There are friends who are just buddies.

People who you’ve known for years, with whom you have no mutual attraction. They’re your crew. Your team. Your mates. And then there are the friends who you would do in a New York minute if you could — but they’re often hooked up when you’re free, and vice versa. Vic was one of those for me. Whenever I had cut myself loose from a relationship, he was blissfully entangled with someone new. When he was free, I was taken. It was uncanny. The romantic gods seemed to be laughing at us.

Until last week.

I’d heard that he and his latest had parted ways. My boyfriend and I had called it quits at nearly the same time. I needed to find a way to let Vic know I was his for the plucking. As that thought flickered through my mind, an invitation landed in my inbox. A mutual friend of mine and Vic’s had decided to have an impromptu party. I checked the guest list. Yes! Vic would be there.

It was time for me to act.

The dress code for the evening said “party attire.” Plenty vague, right? What one woman considered party attire, another might consider completely inappropriate for anywhere outside of the bedroom. But the latter is the look I decided to adopt. All week long, I have to be corporate. For Friday night, I wanted to let go.

I went wild. I wore a teensy halter top studded with sparkling sequins. I paired the piece with a skirt so tiny it could have been mistaken for a sash. Honestly, I couldn’t sit down in it without flashing everyone in sight.

I was single and feeling sassy. I wanted to have fun, and I wanted Vic.

He came up behind me and whistled. When I spun, I saw him giving me that look. I’d seen it before — that look of longing he’d cast at me when he was free, but I was not. Now, we were both available — according to the local grapevine — and from the look in his eyes, I guessed he was thinking the same thing.

“So, how attached are you?” he asked.

“Completely un,” I answered.

“Good. Just wanted to make sure. And how attached are you to this party?”

“I’m not.” I wasn’t attached to anything at that point — except my desire for Vic.

“You want to skip this place and head to mine?”

“What took you so long to ask?”

We didn’t go to his apartment right away. First, we spent a good, long while kissing in his car, his mouth on mine and his hand in my hair. His hunger was obvious and fed my own desire. We were ravenous for each other.

Vic reached under my top, and he started to play with my tits. I stroked one hand along his firm chest before reaching lower to cradle his dick through his jeans. Vic’s dick — I was finally going to see it!

But not in the car. Driven as we were, we pulled ourselves together long enough to get to his pad. There was some groping along the way up the walk, and some kissing before he opened his front door, and then some pawing in the foyer. But we finally made our way to his bedroom and stripped in front of each other for the first time.

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” I begged him. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about.”

“Everything,” he said. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. I can’t even put it into words.”

“Try,” I whispered. “I want to hear.”

We climbed onto the bed. He was on his back and had me astride him with his stiff dick nestled inside my dripping cunt. I bounced up and down on his cock as he told me, “I would think about you with your boyfriend. I’d imagine what you might be doing with him, while I was with whoever I was with. I’d even fantasized about watching you — like through a window.”

I liked that idea. My pussy was positively gushing at his words. I had to admit I’d had some similar thoughts. I’d wondered how he liked to fuck his girlfriend, what positions were his favorites and how many times he would make her come. I’d also dreamed about fucking for an audience. I guess there was something in the way Vic had always watched me that turned me on. He made me feel naked even when I was dressed. He made me want to show off.

Now that I was naked for real — and fucking him for real — I had an idea.

“What if we made a movie?” I asked. I was hoarse with yearning, breathless with unrelenting desire.

“A movie?” he repeated, trailing his fingertips along my body.

“Then we could watch it, afterward. That would be hot.”

We parted just long enough for him to set up his phone to film us. Then we went at it. He fucked me on the bed, pinning me to the mattress with his body, rutting against me so hard I cried out with every thrust of his thick dick. Then we moved, so I was on top in a reverse cowgirl. I was extremely aware of the fact that every motion, every action, was being recorded. I played to the camera. I couldn’t help myself. I stroked Vic’s balls as I bounced up and down, making him groan. I licked my fingertips and massaged his sac with my slick digits. He called out my name and shot off deep inside me. Then he hooked his arms under my legs and pulled my hips up his body, turning cowgirl into a 69, and I licked the stray drops of his come from his cock while he tongue-fucked my drippy pussy until I creamed on his face.

Breathless and wrecked, we rolled away from each other, but I kept touching him, unable to keep my hands off him. This was real. This was delicious. We were finally together — finally able to fuck the way we’d always wanted to.

“He fucked me on the bed, pinning me to the mattress with his body.”

And now we had it on video, recorded forever.

We watched the replay on the big screen in his living room, getting turned on all over again. At first, we pretended we were going to simply watch — as if we were possibly reviewers interested in critiquing the art of our actions.

Yeah, right.

Instead, we ended up fucking once more. But if I had reviewed our performance I’d have said it was a serious five-star fuck — and we were both eager to for the sequel.

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