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M was my first friend in New York.

He was a great guy, sweet and gentle, but also protective. He was always there for me when I needed to talk, always the one to egg me on to come out when I was feeling blue, always the one to buy my drinks when I barely had the money for rent and off-brand mac and cheese.

One night we went out, ending up at an underwear party at Pieces. M is well endowed with major DILF vibes, and I had the waist of a 12-year-old girl, so we were completely confident being mostly naked (and getting discounted drinks because of it).

Halfway through our night, I noticed that a boy was eye-fucking me across the room. The boy had dark hair and dark eyes, with pale skin that absorbed the flashing blue and green strobe lights. Being the lady that I am, I sat my red-laced ass on a table, waiting for him to come over to me.

It worked; after a few minutes he strolled over, as casually as he could. “It looks like you need a fresh drink,” he smiled.

“Sure,” I smiled back. “Vodka cranberry?”

He returned with my drink, and we talked for almost an hour, getting to know each other. I told him how I was brand new to the city, how I wanted to be a writer, how I was lucky to have friends like M. He told me he’d lived here his whole life, but still lived with his parents, and how hard it was to think about letting free rent go, even at 23.

One thing was certain: I needed to sleep with him. I hadn’t had sex since I lived in Iowa, and all of the dates I’d been on so far had been miserable. I needed to fuck.

When the boy went to the bathroom, M sauntered over and asked how it was going. “He lives with his parents, and I’m sleeping on an inflatable mattress that won’t stay inflated,” I grumbled.

M smiled a devilish smile. “What are friends for?” When the boy came back, M introduced himself and said, “I think we’re about to head back to Ian-Michael’s place; I’m sleeping on his couch. Wanna join us?”

When we got to M’s place in HK, he ran into his bedroom, coming out with a blanket and pillow so he could stay on the couch. “I put condoms and lube on the bedside table,” he whispered to me.

We used two condoms that night: the first one when I bottomed, the second one 30 minutes after when the boy bottomed. The next morning, he woke up early so he could sneak back into his parents’ place.

“You really didn’t need to do all this for me,” I told M as he stretched out on the couch, waking up. “I owe you one.”

M just shook his head and smiled. “Anything for you.”

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