A little stand offish.

Bob pants, out of breath, as he slowly withdraws from you, and sitting next to you on the sofa. You haven't cum yet, and you're so hard that it hurts. But you're not going to do yourself. No, not right now at any rate.

"So," you start, but don't really have anything to say.

"So," he replies, letting the silence drag on.

Yeah, it's that awkward.

Finally, you sit up, and mute the television. The next porn scene had a woman being made into a pair of fingercuffs between two superhung black guys. Sexy? Yeah. Appropriate? Not a bit.

"So what do you want to do now? You know I 'like-like' you. You okay?" You can't help it. You're nervous. What if he thinks you're just a fag? I mean, you're the one who kept losing on purpose, you're the one who didn't argue when he wanted more and more, and you're the one who just gave up and took his fucking not only willingly but happily too.

"Yeah," he responds after a few moments. "I think I 'like' you too. Just... you like... this." He waves his hand over your still female clad form. "I'm not gay, but you're damn hot, you know? I keep thinking of you wearing that cheerleader outfit and DAMN. Mister Yoinkers gets all excited."

'He named it Mister Yoinkers,' you think to yourself, disbelieving.

"But... when I'm me again... not so much?" you ask, hesitantly.

He thinks about it a moment, then nods. "Yeah."