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I'll admit I regularly used to wank myself off to fantasies of her, but I never actually tried to take it further with her. J was one of my best friends, and he was pretty devoted to her, so it would've been a pretty dickish thing to do even if K had gone along with it.Anyway, the first time anything actually "happened" between K and J and myself, it came as a bit of a surprise. J and I were both living in halls of residence at the time, a couple of doors down from each other, and I went over to his room one afternoon to borrow a book he had that I needed for an essay I was writing. J was in bed with some sort of bug or flu, or possibly just a killer hangover, lying there with the covers pulled up to his nose and a sorry expression on his face. I was sort of avoiding getting back to my essay by sitting at his desk, flicking through the book and talking about its contents when K bounced in. And I mean bounced; I don't know if that girl even owned a bra.We exchanged greetings as she. He snuggled too quickly and too quietly into her arms, (it seemed to me that he should have protested this transfer from us to her, but he quietly rested throughout it) she bounced him ever so slightly, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to remember her exact words right then, but whatever her actual words were, her tone struck me as too light and somewhat too artificially cheery for the ominous occasion that this moment was – at least for us. She unhurriedly turned away into the double-doorway behind her with our infant son and began walking slowly away from us towards the operating suite. I wanted so badly to stop her, but knew I shouldn’t. I began to lift my arm as if to motion to stop her and tell her ‘Wait! We’re not ready for this!’ – or some similar protesting thought. …But I said nothing, my arm only making a feeble and aborted move towards her, as those automatic double doors slowly closed behind her. We stood there for several more moments, staring after them, even after.
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