Close friends. Ones on the very verge of becoming lovers. And yet one moment – one mistake

Close friends. Ones on the very verge of becoming lovers. And yet one moment – one mistake has brought them both here. To this room – to this couch, to settle things. They could talk it out, but more than enough is being said without the uttering of a single word.

By their eyes, as find themselves affixed to each other, fire etched in each.

Their breasts, as they call to and dare each other, bulging in brag, trying desperately to free themselves of the slim cloth that confines them, and meet in contest.

Their persons in whole, as they drift closer and closer to each other, whether standing or seated, their bodies only barely able to resist the urge of pressing together.

No, there is no need for them to speak, for their every curve challenges, and every asset argues – as if the universe would accept no other fate but they two writhing together – testing, struggling, and wrestling each other till submission – via pain or ecstasy.