About Friday Night
The thing of it is; I could still taste the sweat that coated your finger long after it left my lips. You have this way of secretly showing me you not-so-secretly want me in a closet somewhere. It was dark in the car, and he thought I was holding your hand. But I was fucked up on pills, and you noted this aloud, when I muttered something about you and I in unmentionable circumstances. I bit your finger, and you bit down on your lip, muttering to him we needed to hang out tonight. Really you and I needed to be slutty, but in manner to keep the appropriate public appearance of “just friends” up. I don’t know who realized we shouldn’t first. But we ended the night differently. You fucking the girl who would let you, and me, dozing on the shoulders of actual friends. I have to admit, I find our impromptu “bad idea 101” for majors to be more informative than originally predicted.