Heather’s confession

My mind goes blank with shock. I stare wide-eyed at Heather and slowly lower my cup to the table, unable to do anything else, feeling absolutely naked. I have no defenses against this woman now; she could destroy me with a word. She’s wearing a tight black sweater that buttons down the middle, pulling taut over her large, perfect breasts, the line of buttons accentuating the valley between them. Though I can’t see below the table, I remember she’s wearing a rich red skirt, fairly tight for its length, that’s different shades of red and moved like flame as she walked. Underneath that are black stockings . . .

Heather must be able to read my heart in my eyes, because she smiles—a little tremulously—moves my cup off to the side, and takes my hands. “Well,” she says softly, the slight quaver in her voice matching her smile, “that answers whatever questions I may have had. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have hoped for a reaction like that. I guess I’m too used—

“To be honest, Andrew, I’ve been talking to Alyssa about you all the way along. We’ve always been the ones we talk to about boys and sex, and she’s known for years that I thought you were really cute.”

My eyes somehow get even wider, and I manage to stammer out, “Y-you did?”

Heather gives me a small nod and continues, “Yeah. She’s been telling me for years that I was sweet on you, but I always played it off. To be honest, I liked sex too much, and I didn’t think you could satisfy me. I really liked you, but I lusted after the boys I thought would give me a good fucking. Some of them did, some of them really didn’t. I knew my boyfriends just wanted my body, but that’s all I wanted from them, too. Eventually, the sex always palled, and I moved on to the next one. Through it all, I kept talking about you, and Alyssa kept telling me I should ask you out—she said you really liked me, too, but you would never be able to ask me out, the way I was going—and I always thought about it, and always decided I really wanted to hook up with someone else.

“And then we went off to college, and I realized I missed you. You weren’t there, for the first time in my life—I know that wasn’t really true, but that’s how it felt—and I felt lonely. I started to think I’d been making a mistake all along. So I talked to Alyssa, and I could tell there was something she wasn’t telling me; so I pushed, and she gave me the whole story. She told me about your proposition, and your partnership—and then, she couldn’t help herself, she started raving about you. About your hands and your tongue, how well you eat pussy . . . how big your cock is, and how you’ve given her some of the best fucking she’s ever had. She sounded so satisfied, even smug, and so help me, I felt jealous. I had no right . . .

“That could have been me—could have been us—but I was dating other guys instead. I felt like Anne when she hears Gilbert is dying of pneumonia, like I realized I’d always loved you only when I’d lost you forever. And I’d turned away from you for a reason that wasn’t even true! None of my boyfriends ever satisfied me the way you satisfied her; none of them ate my pussy half that well because even the ones who would do it didn’t want to, and it sounds like your cock is bigger than most of theirs, too. I never asked you out because I wanted the best sex I could get, when the best sex I could ever have had would always have been with you. You were everything I wanted, and I never found out because I never asked.

“Fortunately for me, Alyssa is smarter than my stupid. She knew me better than I did, and she knew she was hurting me and making me jealous—she just couldn’t help herself. She got herself under control and apologized, and told me she’d been careful not to let your relationship get beyond business partner and fuckbuddy. She told me pointedly that I had no right to complain if she fucked you, and I had to agree; but she said I was the only reason she hadn’t asked you to be her boyfriend. She also told me that you hadn’t started dating any of your clients, and promised to let me know if that changed.

“So, Andrew, I’ve been planning for this for most of the semester. I’ve been hoping against hope you wouldn’t start dating one of your clients, and afraid every day that Alyssa would call to say you had; I couldn’t wait to see you and tell you that—I love you, and I always have, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, and I want to be with you. I’m sorry I fucked so many other boys instead of you; from now on, Andrew, I just want you. Will you be mine?”

My mind is spinning wildly. Did the girl of my dreams just ask me to be her boyfriend?