In your bed

You wake up with a pounding hangover headache. Blearily, you look around. Everything is exactly as you left it. For a moment you had actually thought… You sigh. It was just a dream, after all.

You get out of bed and slowly make your way to your toilet, wincing at every flash of light and loud noise. You take a piss, wash your hands, and try to clean yourself up a bit. Head still pounding, you leave your bedroom and head towards your kitchen. Sarah waves you over when she catches sight of you.

“Here, man. Drink this.” She hands you a glass of water and an aspirin pill.

“Thanks,” you croak, downing the pill and the water. Smacking your lips, you walk over to your fridge to get something to eat when a thought works its way through your hangover to your conscious mind. Something seems out of place. You mentally go through everything that’s just happened. The aspirin hasn’t taken effect yet, so it’s slow going.

First you got out of bed. Your bedroom (clothes on the floor, slightly musty smell, computer humming along) was the same. Then you went to the washroom (toilet seat up, one light bulb flickering) was the same too. Next stop was the kitchen. That was… not the same.

You spin around suddenly, the momentum bringing out another pained wince. Sarah is here. Sarah is here, wearing one of your shirts. Sarah is here because…

“W-why are you here?” you stutter, hoping for and dreading the answer.

“You don’t remember? I guess you were pretty drunk.” She raises a fist to you. “‘Fuck buddies.’ That ring any bells?”

That dream from last night; it wasn't a dream. It actually happened. Your best friend, Sarah. Bisexual (leaning towards lesbian) Sarah. She actually agreed to be fuck buddies with you. You can’t believe it. But she’s in your apartment, wearing one of your shirts.

“Did we…?”

“Did we, or didn’t we?” She smirks at you seductively. You never really appreciated how alluring she could be, being friends and all, but with an old shirt of yours draped sexily over her curves, one shoulder nearly exposed, panties almost visible, you can’t help but feel flicker in your heart and a twitch in your cock.

“As it happens, we didn’t.” What? “We were going to; we got all hot'n'heavy in the taxi on the way here. But when we actually got here, you threw up on me and passed out.” She points to a plastic bag in the corner. You take whiff. Ugh...

“That explains the shirt,” you mutter. “Sorry about that. Wait, did you say you were going to sleep with me?”

“Yeah, sure. I thought ‘he got turned down 23 times. Why not give him a little something and let #24 actually happen, for once?’”

“So it’s a pity fuck? Thanks, I guess.”

“Eh… basically. But seriously, I thought I’d make it up to you.”

“‘Make it up to me’?”

“Well, it’s not your fault that over half the ladies in this city enjoy clams more than sausages, right?” Sarah looks away, biting her lip and shifting nervously. Why should she be feeling so awkward? She agrees to sleeping with you, but this conversation is making her uncomfortable?

"Sarah, is something wrong?"

“I just needed to apologize, alright? There. I said it.”

“Apologize for what?” You take a moment to think. “If this is about side-swiping my car, I was angry when it happened, but I’m over it.”

“Not that, you dense- I needed to apologize to you for being gay.”

“Apologize for… What are you smoking? You don’t need to apologize for something like that, let alone to me. I let you stay at my house after you came out to your parents, remember? Kept them off your back when they tried to give you shit about it? I don’t have a problem with, nor do I care about, who you choose to love.”

Sarah groans in frustration. “You’re not listening! Ugh… Okay.” Grabbing the hem of her (your) shirt, she slips it off. You blush and quickly look away, but not before catching sight of her melons, nipples quickly growing erect from the cold, and her silk panties, a small (but growing) soaked patch at the crotch. “Here. Just, take me, okay? Do whatever you want.”