Categories

He complained about always being stuck in the friend zone, so I decided to take him as close as possible without actually crossing that line. Now he’s spent the last three days stretched tight around my hips, soaked with my sweat and pressed against my skin, my very own custom pair of panties. Guess it wasn't exactly the intimate connection he imagined. He's starting to lose his shape and smell a bit too much for my human liking. I drop him right on top of the pile, a tangled mess of lace and cotton soaked in sweat and musk from my roommates and me. The basket’s overflowing, days of worn thongs, damp leggings, stained panties all crammed together, fermenting in their own intimate smells. He'll be buried here for at least a week, pressed against fabrics that reek of strangers’ bodies, forgotten until laundry day. Hope he likes the company; it’s a lot more crowded than being wrapped around my hips. At least he knows what it really means to be close to a woman. Enjoy the stench, buddy. You earned it.