Everyone thought we would end up as a couple, but we didn’t even date. Ben’s been there for more break-ups than I can count, this time it’s a divorce. I’m still living with my soon to be ex-husband. It’s horrible, we never stop fighting. I call Ben to come get me. I need air. An hour later, I hear his car pull in. As I get in his car, he shakes a cigarette loose from his pack of Camels, lights it for me. He’s put some thought into his appearance, a white button down shirt, newly pressed khakis. I tease Ben, tell him he looks nice for once. Playfully, he punches my arm, we laugh. He says we’ll go to Mac’s, it’s a new place he’s found.
We eat oversized cheeseburgers, shoot endless rounds of nine ball. I glance into the mirror behind the bar to find him staring at me. I lose count of the beers. I mumble something about not wanting to go home yet, so he takes me to his place. Ben carries me into the house.“Where’s Laura?” I ask sleepily. Ben says she’s pulling a double at the hospital, she won’t be back for hours.
I wait in the living room while he mixes another drink. He sits on the couch, I lay my head in his lap, drifting in and out of sleep. Ben tentatively kisses me, I pull him in and kiss back. We tumble onto the floor, arms, legs, lips. I nod when he asks if I want to go in the bedroom. Pushing aside a pile of Laura’s laundry, he guides me onto the rumpled floral sheets.
Ben holds me, confesses everything, how he’s loved me, worshipped me, longed for me all these years. I laugh and let him kiss me some more. Struggling out of my jeans, I guide his mouth to my pussy. I stroke his hair while he reaches inside me with his fingers, his tongue. I moan, twisting the sheets in my hands. My hips arch high, I’m on the edge of coming. Frenzied, Ben bites my thighs, hard. Breathless, I ask him not to bite me. “I thought you liked it rough,” he leers. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanks hard.
“Just make love to me, okay?” I say. “Love?” he snarls. He leaps forward, pins my wrists together with one hand. His face hovers inches from mine, red and contorted. “Love? he says again, his voice rises. “You fucking bitch. I’ve loved you for so many fucking years.” Spitting on his palm, he wipes the saliva around my pussy, on his dick, and rubs the excess across my face. Sharply, he thrusts forward. “I’ve watched you go off and fuck so many other guys, you fucking slut.” His cock gets harder, he pumps faster. “You bitch, you fucking, fucking bitch, I’m the one who loves you. Me.” My face is covered with his hot strings of saliva.
I struggle, try to pry him off me, but Ben is stronger. He holds my wrists together with one hand while he thrusts wildly. “I watched you fuck everybody,” he yells. Puffs of stale beer and cigarette punctuate every epithet. “Steve, Eric, Shawn… fuck, I even set some of those guys up with you!” He slaps me across the face. “Did you like when I pimped you out? Did you?” He yanks my hair again, flips me over onto my stomach. I bury my face in the pink pillow, it smells like Laura’s heavy perfume. “It’s my turn now. You belong to me now.” I peek up, he’s preens in the mirror over the dresser, watching himself fuck me. I wonder how many times he’s imagined this moment.
Pressing down on my shoulders, he fucks me faster and faster. The scent of the pillow and the alcohol drenched sweat makes me gag. I close my eyes. I feel hot splashes scatter across my back, I can’t tell if it’s sweat or tears. A spasm ripples through his body, he thrusts hard, collapses on top of me. “I love you,” he pants heavily into my ear, “don’t you love me too?”
3 thoughts on “Ben has been my best friend for years.”
Wow, this was incredible. You are really a fascinating writer and I love your style. It completely slipped my mind, but I haven’t been able to find any full stories by Miranda July. She has a book out called “Nobody Belongs Here More Than You” and a movie called “Me and You and Everyone We Know”, both of which are amazing.
As always, potent and heady and wrong and hot.
I love to read your stories, but I wouldn’t want to live in your world. Not even to have your stories to write.
I love the way your stories are of sex how it is. Not always as perfect as we’d like it to be.