We lay on the bed, sheets tangled about us. It was a quarter after midnight. I inhaled deeply, my nostrils flaring to capture her scent. Sweat and sex and sweetness. Her breathing was heavy in my ear and hot against my flesh. She nuzzled my neck, leisurely licking and kissing the hickies, bites, and bruises. One of her arms rested beneath my chin, curving upwards and allowing her hand to run across and through my hair. Her other arm lay between us, next to my own. Our fingers were locked together.
She shifted slightly, moving her perfect mouth to my ear. She placed a soft kiss on my lobe.
" I love you..." she whispered, her voice fading with exhaustion.
We slept then, seemingly content.
In the morning, though, I woke to her scrambling frantically for her clothes. She jerked on her jeans, then turned for her bra, saw me, and froze. She was no longer my lover from the night before, but a scared little girl with denial in her eyes and her defenses raised. When she finally spoke to me, it was through clenched teeth.
" I'm not gay," she insisted, as though I had suggested to the contrary.
" What happened last night?" I shot back calmly. " You said you..."
" Shut up!" she screamed, cutting me off. " What happened last night was a... a mistake!"
She was crying, sobbing loudly, and angrily accusing me. I seduced her, I tricked her somehow. She had made a mistake, and it was my fault. When she done, she fell weakly to her knees, face red and breathing labored. Half-heartedly she grabbed her shirt off the floor and tugged it over her head.
" You said you loved me," I stated in monotone.
" I'm not gay... I'm not gay... I'm not gay..." she chanted, more to herself than me.
I knew how this story would end. Deep down, I had probably known before it had begun. I got out of bed, clad in nothing but boxers, and went into the bathroom. She was gone when I came out, but I knew she would be. Alone in my room, I collapsed on my bed, sighing softly.