My best friend, Simon, and I tell each other everything. There is a girl we both know who was recently visiting from the West Coast. Although she is straight, I (who am not) once had the pleasure of kissing her. It was amazing.

Her tongue entangled in mine, our breasts barely touching. The kiss was short, and I could tell that she was the type of woman that every man should have at least once in his life. Simon told me about his date with her. It had been seven months since he’d moved to New York, and he did not know what to expect. He saw her walking toward him and waved. She looked exactly the same, with long, auburn hair that fell in large curls past her shoulders. Her long lean legs led to perfectly rounded hips. Her waist curved in, then widened into full breasts. Her gray-green eyes were large and penetrating.

She threw her arms around Simon’s neck. “Hello, there!”

“Hey, what’s up?” he said, grabbing her in a hug.

Her hair smelled like peaches and her skin like vanilla. The two of them chatted a while and decided to stop at a bar near his apartment, but the bar was dark and loud. Every time the door opened, the cold air blew in and brought the girl’s prominent nipples to life. She made a face and shivered. As soon as she and Simon finished their drinks, he took her hand and they walked to his place. As they passed the alley next to his building, he grabbed her shoulders, swung her around, and kissed her hard on the lips. He felt her breasts rise against him. He pulled away, then kissed her cheeks and eyelids, and nuzzled his face in her hair.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered. She tugged at his belt, pulling the thin leather strip out of its loops. She unbuttoned his jeans and squatted in front of him. He closed his eyes and heard his zipper being lowered. She slid her hand into his briefs and caressed his dick. She pulled it out, wrapped her tongue around it, and sucked him deep into her mouth. His heart pounded. He sighed deeply. A car passed — a cop car. His body tensed. She stopped sucking.

“Hold on,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “We have to go,” he said. “It’s the cops.”

’I want to fuck you,” he whispered.

She tugged at his belt, pulling the thin leather strip out of its loops. She unbuttoned his jeans and squatted in front of him. He shoved his throbbing cock back into his jeans as a beam of white light flashed around the alley. He grabbed her hand, fidgeted with keys, then finally opened the front door to his house.

The police siren echoed in the hallway as the door slammed shut. They laughed and ran down the dimly lit hall. Again he fidgeted with his keys. He swung open the apartment door and said, “Be my guest.” As she brushed past him, he caught the scent of her perfume. She slipped off her jacket and he walked toward her. She turned to face him in the darkened room, the street lamp outlining her silhouette. She pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it to the floor.

“I thought about you,” he said, and put his hand on her cheek. She rubbed her lips against his palm. Her breath warmed his fingers. “Sometimes at night,” she said, “when I wake with an aching between my legs, I think of you.” She leaned into him and kissed his neck. “I pull my nightshirt up over my naked hips and breasts.”

He tweaked the bra straps off her shoulders. “Then I touch myself,” she whispered. He unsnapped her bra and pulled it down over her arms. It fell to the floor. She watched him, her breath slow and heavy, as he took off his clothes. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he stretched her back onto the bed. He teased her nipples with his tongue.

“I slide my hand down between my legs,” she continued, “and slip my finger inside my pussy.” He slid her slacks down her legs. She was not wearing any panties. “I slowly fuck myself,” she whispered, “and get so wet and hot.” His dick throbbed against her thigh.

When he stuck his finger inside her pussy, she was already wet. He could wait no longer. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. He buried his face in her pussy and teased her clit with the tip of his tongue before probing deep inside her cunt. Come seeped into his mouth. It was thick and sweet. He gripped her ass and sucked harder. “Fuck me, Simon. Fuck me now,” she cried. He lifted his head and crawled on top of her. “Tell me more,” he said. He slipped his cock into her pussy and began to pump. She was warm and tight. He pulled out and entered again. She whimpered and arched her back toward him.

Breathlessly, she said his name over and over as she wrapped her legs around his back. They rolled over. She straddled him, digging her nails into his chest. She threw her head back and rode him with abandon. Then her head fell forward and she sighed, “Oh, Simon.” Her hair fell across her face. The wooden headboard banged against the wall. Beads of perspira- tion slid down her neck and chest.

Strands of hair clung to her rosy cheeks. He turned onto his side and faced her. She smiled and said, “It’s too bad you moved so far away.” He laughed, “If I had known it was going to be like this,” he said, “I never would have left.”

They fucked three more times that night and again in the morning before she left. I see her every now and then when we bump into each other in California, and I tease her about that last trip to New York. I once asked her if she still whispered his name when she was alone late at night. She leaned against me and smiled coyly. “His name,” she breathed into my ear — “or yours?”