Raw from a recent rejection (a six-month flirtationship that went nowhere — classic), I bemoaned my affliction to my friend Stevie* and her then-girlfriend.
They were flattering away my self doubt; naturally, I flirted back. “You guys are a really hot couple,” I replied. Then, emboldened by the wine, “Threesome?” tumbled out of my mouth. Unusually forward for me, I was surprised at my own suggestion. “Should we?”, the three of us joked, side-eyeing each other. But as it lingered in the air, Stevie and I stared at each other with the allure of possibility.
Although I wasn’t fully aware of it at the time, I had planted a seed of attraction between us that would only continue to bloom. Every so often, we would joke about my proposition, but the rest of the time I squashed the idea, coveting it as a mere fantasy that would never become anything more.
But three years later, Stevie broke up with her girlfriend — and the fantasy began to grow roots. References to our near-threesome became so regular, anyone would think it had actually happened. I granted myself small permissions to think of her as more than a friend. I’d find myself absorbed by her sculptural hands, wondering how her long fingers would feel inside me. I gifted her sex toys (a perk of being a sex writer) as an excuse to imagine her using them, and smothered myself in the mere thought of her scent.
Eventually, one evening, our usual goodbye hug was tentatively replaced with a kiss, and then two long-awaited confessions: we had feelings for each other. Days later, as I was getting ready to leave for our first official date, the reality of the situation hit me: we were about to have sex. I’d imagined it in my head, or tried not to, for so long that I couldn’t believe it was actually happening.
Doubts trickled through my mind — it would be beyond awkward if the sex was anti-climactic and we’d ruined the friendship for nothing. But from the moment we sat down at dinner, years of suppressed intimacy between us welled up; even locking eyes was enough to have my entire body tingling in anticipation.
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A candle-lit bottle of wine later, we found ourselves lingering, entwined, by my bed; all reservations I felt earlier in the evening dissipated. Immediately comfortable at her touch, I barely noticed as she lifted my dress over my head, but when I pulled her skirt and shirt off, I gasped at the sight of her bare skin for the first time.
We eased onto the bed, and, as I gently slid myself on top of her, rippling my hips against her crotch, our eyes locked. I’d never made so much eye contact during sex, but I needed to confirm this was really happening, even as I focused on descending over her nipples and trailing her thong down her legs.
Levitating my head over her clit, I dragged my tongue up her thigh, teasing her as I glided it up and around her pelvis, until she started to moan an ellipsis of ‘please’. When I finally succumbed to her wishes, her earthy warmth coated my tongue while it circled over her clit. As it began to swell, so did my lips, and the valley between her hips and thighs began to twitch as her whimpers crescendoed to whines, and, as she came, erupted into shakes of laughter.
Hoisting me up to meet her face, my lips sank into hers as she eased her fingers inside me. Each millimetre felt like a mile against my G-spot, and I pulled myself upright to grind against her hand, my own finding my pulsing clit. Already on the path to climax, all it took was a few minutes before I creased beneath her touch. Hooking my chin against her shoulder, I sighed an uncontrollable succession of moans into her ear as she caught my nipple in her mouth, tugging and sucking on it as she pulsed her fingers in and out of me.
I closed my eyes as my orgasm swelled inside me, opening them only after the rush had passed. Her eyes were wide as I collapsed onto the bed next to her, and we spent what felt like an eternity staring at each other. “I didn’t know it could be that good,” I whispered, and one look at her face confirmed she felt the same way.
My fears that making a move would ruin the friendship were replaced with an instinctual awareness that our relationship was now changed for the better. One night together wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to satiate our years of fermented desire — but luckily, I have a feeling there’s plenty more to come.
*Name has been changed
Honey is the Senior Sex and Relationships E-commerce Writer for Cosmopolitan, Women’s Health and Men’s Health. She covers shopping guides and reviews of the best sex toys; deals events — including Amazon Prime Day and Black Friday; and sex, dating, and LGBTQ+ trends.
Her journalism career started in 2020 when she started Sextras, a podcast and digital magazine about sex and relationships. Find Sextras on Spotify or Substack, where she writes and chats about everything from positive masculinity and how to practise sex magic, to why the latest kink or porn category is blowing up.
She has an MA in Magazine Journalism from City, University of London, and previously reported for HR magazine. Her features also appear in Glamour, Refinery29, The Independent, and more.
When she's not asking everyone she meets invasive questions about their sex and dating lives, you'll find Honey singing around her flat, teaching herself a new craft, or working her way through a new '90s/'00s box set with her flatmate.
