The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

I have no fucking clue why this particular porn channel is on my TV, it’s not one I even watch, and I can guess Tom and his new woman, when they used my apartment last month, have something to do with it. Never again will I let a guy use my pad as a weekend bang hang out when I am out of town. Never again will I allow Sophs control of the remote if this is the kind of shit she can fumble across by accident. I throw my palm over her eyes in a bid to protect her from further viewing, cursing under my breath that she’s endured this much.

“For the love of god.” I internally sink. Sophie looks traumatized and I groan as I slide the remote out of her little hand, flicking the channel to a movie I was watching last week instead. I want to just rewind all this crap from Sophs head and delete it. The thought of her watching, doing, anything like that shit, has me all messed up inside; a mix of genuine paternal love and a lot of possible jealousy, all at the same time.

Still fiercely protective of her in that way. Sophie is way too innocent and pure; she’s the kind of girl you make love to. Not show her porn and introduce her to anal.

With her past she’s even more sensitive to this shit, and I hate that I just subjected her to the dirtier side of sex, and not the side I would rather she be a part of. The gentle intimacy and love making.

Where the hell did that come from?

Sophie is looking at me in a seriously accusatory way and I know she wants to know if I watch porn. I shrug, not sure how else to answer that and I sure as hell have never lied to her.

Yes, Sophs, I’ve watched porn.

Not this porn and anal is not really something I do very often, never with Tasha. It’s not really something that gets me off either, although I have tried it and could take it or leave it. I prefer the natural way, in many positions. Natasha looks wholly uncomfortable too, her face is paler, and I actually do not care. Wouldn’t do her any harm to see that sex is normal and enjoyable and our sex life before all this shit, was severely lacking. It’s a touchy subject with her and it’s not even a shock to me that it still pisses me off on some level.

How I ended up with a girlfriend who would rather clean the oven than get fucked, is beyond me, as I know I happen to be pretty good in the sack. It kills me, how little I get to use those skills nowadays, and I literally cannot stop the sweep my eyes do of Sophie as I wonder what she would be like if I ever got that chance.

Stop! Stop, stop. Not a chance.

Maybe that’s what this all is, some grass is greener, sexually frustrated bullshit. Because Sophie looks like she does, a turn on, whether I can accept it or not, want to see her that way or not, and there is so much possibility. While I am completely unsatisfied in my sex life with Tasha and practically celibate. I mean last time I did screw her was about as thrilling as stripping wallpaper. She lays like an empty sack, makes zero effort, or noise, and only seems to get involved when she wants to make me cum faster, usually because she’s passed five minutes and annoyed it’s not over yet. Most of the time I pull out, not even halfway close to being done and give up.

I just don’t get why she dislikes it so much, and I have given up trying to make her orgasm; she doesn’t seem to care about having them either. We’ve gotten to the once a month stage and even then, I’m starting to think it’s her sense of duty that instigates it, and not for any real pleasure. I don’t really get pleasure in fucking her anymore either, as I know it’s not enjoyed, so then I tend to not bother even doing it. My sex life sucks ass, and I am seriously deprived.

There is nothing else for this, just get drunk and try like hell to not ponder over this; all this sex shit has me stirring with longing, and it’ll just add to the disaster that is my evening. I hand the glass to Sophie and pray we can stop fixating on sex, okay, if I can stop fixating on sex, because I have the beginning of a fucking boner in my pants, and it has everything to do with the fact Sophie just reminded me of how good sex can be, and what I have been missing.

This is why I do not watch porn anymore, it frustrates me, because unless I self-pleasure I haven’t really been getting nearly enough. I really think I’m having some sort of mental breakdown, a stress induced hard-on, if that’s even possible. Or maybe it’s the fact I haven’t had sex in a couple of months, due to the fact my best friend told me she loved me, my girlfriend is frigid, and my life has gone to shit ever since.

I can’t screw the girlfriend, on the rare occasion she is willing, because my guilt at hurting my best friend has made it impossible to even think about doing it. I can’t screw the best friend, because she’s her, and my undying need to protect her overrides everything, even my ability to think beyond her being my best friend. I’m so fucked.

“Interesting movie choices you have.” Natasha drags my head back to the present, away from my fixating sex obsession, and I can’t tell if she is being ironic. Sophie looks at her then bursts into cute laughter, relieving the tension and I somehow end up laughing too, except not at this, at the shit state of my life, and my head, and my heart.

I’ve never been so caught in between a hard place and a brick wall ever, and really for the first time, I wonder if becoming an alcoholic might be a way out. Most alcoholics can’t even get boners, so it might cure me of that anyway. The three of us laugh and I just feel crazily out of whack. The silence which follows is even heavier, and I want Tasha to leave us alone when it fizzles to awkward. I want to spend a night with Sophie, like we used to; a movie, a bowl of popcorn, and give my head one night of a break from this bullshit while I take a time out from the mental torture I inflict on myself.

just the two of us and nothing to stress over or fight over. I want one night of the

back to her and my heart out of my chest in one fell swoop, always able to slap me back to what matters with one upset tone. I don’t get where this has suddenly come from, or what she is upset over. Maybe the porn

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Baby?

concealed by her body and I can’t explain it. I want her to stay with me.... I want my sweet girl beside me, to make everything feel better for her. I want Tasha

her, so I can be alone to talk to Sophie and will Sophie with every part of me to understand that I want it to be the two of us tonight, to fix things. To console her

out of here, is to go with her, grab a quick drink nearby and drop her home. I won’t be able to get rid of her otherwise. She will drag this out for hours here, if she thinks there is a chance of getting cozy, and we are not having sex, even if

‘get rid of Tasha’ plan. “We could go for a drink and maybe talk somewhere else.” I raise a brow, even though I can feel Sophie’s eyes on me, eating into me, and I am trying so hard to ignore it, ignore the crushing guilt that wounded look gives me. She won’t understand right now, but I will

guilty all over again at the fact I am trying to get rid of her. She thinks I want alone time with her, that I want rid of Sophie, and I just want to shoot myself in the head. This is my worst enemy right here when it comes to these two. The guilt never stops circling between them, and I can never get a god damn break, or settle on feeling more for one or the other on

I am. Sophie’s palm hits my chest as I move to lay my glass down and she shoves me back aggressively, startling me with the sudden assault

and it has the same effect as punching me in the abdomen would. Mood dying, that all I have done is make her madder at me. I fucking hate that she thinks I am doing this for Tasha. I am not trying to hurt her or rub her face in this. I am doing this, so

of salvaging her mood, just flew south. She isn’t normally a girl you need to walk on eggshells for, and I get why she is being this way, I just have no clue on how else to handle it. The way she gets up sends the wine she is holding sloshing over the rim, because I filled them crazily full and

Another reason to hate me. I know how she is about

this dress and killing any last ounces of salvageable good mood. I jump to my feet to help minimize the damage and somehow translate that this isn’t what she thinks is happening. She tugs the towel back harshly, face fizzing with temper,

with me, this is obviously my fault and her ruining this sexy little dress is another one of my growing list of misdemeanors. I know

her heel and storms off towards my bedroom. Deflated because not once did she actually look at me and see what I was trying to tell her. Sophie knows how to make me feel like shit sometimes, even though I know all of this is my fault, but I’ll be damned if I can get a handle on any of it. I go to follow her, feeling crestfallen and sighing, but Natasha’s hand on my arm stops me. I almost forgot she was still here in

because she normally sees her hostile and never knows it is because of her every fucking time. She kisses me on the cheek before following Sophie to the bathroom, and I literally cringe

I need. Natasha thinking she’s helping, while Sophie is in ‘death-star’ mode and probably about ready to explode. I have no clue what else to do, except sit back down and rub my

depth. Natasha has closed my bedroom door behind her, and I really do not know if I should leave them alone together, or not. I trust Sophie, I know she won’t be spiteful or cruel, even if she does hate Tash. She isn’t like that, and she knows that Tasha knows nothing about any of this. I have no fear that she will

to have a bottle in the refrigerator to have with meals. I think nothing of picking up Sophs discarded glass and downing that too, figuring what harm could it do to numb some of this out of my head and be

squabble and we sort of co-exist without any real drama or friction. Sex isn’t really great, but I guess I haven’t really been great at trying to rekindle any kind of flame for a long while, so settled in our routine and not looking for anything else until Sophie hit me with this. At times I want to see the end to my relationship with Tash, then at

whole list of mess that comes with her little cyclone self. The fact that I don’t even know if I could. Sophie is this precious, vulnerable, angelic girl, who had

I don’t know if I could ever cross that line into sex, if it came down to it. I don’t know if we could take what we have and become so much more at all, or if we would be the worst combination. Some people only work as friends, and we could be that way too. She trusts me because I never laid a hand on her in any way that made her feel threatened. She trusted me to keep her safe and protect her when she pushed everyone else away. How can

complete psychiatrist’s nightmare and by allowing myself to follow through I could do her untold damage, ruin everything we have. I could

my need to not hurt her is clouding my logic that I don’t love her. Or what if I do love her,

My fucking

hate that I am this way, too obsessively over analytical with everything. This is why I avoid drama, conflict, and pick the easiest, stress free options in life. I hate hurting people, hate being the reasons for chaos, and I am the last person in the world who would ever want Sophie hurt, but it’s what’s happening,

to life. Boxes and compartments all neatly labelled and filed, and nothing overlaps and gets messy, or else I have no sense of control. This is what happens when they do. I should never be left with this huge of an ordeal,

stuck, all these years. That look on her face when she warned me off and told me Sophie wasn’t a girl who needed anymore heartbreak. It’s always there in my head, and now this mess reminds me of why I shouldn’t fuck things up this way. I’m already hurting her, and we

forgive me, mine wouldn’t either and the fact we have a five-year age gap. I’m too old for her, she’s too young for the sort of intensity that would come from us hooking up. I’m supposed to look

with Sophie. Never in a million years did I ever think I would put those two words together and yet; over the last few weeks the thought gets less abhorrent as my brain starts to question the what if’s. She was abused, she might not even like sex for