It’s no secret, our mutual loathing. Friends make sure to not invite us to the same events or we’ll ruin the evening. We trash talk each other every single chance we get. He’s a complete fucking asshole. I’m a stupid cocksucking bitch. I’m not sure how we started to fuck in secret.

It always goes the same way. The phone will ring, Paul will ask if I busy. I always tell him yes, fuck off. About fifteen minutes later, he’ll walk in without knocking. I ignore him, I’ve got better things to do. He leers at me, then after awhile, he rolls a joint. We smoke, then head upstairs.

I’ll allow him rub my feet for a long time, letting the high settle in. Paul is the only person I let touch my feet. He’s an expert, it never tickles. Sometimes I’ll let him lick my toes, but usually not. When he finally undresses, I never fail to point out how small his pathetic cock is. He tells me my tits are too little, my ass too big.

We fuck hard, until we’re out of breath, until we’re panting and sweaty. We fuck until he goes limp, until I’m loose and sopping wet. We slap, we bite, we bruise, we spit. We pause only for cigarette breaks. Then we fuck some more.

Stoned, hungry and thirsty, I wrap in a towel. I toss Paul my pink floral bathrobe.  We lean against the sink, eating ice cream out of the container, kissing, smoking cigarettes. A key fumbles in the lock, the back door opens. My roommate stares, open mouthed, at the two of us standing there. We’re still flushed and sticky, the kitchen smells like sex. “This doesn’t change anything,” Paul says, “I still hate the rotten bitch.”