You’ve been quiet all night. I think something’s wrong, so I do what I always do. I check in. I ask what’s on your mind. I try to be your good, sensible friend. Then you tell me what you want to try. Anal. At first I think you mean toys. Or someone else. Anyone else. But then you look at me like that, and I realise. You want me. Because I’ll be gentle. Because I’ll listen. Because you’ve heard I’m big. And because you know. You know I have feelings for you. I try to be sensible about it. I try to remind both of us that this could make things weird. You tell me it’s just sex. No kissing. Just sex. And I agree, because of course I do. You brought lube. You planned this. You know exactly what you’re doing to me. So I warm you up with my fingers, get you ready, and lie back while you control everything. You take your time lowering yourself onto my cock. I stay still for you. I check in. I try not to cum too soon. I try not to make it mean too much. But when you’re using me like that, taking what you want from me, it’s very hard to pretend this is nothing. Afterwards, I clean you up, hold you against me, and try very hard to still be your normal, sensible friend. I’m not sure I manage.