His next words were“I have to fuck you now”Bob scooped her up like a bride being carried across the threshold of a honeymoon suite and took her into his bedroom. It was a small older house. One story, 2 bedroom. His king size bed filled most of the room. I was only 10 feet down the hall from his room but I couldn’t see anything. I waited a couple of minuets until I heard him turn on some low music. I could hear them talking nasty to each other and moaning as I slipped quietly into the hall. I crawled on my knees slowly toward his open door. This was our much talked about fantasy and it’s really happening. I almost felt dizzy but I had to know what was going on in there. When I reached the door, I peaked around the door facing from my knees. I could see the bottom of Bob’s feet at the foot of the bed. He was lying flat on his back. I raised up because I was very excited yet fighting some strange jealousy at the same time. I sort of didn’t care if I got caught because I was in a way. We both worked for the same company although in different departments, he was in IT whilst I ran the Sales department. We'd talked many times about our mutual love of football but earlier this year we'd both decided to splash out and to go and support England at Euro 2004 in Portugal. Our two weeks there had cemented a friendship that I expected to last a lifetime, even though at twenty-six and exactly half my age, he was just a kid. 'The Kid' and 'The BOF' were what we regularly called each other, 'BOF' being short for 'Boring Old Fart'.John was a tall, prematurely balding man who felt a lot more at ease with machines than he ever did with people, probably why he ended up talking to computers all day. Since Portugal I had come to recognise him as a really nice, genuine bloke, who because of his innate shyness was normally very difficult to get to know. When you did, as I had, it proved well worth the effort, as he had a great sense of humour and the intelligence to use it to good.
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