"Girl, you're smelling of hormones and lies..."

Colin looked at me skeptically, as I kept making up excuses to explain why I took that long to come back.

He didn't buy any single word of mine, not like I was really trying to convince him, actually.

I could have said anything, my shining eyes couldn't help, but to reveal I was lying: his hungry kisses were still on my starving lips, just one taste of what was left of my muscle bear in my mouth, made me smile all around!

The match was over, and none of us horny sluts did really get what happened, nor the final scores. My mind was always on those moments of passion, getting me and him devoured by each other. He made me feel alive, it was something that hadn't been happening for such a long time...

Anyway, the rest of us horny sluts really cared about the dynamics which resulted in a bunch of hunks and beefy guys full of testosterone clashing with another bunch of hunks and beefy guys full of testosterone! We were cool with that happening, already!

I reached my car and I felt Colin looking at me: his naughty smile was eloquent.

"What?"

"We haven't finished our conversation. You know that, right?"

"Colin," I answered pretending I fell from my unicorn, "I really have no idea of what you're talking about. You're paranoid!"

"Spence, I'm paranoid, but you're a slut. Tell me his name, at least!"

Well, at that moment I wished I knew his name, too. So, I just smiled at him, getting in my car.

"Bye Felicia"

Then I left, as my friend looked at me driving away.

Finally, I was alone with my inner fire, with my lust: all of a sudden, a boner popped in my pants, it was free to show up cause I was free to be horny. And I just couldn't wait to be at home and have sex with myself and my eros.

As I could notice in the rearview mirror, a car was approaching me.

My heart started to beat fast: what if the sexy, hunky lover just waited for me and got on my track, following me in his car? There wasn't even a real chance that was happening, but it was enough to drive me crazy: the hands on the steering wheel were sweating, blood heated up in my veins, my heart pumped faster and faster, breath got hard and wild.

Also, my penis was so hard it got painful, my body was urging me to hurry up and get back home. 

Once the door closed behind my back, lust took full control over my body and my mind; clothes came off quickly. I approached my shower. Water fell down as I waited for it to get steamy.

And here I was, naked, fierce, looking at my reflection in the mirror: my skin was red-hot for the passion burning inside of me, my nipples were freaking hard, I wished he was here.

The water was on point, I could tell as the glass was getting slightly covered with vapor: my eyes weren't seeing that clear, anymore.

Call it magic, call it an illusion, but in that very moment, I felt his strong arms surrounding my body and my tits from behind and his cock pressing my hole.

He was there, right there in the mirror! My mind was blown up!

My sexy hunk didn't say a word, his hands moved mine to reach my penis; I never saw it that hard, that powerful.

I knew it wouldn't have taken that long, just a few strokes and it would have exploded already.

His sexy smile was the last thing I've seen of him, as he disappeared right in front of my eyes.

Nothing was real, but my sexual hunger...

So, I rushed in the shower. My glistening body desired my own hands all over it, my head reclined back in a sinful storm of moans.

That was the time, my hand grabbed my "womanhood" and jerked it off hard, till one of my loudest screams of pleasure and wildest cumshots ever blasted.

Infinite seconds after the orgasm, my breath was still very heavy, my legs were shaking. Totally empty, I've found myself watching my own sperm rushing away with the hot water: I've been needing someone to turn me on so bad, for so long, but now I needed it even more...

-----------------------------------------------------------

Busy weeks were coming, for me and the rest of the group (my close friend Vanilla Sax, Jasper/Bristina Aspearsera, Don/Liv Mee Ah-Lawn and I), working on our music. In case you were asking, we named our drag-band "Friendlyfires".

Yeah, you can give it every meaning you want.

Our intent was to make something different than the huge amount of typical trashy beats only for the clubs, made by most of the drag queens. We would have absolutely loved to hear our shit in clubs, of course, but nothing compares to the idea of being featured in radio rotation.

I couldn't even tell how we managed to combine the recording sessions with our jobs, but still. 

Robin Vargas invited our group to a party in one of her own villas, outside Chicago: "The dress code for the event is 'Venice Carnival' and since you're a drag-band, you're all invited as drag queens. Don't forget your masks!"

All of us were above the cloud for the event, but the excitement lasted for not that long, as we all realized we had to make our dresses from zero in a couple of weeks. That was a very, very short time!

Don tried to encourage the group: "Hey, let's not bring ourselves down. We're gonna do this!"

Then, he looked at me, quite worried: "Are we?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------

On the very day of the party, I was freaking out.

Literally.

The more I was trying to modify my dress, the more it looked even worse. How could this possibly go even worse?

Well...

"Mum?"

"Uhm... Hey Spence, how are you, darling?"

Her voice was calm, but I immediately felt some negative vibes: that was her routine to start when she had to tell bad news to anyone.

It happened when she had to tell me that my uncle Grant died, it happened when she had to tell me our ninety-two-year-old neighbor passed away.

It also happened when my hamster Rufus "went to pets' heaven".

"I'm fine, but I'm also a little busy with my dress for tonight. Please, don't get this like I'm rude, but... Could we skip to the part when you tell me who died?"

Silence.

"Mum... Are you there?"

She was there, obviously. I could hear her breathing, trying to find the right words. 

"You're scaring me. What happened?"

I heard her sighing once more, then she pronounced those words I never, ever, wanted to hear: "It's your friend... It's... Dylan..."

Eight letters, eight letters were enough to shake the floor under my feet.

I sat on my couch, desperate.

"What happened to him?"

"I have no idea of WHAT, actually... His parents were so upset about the atrocious loss, none of us had the courage to ask anything more than what we've been told by them."

Atrocious loss? My heart stopped beating for one, infinite second.

"Are you really telling me... that... he."

I couldn't even end my sentence, my mother had to the ingrate job for me: "Dylan is dead. Honey... I'm so sorry..."

Maybe I'd sound like such a hypocrite, but the pain was real.

And it was destroying me, from the inside: a dark shadow, swallowing my soul, my inner light.

"Please, just tell me the day of the funeral, I'll be at home."

"The fact, honey... The fact is, his parents have informed the town only after the funeral. We didn't have the chance to say him goodbye for the last time. Just the family."

Everything was fucking insane: the one who was my best friend, the one who I deliberately treated like garbage and trashed in a can.

He was gone.

Quite frankly, I do not even remember the rest of the words my mother and I exchanged at the phone: all I could recall, was the emptiness possessing me.

Sometimes, I used to imagine him with a wife, two beautiful daughters and a labrador retriever: happy, without his former best friend. Such a pathetic alibi, absolutely, but it was also a way to feel less guilty.

I found myself hating him, cause I failed at showing my love for him.

And in the very end, I lost him.

My body laid on the couch, powerless: we never realize when it's too late, then life shows up and tells us it actually is too late.

The day went by, leading over the sunset, slowly, under my impassive gaze.

Everything looked so meaningless, to me: the dress, the party, the label, my friends.

I could not care any less. Dylan was dead and I felt like I was dead myself as well.

My phone kept beeping and vibing: those sounds were just interrupting my flow into the absolute nothing.

I stayed in the same position for five, maybe even six hours, then another beep from the smartphone forced me to check it: there were so many messages and missed calls from my friends.

They were worried for me: the fact I was feeling horribly bad, didn't mean they had to feel bad, too.

So I texted Colin: "Please, tell this to the friends and Vargas: I've found out that a special and meaningful person passed away and I'm not in the mood for partying. I'm really, really sorry, but don't be sad for me! Please, let me know tomorrow of all the fun you had. Love you"

Unfortunately, this didn't make me feel any better: I had the chance to let them know my feelings, cause I was alive. Dylan could not get that chance anymore.

He couldn't let anyone know what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

He couldn't get the chance to scream at me how much I disappointed him, how I turned our friendship down.

And I couldn't get the chance to scream at him how my love for him was a fucking poison, how I wasn't able to express myself since the truth would have not changed anything.

Too many bad thoughts, too much negativity.

I could feel how my mind was a suffocating cage: the sense of no way out assaulted me, like two hands around my neck.

My body stood up, like in an autopilot mode and rushed to the bathroom.

Then, noises of vomit, coming out of my throat.

Probably, that was my conscience choking me with the truth.

Or, that was my soul, refusing to cohabitate inside me.

Well, I wouldn't have blamed them, in that case.

As much as it was a deep and transcendental interior debate, I had to flush everything out for the stink.

The phone called me back to reality, literally: it was Colin, I mean Vanilla Sax.

"Hey, anything wrong?"

"Girl, I'm sorry," my friend sounded authentically concerned, "Robin Vargas' associate is here, right in front of me. And he's looking at me bad. He wants to know why you're not here."

"Shit!"

I sobbed, this wasn't what I wanted for my girls: "Can I talk to him, please?"

"You're talking to me, already," answered a deep voice.

That... That was quite unexpected!

But also... Familiar, somehow.

"Hello... Sir... My friend must have told you about what happened. I'm... I'm sorry, but my presence would not be helpful, at all"

"I understand... But I just needed an excuse to talk right now. Also, I was expecting to see you, here: can't stop thinking of our encounter..."

What???

"You..."

"Good evening, woman of mystery... Yeah, it's me..."

My heartbeat was over 9000 and I had no idea of what to say.

"This won't make you feel any better, I know," the incredibly handsome kept talking, "but I suffered a loss these days, as well. So I understand you"

Again, the emotions inside me forced me to silence.

"I have no right to tell you this, but I would be really glad to meet you here. Take your time to think, I'll be fine with any of your decision"

Then, he ended the call.

So, that guy who I really wished he would have become a sexual affair.

That guy was... my boss!?

No way... How could I fall into such a huge conflict of interest? Also, getting laid with him, the same day a huge loss in Dylan...

That would have been disrespectful, to him.

But that guy was also very influent, for me and for my music project!

I took a look at my dress: it was so shitty, so basic, so regular, republican "virgin" girl.

Well, I would have given him a reason to dump me.

TO BE CONTINUED