Chapter 8

The elevator was so crowded. Filled to the brim with nondescript people in nondescript clothes. Though there was barely enough space to stand comfortably, Paul couldn’t move at all. The orange-yellow floor counter dead center above the doors kept ticking over, routinely stopping with a clinical, electronic “ding”. At every floor, the doors would open and some of his friends at the front of the crowd would march out into the warm, inviting hallways beyond. Paul tried to follow them, but he couldn’t push his way through the crowd. No matter how many people left the elevator, the faceless crowd standing between himself and the exit never seemed to get any thinner.

It felt so strange, being so packed in with all these strangers; so, abnormal.

It was the strangeness that woke him up; that bizarre sense that the bed was a lot more crowded than he was used to.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with a sight he didn’t immediately understand: a thick mass of long, dark hair. Immediately, he was fully awake.

His heart began to race as it all came flooding back to him: the shooting contest, the ‘prize’ he’d won and the late night visit he’d received afterwards.

The memories felt too crazy to be true, but the warm body next to him left no doubt: he had fucked Marcy.

His mind was a complete blank. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel or what to do. What happens next after you impulsively have mind blowing sex with a friend, who happens to be in a relationship with another friend? He was so confused, he couldn’t even feel anxious about the dilemma.

He caught sight of a long track of creamy, bare skin starting from Marcy’s shoulder and a different sequence of memories flashed through his mind. This time, they were all about her magnificent body. His dick began to grow very rapidly.

“Oh! No, no, no, no! Shit!” he privately cursed, as he clenched his eyes shut to prevent the sight of her getting him any more excited. Things were complicated enough as they were. A boner in that bed right now would just stir more chaos into the mix.

He tried to ‘will it’ away. When the same thing had happened the previous night, he had been convinced that the only way to make it go away was to give it release. But this time he felt he needed to be subtler. Jerking off by Marcy’s side seemed appropriate enough when they’d just fucked mere minutes earlier. But now, in the light of a new day, the idea felt rude.

Scrambling for some trick to make the wood go soft again, he quickly decided to reminisce about the last time he got a filling from his balding, spectacled dentist. It took some time, but eventually the strategy began to work, and after a frustratingly long wait, his manhood was as limp as a wet rag.

With that minor crisis over, Paul tried to come to some understanding about the situation. He wasn’t particularly fixated on figuring out why things had happened the way they had last night, nor was he dwelling on what he was going to do next. He just wanted some measure of clarity about it all, so he didn’t feel so lost.

He deliberately avoided any thoughts which might arouse him once again, which proved to be hindrance. Every time he felt like he was getting somewhere, the animal deep within began salivating, and Paul had to mentally ‘change channels’ before his cock began to rise.

By the time he felt his bedmate stirring, he was no wiser than when he had woken up.

“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Paul thought to himself. He had no game plan. He would just have to wing it.

He laid back and patiently waited out the sequence of random motions she made as she woke. The suspense was unbearable.

Marcy lifted the nearest side of her body for a second and Paul got a fleeting glance of the ample swell of her breast pressed against the mattress. Jesus, what a whopper! That little peek was probably going to give him another boner, but he was too impressed to mind.

Then finally, a single drowsy, hazel eye emerged from that rolling ball of thick brown hair. It widened as soon as it noticed him.

She turned her head and looked him over with both eyes. Her mellow expression suggested that she wasn’t upset, just a little confused.

“Morning,” Paul greeted, in the most casual voice he could manage. He spoke without even thinking, like a reflex action to cut the tension.

An awkward grin curled over Marcy’s face. “Heeeeyyyy...” she responded with a subtle roll of her eyes. It was like she’d suddenly found herself the victim of a practical joke and decided that there was nothing else she could to but take it in good humor.

She laid her heavy head back down on Paul’s shoulder and her hand over his heart. They were only simple gestures, but they put Paul far more at ease. If Marcy was comfortable with this unorthodox sleeping arrangement, then he probably shouldn’t get in a twist about it, either.

“What time is it?” she gently groaned.

“Uh ... Hang on,” Paul replied. He reached over to the nightstand beside him and fetched the wristwatch he’d left there last night, shortly after they’d had sex.

“Uh ... It’s like ... eight ... something,” he reported, struggling to read the small analogue face with his sleepy eyes. “‘Bout ten after eight.”

“Mmm ... Good. It’s still kinda early, then,” Marcy purred. She was beginning to sound much more ‘awake’ now. Though he couldn’t see her face, somehow Paul knew Marcy’s eyes were wide open.

“I suppose,” he hesitantly agreed. “Some people are probably up and about, though.”

“Probably,” Marcy agreed with a sigh. She tried to hide it, but Paul could hear the apprehension in her voice. “It doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have taken them long to figure out what happened, anyway. And Bert kind of saw me coming in here, so ... no point worrying about it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed with a heavy sigh, “I guess you’re right.”

They laid there together in still silence for some time, neither one of them looking forward to the unavoidable chore of leaving that cozy bed, getting dressed and facing the world outside. They listened patiently to the sounds of dawn: the countless lively birdcalls mixed with the subtle creaks and groans of the rustic old cabin and the occasional ‘snap’ of its tin roof expanding under the fresh, warm sunlight. The distinct sounds of footfalls on the cabin’s timber floors confirmed their fears, and though neither of them said so, it soured the moment for them both.

“By the way...” Marcy eventually broke the silence. She raised her head to look Paul in the eye. “ ... I never got around to thanking you.”

“What for?” Paul asked, puzzled.

“Well ... everything!” She answered with a shrug. “You know ... for standing up for me on the beach, and for helping me teach those jerks a lesson, and for letting me crash here with you.”

“Hey, no problem,” Paul assured her warmly, “As a roommate, you’re actually a lot of fun...”

Marcy smirked.

“ ... You don’t cover the walls in death metal posters, you don’t erase my messages and you cook a mean chili,” he continued.

Marcy was chuckling heartily by the time he finished.

“Yeah, and you don’t borrow my clothes,” Marcy replied, after laying back down on his shoulder.

“As far as you know,” Paul facetiously clarified. They both shared a good, discreet laugh.

The joke seemed to be over all too quickly.

“There’s going to be hell to pay when we go out there,” Paul said as he stared at the bedroom door.

“Yeah,” Marcy mournfully agreed.

They each subconsciously embraced the other; Marcy’s fingers curled gently around Paul’s chest hair, as if trying to cling to him like a strip of Velcro, while Paul slipped his arm around the small of her back and gently grabbed hold of his other hand.

They both had a pretty good idea what would happen when they went out to join the others. It was going to be the worst kind of confrontation: the kind where nobody says anything and does nothing. Breakfast would be a frosty atmosphere of cold silence and biting subtext, until finally someone wouldn’t be able to take it anymore and it would all come out into the open, with all the bitterness, bile, and the fury of hell itself.

Unfortunately, there was no telling when that confrontation would occur. Maybe it was going to happen over breakfast, or maybe it would happen later in the day. Quite likely, it would strike them without any warning whatsoever. The only thing that was certain was that it was definitely coming.

It was like that old movie line about how the worst part of war is the calm before the battle. That was what Paul and Marcy would be walking in to when they left the bedroom.

What Paul dreaded the most was Karen’s reaction, mostly because he couldn’t predict what it might be. She would either be disappointed and think less of him for fucking Marcy simply because the opportunity presented itself, or she wouldn’t particularly care. He couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“You got any ideas what you’re gonna say to Jeff?” he asked Marcy.

Marcy grunted in disdain at the mention of her now-ex boyfriend, “Jeff and I are through.”

Paul glanced down at her in surprise. He knew that Marcy had been pissed off by Jeff’s drunken stupidity, but he didn’t realize she’d felt that strongly about it.

From Paul’s point of view, Jeff and Marcy’s relationship had always seemed quite volatile, with brief, bitter spot-fire fights punctuating their constant making out and retreats to private quarters. Despite the anger that would frequently flare up between them, they always made up shortly afterwards. Paul had never understood why they kept making up when there was clearly some serious hostility beneath the surface of their relationship, but he didn’t judge.

Paul had just assumed that this one night stand with Marcy was just another instance of her lashing out at her boyfriend; a severe psychological spanking for acting like such a douche earlier. But apparently, it had been less a case of Marcy trying to hurt Jeff and more a case of her consummating her decision to leave him finally.

“I figure I can do better than a boyfriend who treats me like a gambling chip to make bets with,” Marcy explained, her voice wavering with hints of pain and doubt.

“You can,” Paul asserted with all the confidence she lacked.

He planted a tender kiss upon her forehead. Ordinarily, such an intimate gesture would’ve felt creepy between the casual friends. But curled up in bed, their naked bodies pressed against one another, it seemed most appropriate. Despite her tough facade, Paul could tell Marcy needed the moral support right now and in the raw, naked aftermath of their night of passion together, there were no taboos.

“You can,” he repeated, even stronger than before. His embrace around her tightened; his left hand curled all the way around her until it was grasping her left shoulder, while his right hooked around her right hip and pulled her body closer. His pinkie skimmed the bulging flesh of her ass, but there was nothing lecherous about his touch.

“Thanks,” she replied with a deep, sorrowful sigh.

“What about you and Karen?” she inquired, artfully changing the subject. When no answer came, she lifted her head off Paul’s shoulder and gazed up at him attentively.

“I don’t know,” Paul replied with exasperation. “I ... I still have feelings for her. But right now, I don’t think I’m interested. Like, I look at her and I can’t help but see ... them.”

Marcy nodded in understanding, “Total mood killer.”

“Yeah,” Paul sighed. “I dunno, maybe somewhere down the line...”

Marcy waited until it became clear that Paul had nothing more to say before she responded, “Well, yes, you’re still gonna be pretty sore about it. I mean it’s only been 24... 36 hours since it happened. Give it some time, maybe you’ll get past it.”

“Maybe,” Paul skeptically agreed.

Marcy smiled and affectionately stroked his hair. They were by no means unwelcome gestures, but at the same time, they didn’t instill him with the hope that Marcy was trying to offer. Quite the opposite, in fact. He couldn’t help but think that there was something seriously fucked up about discussing romantic feelings for his long-time crush, while canoodling naked with a woman he’d just had earth-rocking sex with the night before. It was all such a mess, Paul began to suspect that there was no realistic hope of salvaging a healthy relationship out of it.

“I dunno, maybe I should just forget about her,” he said softly. “I mean, I don’t even know if I had a chance with her anyway.”

There was a change in Marcy’s manner. It was subtle, but Paul noticed it. It was as if she had some opinion, or perhaps even inside knowledge on the subject, but felt compelled to keep it to herself for some reason. If that was the case, Paul was too tired to try to drag it out of her

“This whole week,” he continued, “I kept seeing all these little signs that I was getting somewhere with her, y’know? Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

“It’s hard to argue with reality, y’know? She ended up fucking Bert and then I ended up in bed with you. Maybe I’m supposed to take it as a sign that it’s just not meant to be.”

“You don’t really believe that, though,” Marcy told him after a thoughtful pause.

“You think it sounds like a bunch of bullshit?” Paul asked, sheepishly.

Marcy shrugged, “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that it doesn’t sound like you believe it.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” Paul replied. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, right?

“I guess I’m just confused. I need some time to figure it all out. I had all these ideas about what was going to happen over the past couple days and then they went nothing like how I expected,” he told her.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Marcy chuckled dryly. Paul echoed her cynical mirth, appreciating the irony of how his and Marcy’s separate problems allowed each of them to relate to the other so well.

“You mind if I give you some advice?” Marcy asked after a long pause. There was a cool sense of caution in her tone; the word ‘advice’ was meant to be interpreted as ‘criticism’ and if he said ‘yes’, she wasn’t going to sugarcoat what came next.

“Yeah, I guess,” Paul shrugged. Ordinarily, he would’ve been more guarded when responding to a question like that. But right now, he was too rested and numb to be damaged by blunt words.

“You kind of have a tendency to over-think things...” Marcy told him, in a voice much gentler than Paul had expected.

The remark caught him by surprise. He didn’t quite know how to respond, so he didn’t.

“Like, right now: every time I move around a little, you take a quick peek down to see if you can see any more of my boobs...”

Paul could feel the blood rushing to his face. One second he had been listening to casual pillow talk, the next he was getting ambushed about his voyeuristic impulses. And he thought he’d been so discreet...

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen much, though, right?” she pressed him, with a dry smirk.

“Uh ... Well, uh ... I...” Paul awkwardly stalled.

“If you want to play with them, just go for it!” Marcy instructed, her voice as gentle and relaxed as could be

“Are you serious?” Paul silently asked her with his wide-open eyes.

“I can always say ‘no,’” Marcy added, only compounding Paul’s confusion. If she’d had a meaningful point that she was trying to get across, it had been totally lost on Paul by now. He wasn’t thinking about self-improvement anymore, he was only thinking about tits.

When he didn’t immediately react, Marcy leaned in and stared him down with a feisty smirk.

“I’m not going to say ‘no,’” she assured him in a sultry whisper.

A tentative grin grew on Paul’s face as he gradually concluded that she was indeed offering her fabulous tits up to him once again.

He drew his right hand down under her armpit and spread his grasp around the hot, sumptuous bulge he felt beneath. He pressed his fingers in and gently squeezed. He’d forgotten just how large they were; how yielding her flesh was. The erotic memories he had of the previous night couldn’t compare to holding the genuine article in his hand.

She was so goddamned sexy. Not simply because she was stacked, but also because of how she operated. It amazed Paul how smoothly she could bring breast play in to a serious conversation, as if it were no big deal. There was an artful grace to this side of her, one that Paul had noticed in her long ago. She wielded sex like it was an extension of herself. She was so bold, so shameless, so masterful in the way that she played the turbulent currents of sexual chemistry between herself and the men who fawned over her. It shocked him occasionally, but deep down it never failed to impress him.

“Happy now?” Marcy softly asked with a grin of approval.

“Mm-hmm” Paul agreed, trying to conceal his excitement and play it as cool as her.

“Good,” said Marcy.

Right on cue, Paul’s cock began to grow and rise at an urgent pace. It made him nervous. Just because Marcy was letting him feel her up didn’t mean she’d be cool with him sporting a boner while they were in bed together. Second base was a fair way from home, after all. He was enjoying himself; he didn’t want things to get weird.

“Oh! Hello!” Marcy chirped in surprise as Paul’s rising erection brushed across her thigh.

“See, your little friend down there knows what I’m talking about,” she told Paul. Her face was radiant with amusement, which came as a great relief to him. “When he wants something, he just stands up and goes for it. A real man of action.

“You should follow his lead more often,” she advised.

“Uh ... Okay,” Paul awkwardly responded, still not quite understanding what Marcy was trying to say. Of course, it didn’t help that his attention was focused elsewhere.

“Here, let me give you a better angle,” Marcy said as she rolled on to her side. That was much better! Not only could Paul hold her boob properly now instead of merely clasping it from the side between his thumb and fingers, but more importantly, he could see both of them! Damn, they were spectacular! So big and proud; pure femininity in its most overt form. Particularly, he found himself captivated by her candy-pink nipples, which were so beautifully petite compared to the grand size of the breasts themselves.

Her left nipple danced for Paul like a sensual harem girl, as he began to gently squeeze the breast and distort its shape. However, it soon disappeared in to the palm of his hand as his grasp grew increasingly ambitious.