Women I’ve slept with, Pt 9: Not so platonic

Remember me telling you about getting chosen by Geri at a black tie ball hosted by Willow? This is her story.

Willow and I had been good friends for more than a decade before we ended up bumping uglies. When Harry met Sally looked at whether there can be such a thing as a truly platonic relationship between members of the opposite sex, and I genuinely thought that’s what Willow and I had. We went mountaineering together, got drunk together, spent New Year’s Eves together (including the potentially romantic Y2k), visited each other’s families, went on holiday together, and never once was there any hint of anything sexual. When her mother died of cancer, I dropped everything and helped her through the funeral. The evening after her father’s funeral, just a month later, she fell asleep in my arms on the sofa. And all through this we were just friends. Good friends.

After Willow got a job abroad we stayed in regular contact and still visited each other. And not unusually, we agreed that I’d join her and a couple of her colleagues for New Year celebrations. I left all the arrangements to them, and flew over to join the party on 31st December. On arriving, all four of us booked into the hotel, Willow and I into one room, Lance and Linda (who were a couple) into the adjacent room. In the hours before I met up with them, somewhere in the back of my mind was a question whether Willow would have thought to book a room with twin beds, as opposed to a double, but I didn’t really have any serious doubts, or concerns. We were friends – that was all. So I was possibly being a little naïve when Willow and I let ourselves into our room to find only one large double bed. With apparent embarrassment, she offered to try to get us another room, but as I saw it, being New Year’s Eve the hotel was packed and unlikely to have empty rooms, going out and partying was a higher priority, and … we were friends – that was all.

So we went out and partied hard. We bounced from bar to bar, and drank like the world was ending, not just a page on the calendar. By the time we staggered back to the hotel some time the next year, I was very drunk, and Willow even more so. I don’t remember much about getting to our room, or the immediate sequence of events, but I vividly remember Willow making it quite plain that she was not planning on the evening’s fun stopping. “I need a man and you’re the nearest thing”. (Exact quote. Some phrases never leave you.) Not entirely flattering, and I suspect she didn’t manage to deliver the invitation quite as intended, but what she meant was she wanted to fuck. I didn’t. We were friends – that was all. Or at least that was my take on the situation. It was the beer talking – nothing more. But Willow was adamant, and I pretty much had to fight her off. (I know that sounds pretty unlikely – situations like that just don’t happen, but it really did.)

Eventually I escaped from Willow’s arms and the room and, in a state of drunken confusion, knocked on Lance and Linda’s door. (I later learnt they were fucking at the time I disturbed them. Oops!) Somehow I managed to persuade Lance to come down to the hotel bar with me, where the barman happily plied us with drinks for at least another hour, as we debated Willow’s advances, our history, and the potential consequences to our friendship.

The night was drawing on; doubtless Lance wanted to get back to Linda’s sticky embraces, and I had to make a decision, so we headed back to our respective rooms. Although I don’t remember my rationale, it must have been along the lines of we’re friends, and have been for a long time, and she wants to fuck me, and I usually want to fuck pretty much anyone, and why not? And Willow was still very much on a mission to get my cock into her cunt … so she got it.

Obviously, with the amount of booze we had both consumed, the sex was never going to be good. We banged away at each other for a while (or more specifically Willow rode me cow-girl for a while) but neither of us came and eventually we both just ran out of energy and gave up.

In the morning I fully expected the atmosphere to be excruciatingly awkward, but I was pleasantly surprised, and extremely relieved, to find that it wasn’t. We had breakfast like grown-ups and then took a stroll around the city’s tourist attractions, hand in hand. When we eventually bumped into Lance and Linda, whilst everyone really knew what was going on, we furtively let go of each other like guilty teenagers. We were good friends – that was all. Except we’d fucked last night, and that was fine. With one failed erotic act, we’d changed from being just good friends to a couple. And it wasn’t a problem. We were still good friends. Who would have thought? Certainly not me!

The rest of the holiday passed without major incident, and some pretty good sex, before I had to head home, surprisingly at ease with the world.

Over the next few months either Willow would come to stay at my flat or I would visit her every couple of weeks. It was a long distance relationship, but we were good friends and it seemed to work. Having previously been confined to a sofa bed when I stayed with her, Willow invested in a good sized double bed, and we put it good use pretty much every night we were in each other’s company.

For some reason, our most regular sex act has always stuck in my mind:
We would be cuddled up in bed, fingers busy with each other’s fun bits, and I would pull Willow up to sit on my face. I’ve always loved giving oral to women, and I find that if they’re knelt astride my head at the time it saves a lot of neck ache. Willow would enjoy this for a while, and then every time would turn round so we fell into a 69.

I often felt this a little unnecessary – Willow certainly didn’t need to suck me off to get me to bury my face in her muff – I did it to give her pleasure and because it was a massive turn on for me. And I suppose I shouldn’t be ungrateful, as both Willow’s juices are the last I tasted and her’s is the last mouth I fucked with any regularity. (The reasons for this will become apparent in Chapters 10, 11 & 12 of Women I Slept With.)

Bearing in mind it took Willow and I more than a decade to get into each other’s knickers, it was perhaps inevitable that our tryst would only last a few months, though the reason it all fell apart is still something of a mystery to me.
She was staying at my flat for a few days and we went for drinks with some former colleagues of mine. All night things seemed to be going well – all my friends seemed to like Willow and she seems to be getting on well with them. When we caught a taxi home, Willow and I still seemed to be getting on fine. I think even when she left for her own home the next day, I was unaware of any problems. But the next time we spoke on the phone it turned out something had gone wrong. Willow’s side of the story was that I had said something unfavourable about her to Stuart (a friend of mine), and it had made it back to her. I really can’t remember what it was, but I have always known in my heart that this never happened. I guess it’s possible that something got misheard or misunderstood by one of us, but it didn’t matter – damage had been done and my defence fell on deaf ears.

In a fit of pique I phoned up the Stuart and tore into him for inadvertently trashing my relationship. He hadn’t the faintest idea what I was taking about, and in the cold light of day I believed him. But damage had instantly been done there too, and it pains me to say I never had the opportunity to apologise, and we have never spoken since.

Willow came to stay at my flat one more time, though she made a point of sleeping on the sofa. And despite my repeated assurances, yet again I could make no headway. What started so unexpectedly, ended just the same.

A decade or so later, and we are still sort of friends. We have only met up twice in that time – the first was decidedly awkward, the second slightly less so. We still exchange birthday cards and Xmas cards, but there is little other contact. Interestingly, this year I forgot Willow’s birthday and I hope that, with it being just a couple of weeks after mine, that that also just slipped her mind. I will definitely send her a Xmas card next month, and I hope I get one back. I hope so. But most of all, I miss my friend.

4 Responses to “Women I’ve slept with, Pt 9: Not so platonic”

  1. Hugs!

    • No need for hugs, though they’re always appreciated.
      It was a long time ago, and the scars have largely faded. It’s a little saddening to think back about these things, but we live and learn.

  2. I was hoping for a much better ending, AM. 😦

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