I don't remember booking a seat next to Monica for the flight home.
I mean, I'm sure I must have because our tickets show that we're sitting side by side, and I'm also sure that a month ago, spending six hours in each other's company while trapped in a tube hurtling across the Atlantic seemed like a good idea.
Of course, that was all before we had sex.
Things are just a little different now.
I also feel like I can separate my life into two different categories now—Before Monica and After Monica. I wish I had something more eloquent, but that's the best I can do.
There was the time before I saw Monica naked, and there's the time after it.
I have to say, even though there's been a lot of moments since we slept together that have been weird and awkward, I really prefer life post-nudity. I had no idea what I was missing.
God, she's hot.
Not just in the standard, beautiful, sexy woman way, either. But in a just so seriously, ridiculously, completely on fire kind of way.
The things she did to me that night…the things she let me do to her…I've never known anything like that before.
I certainly had no idea she'd be quite so responsive or enthusiastic or…agreeable.
She did a hell of a lot of agreeing with me that night.
She made noises I didn't know that someone like myself could coax from a woman. It was amazing.
She's amazing.
I steal a glance at her out of the corner of my eye; she's looking straight ahead, staring off into space. All I want to do is rip that little dress off of her and do wonderfully unspeakable things to her in front of all these strangers.
I feel like I'm on the verge of insanity.
She's all I can smell, all I can feel, taste…she's perfect.
How did I not see this before?
We had sex seven damn times the other night. Seven. That doesn't happen, at least not to me. I would think I'd still be recovering from the whole experience, but I am so very ready for more. I've been walking around in a partial state of arousal for over a day. Every time I see her now, all I can think about is how she felt against me, how soft her skin is, the smell of her hair, the way her lips feel on mine, and just the overall undeniably amazing feeling of having sex with her.
A shudder runs down my spine and I take a few deep breaths, clutching my armrests.
I want her so bad that I can't even see straight anymore.
She was into it, too. She was so into it. We agreed that we could have sex in London because it didn't count and it wouldn't ruin our friendship and we could still be okay after it.
And everything in the world conspired against us.
She had her own room, and somehow Rachel managed to not only beat us back to the hotel, but she found a way into the room, too. Of course, we were so anxious to get somewhere private that we may have wandered past the hotel.
Twice.
And Joey…instead of going off and rolling around with his bridesmaid wherever it was they fooled around the first time, he just had to come back to our room. Because, obviously, the world thinks that Joey needs sex more than I do. Joey gets to have sex with a different girl, on average, once a week, but I have to squirrel my seven times away for safe-keeping so that one day, years from now, when I haven't been with a woman since Monica, I can look back on that night fondly.
Seems fair.
Not that I won't always look back on that night with happiness. I just want to be able to have sex with Monica again in between. I don't think that's so outrageous.
She sighs and I dig my fingers in to the armrests; why is just that simple noise such a turn on?
Oh, right; because she made noises like that, too. She wasn't all just sexy, porn star noises; she was had quite a few gentle, soft noises, too, which, naturally, were also sexier than hell.
Oh, my God, I want her so bad that I can't stand it.
I am not going to survive without her. I think I'm actually going to die. We're an hour into this plane ride, there are no exits, the most beautiful woman in the world is sitting an inch from me, and I can only think about getting her naked again.
But we can't.
We agreed; we'd only have sex in London. Because London is where it doesn't count. Obviously, all the things I'm feeling for her will somehow magically disappear once we're in New York, because in New York, we're just friends.
Friends who want each other more than anything.
At least, I think she wants me, too. She sure as hell seemed to when we were running around that hotel. I don't know why my first thought was to go to Ross's should-have-been-unused honeymoon suite—if I had taken just another second or two, I would have just suggested we get a new room. That would have been the easiest thing to do. Then we could have had sex until the sun came up.
Oh, that would have been good.
It just seems stupid to limit ourselves to only having sex in a foreign country. Sex that good should be experienced all the time.
I mean all the time. As often as possible.
I think I'm going to be sick; I've never ached with desire like this before.
How could I not know that once with Monica would never be enough?
Well, one night, at any rate.
Still—it wasn't enough. I don't know if there would ever be enough.
I'd sure as hell like the chance to find out, though.
What I wouldn't give for a chance to run my hands up her thighs, to kiss my way down her body, to…
I have to stop myself there. That particular train of thought can't lead to anything good me right now.
As it is, my groin feels like it's starting to tighten uncomfortably.
I need her again. I need her again so badly I can't stand it. There has to be some way to convince her that hooking up with me again wouldn't be the worst idea.
I just don't know what it is.