Yellow as red

She had her shirt off and was plastered against me by the time I shouted, 'No! No, Samantha! I won't have it!'

Sam was tipsy and impassioned enough to take a moment to recoil. She didn't say anything. She just sat in the middle of the bed, nipples popping from her chest, eyeing the protruding sign of my waning arousal with a mixed, but ultimately inscrutable, expression. A second later she grabbed her bra, rose to her feet, and quickly whipped on her shirt.

'That's it, Alfie,' she said, pulling on her shoes. 'I'm leaving right now. You can stay here and fuck yourself, or whatever the hell you want. I'm out of here.'

She grabbed her bag, stuffed the remnants of her panties into it, and stormed out of the room.

Waterbedded

I nuzzled up next to Samantha in the king-size waterbed. She appeared almost asleep, but was still conscious enough to laugh at Conan's jokes emanating from the set.

'Oh, Alfie,' she said, rolling over and wrapping her arms around me. We shared a wet kiss, then pulled together closer. Then Sam reached down and I felt a twinge of discomfort. I pulled away.

'Sam, you don't love me.'

'Of course I do, Alfie.' She reached again, got her hand around it.

I pulled away again. 'Sam, I don't know about this.'

Sam put her hands behind my head, stroked my hair. 'Alfie, you worry too much. Just go with the flow; don't overthink it. Just. . .kiss me. . .and I'll put my hand. . .'

I looked at her eyes clouded with lust, felt the heaving dugs prodding my chest, the hand moving down. I wondered once again whether I should let this wedge slip in between me and my closest companion: cold, unflinching, scowling reason.