced, automatic movements. There was a story in the way he moved, an echo of grief and wanting. She wondered if he was already regretting this, or if, like her, he was waiting for the regret to catch up.
“I should…” he started, voice thick, “probably get going. Your parents will be home soon.” He didn’t look at her as he slipped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the rack. Alyssa stayed behind, letting the last of the hot water run out before she stepped onto the bath mat, cold air prickling her skin.
She wrapped herself in a towel, suddenly awkward and small. Standing in the fogged-up bathroom, she found herself gripped by the urge to laugh, to scream, to cry. Instead, she busied herself with scrubbing her face dry, avoiding the mirror until she was sure her expression had settled.
Noah was hovering in the hallway in his jeans and t-shirt as she stepped out of the bathroom. He caught her eye, then immediately looked away.
She needed to say something, to attempt to reignite the magic that occurred in the shower, but the words felt clumsy in her mouth. “You… you don’t have to go,” she managed, hating the tremor in her voice. “I’m sure my parents would let you stay for dinner.”
He looked up with an expression on his face she didn’t recognize. “Thanks, but I… I'd better get home,” he stammered softly. “Maybe, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Alyssa watched as he made his way down the hallway, tears suddenly welling up in her eyes.
She wiped the hot prickle from her cheeks with the edge of her towel, shivering even as a thin vein of warmth persisted in her chest. She heard the front door click shut, the finality making her muscles tense and ache. She listened for a knock, expecting—ridiculously—maybe a return, an apologetic face at the threshold, or a shared laugh about how weird everything was. But there was only the pulse in her ears and the quieting of the suburban house around her.
She padded back to her room, towel-clad and adrift. The light coming through her window was different now, sliced up by blinds—late afternoon, the color of weak tea. Alyssa sank onto her bed, curling up in the fetal position, her hair damp and snaking along her neck. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and stared at it, thumb hovering over Noah’s contact, fantasies blossoming about him texting. She could almost write the apology for him, the gentle and self-deprecating “sorry for being weird,” with a little emoji that punctuated his uncertainty.
Nothing came.
Alyssa sat upright, gathering herself. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of her room and tossed her towel aside, the damp terry cloth landing with a soft thud on the carpet, her nakedness staring back at her. Thoughts raced through her mind like startled birds. "Why did Noah act that way?" She ran her hands over her small, perky breasts, the nipples puckering under her trembling fingertips. "Did he want someone with bigger boobs, like her friend Angie with her C-cups that always seemed to draw every boy's gaze?"
A hand snaked down her abdomen, tracing the nearly invisible blonde hairs that thickened as her fingers tangled into the patch of honey-colored curls between her thighs. "Did he not like this? Was he hoping I was bare, like that slut Jennifer who saunters around nude in the locker room, making sure everyone gets a glimpse of her bald pussy?" Fresh tears began to swell, blurring her reflection into a pale smudge, and she shook her head violently, droplets of water flying from her damp hair. She yanked open her dresser drawer, the wood scraping loudly, and pulled on a pair of faded gray yoga pants and an oversized navy t-shirt that smelled faintly of fabric softener. She ran a brush through her tangled hair until it fell in damp waves past her shoulders, and made her way towards the kitchen.
Dinner unfolded with its usual rhythm—her father's work stories, her mother's questions about school—while Alyssa pushed salmon around her plate, nodding at appropriate intervals. The words "I had sex with Noah today" kept forming in her mouth, shocking her each time, though she swallowed them back with gulps of water. Friendship since kindergarten dissolved in fifteen minutes of steam and skin. She almost told them when her mother asked why she seemed distracted, the confession rising like bile, but instead muttered something about a difficult algebra test tomorrow.
After asking to be excused, Alyssa retreated to the solace of her bedroom. She should be completing her homework and studying for the exam, but instead, she slipped in her earbuds and flopped down on the bed. Scrolling through her playlist, she found exactly what she was looking for. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander back to the shower, to the feel of Noah's body, the pressure of water, the shuddering relief as she surrendered to the sensation of being wanted. The ache inside her had not left; if anything, it pressed at her more insistently now, returning in sharp little pulses that made it almost impossible to think about anything else.
Behind her lids, Noah's hands roamed her body: first tentative, then greedy, fingers pressing hard enough to leave phantom imprints on her skin. She wondered how it would feel if it happened again—warmer than the steam that had enveloped them, more practiced than their fumbling first attempt, more wild than their cautious exploration. Her lips parted, barely a whisper of space between them, and the memory crawled through her like honey dripping down a spoon, awakening a current that snaked across her chest and pooled between her thighs, hot and insistent.
She slid one hand under the elastic waistband of her yoga pants, fingertips trailing down the soft plane of her abdomen, brushing against the place where the ghost of Noah's cock lingered most persistently. Her body welcomed her touch, raw and eager, and she let herself slip back to the shower, to the steam that had beaded on their skin like pearls and the way time had collapsed into nothing but sensation. Her other hand found her breast beneath the navy fabric, thumb circling nipple until it hardened like a small pebble, and she imagined Noah's mouth there, his tongue tasting her, suckling her with the gentle insistence. It was gentler this time, as if she was learning her own script, writing her pleasure in a language only she understood, not fumbling through someone else's expectations. She let herself ride the memory, her fingers dipping into her wetness, slick and warm as the shower had been, a small moan escaping her lips like a prayer released into the empty room.
With Billie Eilish's haunting vocals flooding through her earbuds and her eyes squeezed shut, fingers rhythmically rubbing her swollen clit beneath the thin cotton of her yoga pants, Alyssa failed to hear the three hesitant knocks at her door. Noah opened the door to her room as he had done countless times since they were kids, his apology already forming on his lips. The words died in his throat as he froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. His mouth fell open, lips parted and dry, as he watched her back arch, the subtle thrust of her hips as she bit her lower lip and tugged on her erect nipple.
Noah made a sound—something halfway between “oh” and a gasp. Alyssa’s eyes flew open, and her hand stilled. For a suspended second, neither moved. Her brain spun: embarrassment crashed against disappointment, then folded under a wave of something else—a wicked thrill, a challenge. She watched him, saw the red bloom across his ears, throat, and cheeks, the conflict on his face.
She removed her hand from under her shirt, the cotton fabric falling back against her skin still warm from her touch, and pulled out her earbuds, Billie's voice fading to a tinny whisper. She left her other hand inside her yoga pants, fingers still slick with her own wetness, as if she might resume masturbating at any moment—instead of yanking it away in shame. She held his gaze, her pupils wide, waiting for him to say something, anything. But instead, he silently stepped inside, shut the door with a soft click, and edged closer, hesitating at the foot of her bed.
Noah swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "I… um. Sorry. I should have just… um, texted."
She surprised herself with the calmness she felt. Her eyes never left his as her hand began to slowly move inside her pants, a flutter of fingers, small circles against her swollen flesh, keeping the feeling alive. "Did you want something, or…"
He grabbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I couldn’t, um, I shouldn’t have… Earlier, I mean. I felt…” His other hand gestured helplessly, as if drawing words from the air. “I didn’t want you to think I… I regretted… you know,” his words trailing off.
She looked away, then back, meeting his gaze with a force she didn’t know she possessed. “No, I don’t know,” she said. Her voice wasn’t steady, exactly, but it carried. “What don’t you regret?”
Noah looked at her with an expression of something close to wonder, as though the question had never even occurred to him. His mouth tried out several unfinished sentences before he finally managed, “You. Us. All of it.” A current of embarrassment shaded every word, and yet his eyes—vivid, uncertain, alight—never left hers.
Alyssa felt her shoulders loosen, the pressure in her chest shifting from sick nerves to something shyly triumphant. “Good,” she said. Part of her wanted to slide her hand out of her pants and start over—go back to the innocence of half-finished homework, late-night video game sessions, and backyard sleepovers, to let things be simple—but a deeper part of her, some new uncoiling self, wanted him rooted in place by the spectacle of her. She wanted to see what he would do with the truth of her need.
She spread her legs, the seam of her yoga pants stretching tight between her thighs, and let two fingers slip into her pussy, then drift lazily upward to tap the hard little button of her clit. She was soaked, and she knew that Noah could see it, could probably smell it in the cool air of the bedroom. He stared, lips parted, one hand braced on the footboard as if he were afraid the bed might buck under the weight of their history.
“Do you want to watch?” she asked quietly, a gentle goading in her tone.
Noah nodded almost imperceptibly, but remained rooted, unable or unwilling to sit or move any closer. Alyssa let her head fall back against the pillow, hair fanning out, and let the pleasure build again, slow and hot. There was no hurry now, no shyness in the curl of her fingers or the way her free hand came up to slip under the hem of her shirt and squeeze her breast. This was her show, her performance, and the audience was rapt. She stifled a moan, eyes trained on his.
Noah shifted his weight, the denim of his jeans now uncomfortably tight, and finally—almost absently—he began to stroke the tented front of his pants, cupping and rubbing just enough to relieve the pressure. He held her gaze, a nervous little smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, and after another moment, it was as if some unspoken contract had snapped taut between them.
The friends that they had been morphed into something more, they became explorers of the borderland between before and after. Alyssa worked herself, slow and deliberate, letting Noah watch as her breathing became ragged. The heat in her sex stoked higher by his undivided attention, she felt her pulse in every part of her body. She moved her hand purposefully, circling, plunging, circling again, and every flick of her wrist made her want to say his name, but she let the silence stretch.
Noah’s eyes locked on her spread legs as though witnessing a dusk eclipse: impossible, forbidden, but too beautiful to turn away from. He fumbled one-handed with his fly and managed to tug his pants down over his hips. His cock was hard and pale and aching, and for a moment, he just held it there, visible, so that Alyssa could see how much he wanted this, her, everything. He stroked himself, movements matching the rhythm of her hand, and Alyssa smiled, not wicked or mocking, but with a greedy relief—Yes, yes, this is how it’s supposed to be.
She came, sharp and sudden, clenching around her fingers, her hips jerking up. and her toes stretching into the comforter. Her cry was muffled in her upper arm, biting down so as not to announce herself to the entire house, but the keening pleasure ran in visible waves up her frame. The look on her face as she came seemed to unhinge something deep in Noah; he let out a strangled sound and came too, splattering onto her comforter and dripping into his boxers, gasping her name.
They looked at each other for a long time after, neither quite sure what to say. Alyssa slid her hand free and let it rest, palm up, on the bedspread. Noah, still dazed and starting to go limp, reached out to cover her hand with his own. The touch was warm and dry and so childish—like the palm claps they used to do at recess—that they both started to laugh. The laughter was weirdly holy, brittle, and cleansing, and it felt nothing like the laughter they’d shared before. Eventually, Noah spoke.
“Do you think it’ll be weird tomorrow?” he asked.
Alyssa considered, watching the shadows the blinds threw across the ceiling. “Definitely,” she said. “But I think… I want it to be.”
Thanks for reading. Likes and favorites are greatly appreciated, and your comments are always welcome.
