Chapter 1

The first time I had sex with Julie was right after her boyfriend’s funeral. Mark had died in a car crash while he was drunk that sent two other people to the emergency room. Asshole. Still, he was my friend and I grieved for him.

Julie and Mark had lived in the same apartment complex as me. Julie and I were friendly, but not exactly friends. After the funeral it seemed natural for the two of us to have a couple glasses of wine at my place and remember him.

It was a complete surprise to me when, during a lull in the conversation, she asked me to have sex with her. It wasn’t a come-on; it was a request. Almost like a favor. I knew from past experience that when you got her talking about chemistry or musical theater or a number of other topics she was confident and assertive. But in this case she was unbearably demure and insecure. I think that I said yes mostly out of pity.

To be fair, she certainly was beautiful: Petite, Asian features, with a bob haircut. Her breasts were only just big enough to give her a delightful feminine shape. Her waist was invitingly small - it made me want to pick her up and twirl her around like a ballerina.

The sex was, to be honest, pretty bad. She pretty much just lay there without really engaging me. She did kiss me back when I kissed her, and she put her arms around me. But she wouldn’t do any position other than missionary, and the only sounds I got out of her were a couple half-hearted “mmm”’s. She didn’t seem to be enjoying it. Eventually I gave up and just went through the motions until I came.

After I caught my breath, I asked her if she had come. I don’t know why I asked - I knew she hadn’t.

“No. But thank you for trying, Kai.” She tried to sound appreciative, but there was malaise in her voice.

I put my hand on her thigh. “Give me a minute and I’ll see what I can do. I’m pretty good with my tongue.”

“What? No. No thank you.” She squirmed away from my hand, and then got dressed and left.

I spent the next day chastising myself for taking advantage of, and then grossly disappointing my dead friend’s girl. It was therefore a great shock when she knocked on my door the next evening and asked if we could have sex again. This time it wasn’t pity or lust or sadness that made me say yes. This time it was about redemption. I wanted to give this girl a good performance.

She didn’t come this time either, but I did learn more about what she responded to - both during foreplay and sex. Afterward I didn’t make any attempt to go down on her. I just caressed her belly while trying to get her to open up, verbally. She didn’t say a whole lot, but she gave me some insight. Her foster parents had been super preachy about sex, and I guess the lesson had sunken in especially deeply with her. I made it a point to kiss her arms and legs, neck and chest. I wasn’t sure if this arrangement we had was going to last, but if it did, I wanted to get her used to the idea of my mouth all over her body. After a little more cuddling, she thanked me for a nice evening and went home.

The next night she came while I was thrusting into her. Her moans were objectively quite mild, but I found them fantastically rewarding. She smiled a lot afterward and snuggled up to me unusually tightly. The tension that had existed in our strange sexual relationship up until that point faded away that night.

After that she let me lick her, briefly, before intercourse. She warmed up more to the idea of being on top, too. We learned more and more about how to please each other over the coming weeks, and although she still had a lot of inhibitions, it became easier to talk about them. We both genuinely enjoyed each other, both as lovers and as friends.

Her schedule was erratic. She was at home much of the time, working on her doctoral thesis in Chemistry, but she had to dash out at crazy times, day or night, to go to the lab. (“These are the only times I can get access to the equipment.”) I was telecommuting as a software developer, so other than the occasional meeting, my hours were pretty flexible. We spent a lot of time together - some meals, a couple TV shows that we would only watch together, the occasional shopping trip. Neither of us ever tried to put a label on our relationship: we just enjoyed it. And we kept having sex. At the end of the day, though, we each slept alone in our own apartments.

And then we had the fight. It wasn’t really about anything in particular - sometimes tensions just boil to the surface. We weren’t yelling, really - it was all raised voices and cheap jabs at one another. After a good half hour, her demeanor pivoted on a dime. She got real quiet and didn’t respond to what I was sure at the time was a cunning logical trap. I waited for a moment to hear her response - an admission of defeat, perhaps, or another attempt to evade the point. Instead, she said, softly, “Can we please put all this aside for now, and go have sex?”

I was astounded by her gall. I spoke slowly and firmly: “I don’t think there is anything in the world right now less sexy than you.” She cried silently and looked at me with an expression that still haunts me. Then she left.