Scratching the Itch
by Pan
Chapter 1
I was alone with my best friend when it happened.
My boyfriend, Dennis, had only been gone for a little over a month. We’d told each other that we could do long distance, and we’d meant it.
I swear, I meant it.
But one day I was at Bobby’s, watching a movie (he has this huge projector set up in his garage)—some dumb comedy. Honestly, it wasn’t really his thing, or mine, but it had taken us, like, forever before finally deciding on something. We’d scrolled and scrolled, looking at endless options on all the streaming services. His projector is normally great, but for some reason it started flickering as we scrolled. It felt like I couldn’t concentrate on what to watch, like the flickering was distracting me, but I kept staring at the screen, brow creased, until an hour later we finally settled on the Adam Sandler film.
It had been really hot that day, so I was wearing a little sundress. It was light and breezy and kept me cool, especially with my long brown hair up in a high bun, away from my neck. I guess I was enjoying the film, but I felt... I dunno, uncomfortable. Squirmy.
It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d felt horny. At the time, I just felt like nothing was quite right. The couch, the movie, even Bobby’s arm around me. We’d been friends forever, so normally I wouldn’t even think twice about it, but in that moment, I was just so conscious of it.
Of him.
Bobby is... I dunno, I guess you’d call him a nerd? He doesn’t wear glasses or play Dungeons and Dragons or anything like that, but he’s skinny, with long hair (longer than mine!) and I’d never, ever thought about him sexually before.
Especially since he has a girlfriend, Cathy. She and I got along fine—like, we weren’t friends, but she was cool. She’d never cared about how much Bobby and I hung out, because... well, there wasn’t anything to worry about.
We were just friends.
She was away as well. That’s the thing about living in a college town; your partners will often head home for the summer. I’d gone with Dennis last year, but this year I’d wanted to spend time with my own family.
Anyway, that night it was only the two of us. And even though our partners were out of town, and even though I was just wearing this little sundress, it wasn’t weird.
Well, it shouldn’t have been.
But as the movie went on, the flickering didn’t stop. And even though neither of us were laughing, we kept watching, Bobby’s arm still slung around me as I shifted around the couch, just trying to get comfortable.
I was moving so much, it was no wonder it happened. I uncrossed my legs, and his hand fell off my shoulder, instead onto my bare knee.
But I wasn’t embarrassed. Like I said, it was nothing. It was only Bobby; he’s not that kind of guy. I knew (and Dennis knew) that I never, ever had to worry about him. I swear, there’s never been so much as an inkling of attraction between us.
So I don’t know what I was thinking when, instead of moving away, I shifted a little closer, until my bare arm was pressed against his. I felt his arm tense for a moment, and then relax as his hand curved around my knee, lightly stroking it with his thumb.
The movie kept flickering, and I tore my gaze away to glance at him.
Bobby was watching the screen, his thumb now moving in slow, firm circles on my knee, his palm hot on my skin. It was suddenly the only thing I could think of, the sensation of that touch.
“Uh, Bobby—” I started, but then my voice died in my throat, and he turned to look at me.
I wish I could blame him. I wish I could say that he started it. But all of a sudden, I leaned forward until my lips were on his, our wide eyes staring at each other. He moaned in surprise—well, as much as you can moan when your best friend is suddenly forcing her tongue into your mouth.
And then, before I could stop myself, my hands were on his body, touching him. My hand moved down from his chest to his stomach. He didn’t have washboard abs like Dennis or anything, but his body still felt good under my fingers.
Masculine.
I’d missed that. He felt so different to Dennis, but I didn’t care. I suddenly realized that I was so horny that I just needed a cock.
God, that sounds like I’m such a slut. I swear, I’ve never felt like this before. But in that moment, it didn’t matter that he was my best friend; it didn’t matter that his girlfriend would have murdered him if she knew; it didn’t matter that Dennis was my boyfriend and that I loved him and that we were going to be together forever and that he’d be back in just two weeks.
In that moment, all that mattered was that Bobby was a man and I was a woman, and he could give me what I wanted. What I suddenly needed.
Bobby and I had never even kissed before. Never. Not as a joke, or as a dare, we’d just never seen each other that way.
But I suddenly felt ravenous, like I was starving for him.
I could taste popcorn. His tongue was hot against mine, and his hand tightened on my leg, and as my fingers ran down over his body, he moaned again.
It sent a thrill through my body. I could feel it: the hard length of his cock through his jeans.
“God, Bobby,” I murmured as I broke the kiss. I didn’t know whether I was asking for permission or just stating his name in shock, but he didn’t take it as a request. He took my face in his hands, his mouth on mine.
“Abby,” he replied, and maybe his intent was to stop me, to be faithful to his girlfriend, to keep me faithful to Dennis… but all I could hear was his tone. Even if his brain wasn’t, his body was into this. Into me.
My best friend wanted me. And, in that moment, it was mutual.
My fingers fumbled for the button of his jeans, undoing it, sliding down Bobby’s zip until my hands were on his boxers. I’d always known Bobby was skinny, but his cock wasn’t. It felt big and firm, and when I took it in my hands, he moaned into my mouth again, bucking into my hands.
“Fuck, Abby,” he whispered. “This is...”
“I know,” I said. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was bad. I knew we shouldn’t. But I couldn’t stop. I wanted this.
My body wanted this.
I couldn’t believe how turned on I was. I’d had zero interest in Bobby before—he wasn’t my type, at all. Dennis is. He’s muscular and preppy, clean-shaven with short, blonde hair, and Bobby... well, the opposite.
But in that moment, I didn’t care that my best friend was the exact opposite of my type. All I cared about was that he had a cock, and it was in my hands, and I could make him happy.
That I could get him off.
“Abby, we really... we shouldn’t...” he said. I kissed him—a little bit to shut him up, but mostly just because I wanted to taste him again. I wanted to feel his stubble against my skin. I wanted his hands on my body.
I wanted him.
“I know,” I repeated, as my hands worked his cock. I felt him shudder in my grasp, felt the precum forming, and I moaned, too. “But don’t you want it?”
He shuddered again, and his cock gave me the answer I was looking for. He did.
He wanted me.
I grinned. Bobby had never seen me like this—I’m not exactly quiet, but I’m only ever this aggressive in bed. I felt powerful, not even caring that I was cheating on my boyfriend.
I was cheating on my boyfriend.
It hit me, all of a sudden, as my hand worked Bobby’s cock. What was I doing? What were we doing?
His hands moved from my face, sliding down my body, until they settled on my waist. My breath hitched, and I let out a little moan as he gripped me, his hands so tight on my body.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. My hands never stopped moving, stroking his cock, playing with his balls, even as my mind raced.
I loved Dennis. For the two years we’d been together, I’d never so much as looked at another guy. We had plans for the future, for marriage, and kids, and growing old. We were going to be together forever.
I’d never cheat on him. I’d never wanted to. But in that moment, it felt inevitable. Like I couldn’t stop.
“Kiss me,” I gasped. I wanted to turn my brain off, to stop thinking about Dennis, to push the guilt away.
Bobby did as I said. Hard. His mouth was hot and fierce, and his hands dug into my waist, and my hands kept moving up and down his cock, milking him, wanting nothing more than to finish him.
I wanted to make my best friend cum. I wanted to get him off, to know that I had done it. I wanted to feel like a woman.
I wanted to cheat on my boyfriend.
He moved back from my mouth to kiss my neck, and I moaned, my hips shifting forward.
“Abby,” he groaned.
“Bobby,” I said, wanting to tell him that he’d been right, that we couldn’t, that we had to stop, that this had to stop, but it came out like a moan.
He made a strangled sound in response, and then I felt his body jerk. His hands tightened on my waist and his cock twitched in my hands.
He was cumming.
My hands didn’t stop. They just kept milking his cock, working him, feeling every twitch and spasm, every drop of his cum. I moaned as I felt the heat splash onto my hands, onto the front of my dress.
My hands were sticky and warm as I pulled them away, Bobby’s hands still on my waist as he breathed heavily.
“Bobby,” I murmured, suddenly feeling sick.
It had felt so good. It had felt so good to make another man cum. To feel Bobby’s cock in my hands, his mouth on my neck, his tongue caressing mine.
To have him want me.
My pussy was throbbing with need, but I ignored it. I felt awful.
I was a cheater.
My boyfriend had barely been gone for six weeks, and I’d cheated on him with my best friend.
I was a horrible person—a terrible girlfriend. Hell, I was a bad friend. Bobby hadn’t wanted this; I’d practically leapt on him.
But even as the guilt hit, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good his cock had felt in my hand.
When he finished cumming, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Whatever temporary madness had hit me was surely gone. I’d go home, and shower, and pretend that it had never happened, and in the morning, I’d wake up and everything would be normal.
Dennis could never know. He’d kill us both if he knew. He wasn’t a violent man, but I knew how jealous he got... hell, that was part of what I liked about him. I loved how much he wanted me all to himself.
I loved him so much.
So why the hell had I just cheated on him?
* * *