It Don't Count If You Don't Cum

Disclaimer:

The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty, namely me and Emily. Some secrets are best left buried, but this one? It’s worth telling, even if it’s a little messy.

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Vanessa and I had been on this chaotic rollercoaster for about two years. Not long in the grand scheme of things, but plenty of time to rack up dizzying highs, crushing lows, and more frustration than I care to admit. I’d known her for over a decade, though. Back when I first met her as a teenager, she was the kind of girl who made you forget how to form sentences just by being in the same room.

Finally, after years of being on separate pages of the same messy coloring book, we were in sync or as close as we’d ever get. Tonight was supposed to be the night. Two years’ worth of teasing, near-misses, and unspoken tension had all led to this moment.

Derek’s birthday wasn’t a distraction from the plan between Vanessa and I. it was part of the night we’d planned around. He was stuck working late, so the three of us: Vanessa, Emily (his girlfriend), and I, spent the evening at my place while we waited for him to get off. We planned to pick him up after work and keep the night going. Nobody had started drinking yet. We were saving the fun for when Derek could join in, but, the tension between Vanessa and me was thick enough to cut with a knife. Emily, Derek’s girlfriend and Vanessa’s lifelong best friend, had even joked about how Vanessa and I were finally going to make it happen tonight. It was lighthearted banter, but neither Vanessa nor I denied it.

Then Emily grabbed my phone.

Without warning, she sent Derek a text: “Hey, man, we’re all too drunk to drive. Sorry about your birthday. Rain check?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You know he’s gonna lose it, right?” I said, already imagining his reaction.

“That’s half the fun,” Emily replied, her grin widening. “He’ll get over it.”

Spoiler alert: he didn’t.

“Are you serious?” Derek fired back almost immediately. “You’re ditching me on my birthday? What the fuck?”

Emily chuckled nervously and quickly typed out a response, trying to walk it back. “Relax, Derek. We’re kidding. We’re literally coming to get you.”

But Derek wasn’t having it. His replies got angrier, and Emily’s attempts to smooth things over only made him more upset. Watching it all unfold, I couldn’t help but find the whole thing absurdly funny, even as the mood in the room started to shift. Vanessa, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing.

The energy between us cooled, and I could see the frustration creeping into her expression. Emily sighed, realizing the night was unraveling fast.

“You know what?” she said, standing up abruptly. “Let’s just call it a night. I’ll take Vanessa home.”

Vanessa grabbed her things without a word, her irritation palpable. I rode with them, hoping to smooth things over, but as we neared Vanessa’s house, her frustration boiled over.

“So, I guess I’m really not getting laid tonight, huh?” she snapped, her voice sharp and cutting through the silence like a knife. She didn’t even look back at me. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care anymore.”

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t just anger—it was disappointment, the kind that leaves you sitting in the back seat of a car questioning every decision that led to this moment.

Vanessa stormed out when we got to her house, slamming the door without so much as a glance back. Two years of buildup ended with a car door slamming in the night.

For now.

On the ride back to my place, Emily and I dissected the night—Derek’s meltdown, Vanessa’s frustration, the plans that had gone up in smoke. There were moments of laughter, moments of sarcasm, and mutual acknowledgment that the night had turned into a trainwreck.

By the time Emily pulled into my driveway, the tension in the car was thick, electric, and suffocating all at once. The air smelled faintly of the stale fast food bags stuffed under the seats, mixed with the faint perfume she always wore something floral and light, like spring trapped in a bottle.

She shut off the engine and turned to me, her lips slightly parted like she was about to say something, but no words came. Instead, her hand rested lightly on my thigh, a small, almost imperceptible squeeze that sent a shiver up my spine.

“You good?” she asked, her voice softer now, less teasing.

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah. Just… it’s been a night, you know?”

She didn’t respond, not at first. Her eyes lingered on mine, and in that moment, the unspoken energy between us shifted. What had started as banter earlier in the night had evolved into something heavier, something that felt almost inevitable.

"Relax," she murmured, her voice dipping into something smoky and dangerous as she leaned closer. Her breath, warm and minty, ghosted across my skin, sending a jolt straight through me. "Let me take care of this."

Before I could respond, her lips were on mine—searing, insistent, and unapologetic. That winter dryness faded fast, replaced by the kind of heat that burns itself into memory. My heart hammered like it was trying to escape, matching the frantic rhythm of our tongues tangling together. Her nails traced lazy, teasing lines over my skin, each pass of her touch leaving sparks in its wake.

She didn’t hesitate, her hands moving lower with the kind of confidence that made my breath hitch. My belt was undone in seconds, the metallic clink of the buckle loud enough to feel obscene in the quiet car. Her fingers slid to my zipper, slow enough to drive me insane.

"Shh," she whispered against my neck, her voice dripping with honeyed temptation. "Just let go."

And then she did. Her mouth on me was pure, unrelenting heat. The first flick of her tongue left me reeling, the deliberate rhythm of her movements enough to unravel me piece by piece. She kept her pace maddeningly slow, every flick and stroke amplifying the tension coiling in my chest. The sound of it—the quiet hums, the slick pull of her lips, my own labored breaths—felt deafening in the stillness.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, dark and playful, like she knew exactly how much power she held in that moment.

"This is way better than before," I managed between shallow, uneven breaths, my voice rough and strained.

She pulled back just enough to let a low, throaty laugh spill out, sending another wave of shivers through me. "Last time never happened," she teased with a wicked grin before diving back in, her confidence a fire I didn’t want to extinguish.

When she finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, glistening, and curved into a satisfied smile. She casually pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her breathing impossibly steady compared to my ragged pants.

"Better now?" she asked, her voice light, teasing, like she hadn’t just completely dismantled me.

"God, yes," I exhaled, leaning back with a lazy smile. "You just made last time look like amateur hour.”

“Good,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “You deserved it.”

“Come on,” I said, my voice low and steady as I met her gaze. “Let’s take this inside. You deserve something good tonight too.”

Her smirk widened, and without another word, we climbed out of the car. The crisp night air hit like a shock to the system, but it only heightened the electricity between us. By the time we reached the door, her hand was already on my arm, her fingers trailing down to my wrist like she couldn’t let go.

The second the door clicked shut, it was like a dam breaking. I turned to her, but before I could react, she moved first. Her back hit the wall, my hands gripping her hips instinctively. Her lips were on mine again, hotter, hungrier, pulling me into her like she couldn’t get enough. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and her breathless urgency matched the fire surging between us.

Her breath hitched as my hands slid under her shirt, the soft fabric riding up as my fingers traced the curve of her waist. She arched into me, her body melting into mine as though we were made to fit together.

“You’re insane,” she whispered against my lips, teasing, breathless.

“And you love it,” I shot back, my hands slipping higher to lift her shirt. In one smooth motion, it was gone, leaving her skin warm under my touch, every moment igniting something primal.

She laughed, low and throaty, as her hands found my belt, fingers working with a practiced ease that made my heart race. The clink of the buckle hitting the floor was deafening in the quiet, but the world outside didn’t matter.

We stumbled toward the bed, the backs of her knees hitting the edge as she pulled me down with her. Her hands explored my chest, nails lightly scraping against my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“God,” she muttered, her head falling back as my lips traveled down her neck, lingering at her collarbone.

Every movement felt deliberate, fueled by a raw urgency we couldn’t contain. My hands slid down her thighs, her jeans slipping off in the process. The way she looked at me—flushed, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths—was enough to leave me dizzy.

When I was finally inside her, the world narrowed to just us. Every gasp, every whispered curse, every movement built toward something inevitable. Her nails dug into my back, her body moving in rhythm with mine like we were caught in a storm we didn’t want to escape.

“This is crazy,” she whispered again, her voice breaking as she clung to me.

“I know,” I said, my hands gripping her hips as I met her eyes. “But we’re here now.”

And we were.

Lost in the heat, the tension, and the overwhelming pull between us, until everything came to a head in a way that was as raw as it was explosive. But then, just as quickly as the urgency had taken over, something shifted.

She stilled, her hands loosening on my shoulders. I froze, searching her face for an answer to the sudden change.

Her eyes met mine, and in that moment, we both knew.

“This feels… weird,” she murmured, her voice quiet but steady.

“Yeah,” I said after a beat, pulling back slightly. “It does.”

It wasn’t guilt or regret that stopped us. It wasn’t about the lines we’d crossed or the people we’d betrayed. It was something deeper—something intrinsic to the bond we shared.

“It’s like…” I started, struggling to put it into words.

“Like I’m fucking my brother,” she finished with a half-laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Or my sister,” I added, shaking my head with a grin. “And I’m from the South, but not that South.”

Her laugh broke the tension, and for a moment, we just sat there, tangled in a mess of clothes and emotions, the absurdity of it all catching up to us.

“No regrets?” I asked, my voice softer now.

She smiled faintly, her eyes warm. “No regrets. But this isn’t us.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, leaning back. “It’s not.”

We got dressed in comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who understand each other without needing to say a word. Just as I slipped on my shoes, Emily broke the quiet with a smirk.

“You know the rule, right?” she said, her voice light but teasing.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this should be good. What’s the rule?”

“If you don’t cum, it don’t count,” she said with a laugh, brushing her hair back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. “That’s your takeaway from tonight?”

She shrugged, still grinning. “I mean, it’s true. Just saying.”

Her humor was disarming, a perfect release valve for the weight of the moment. It reminded me of why Emily and I clicked so easily.

When she left, neither of us spoke about what had happened. Not then, not ever.

 The moral of the story is this, “If you don’t cum, it don’t count.” But seriously, sometimes the lines we cross aren’t drawn by guilt or consequences—they’re drawn by what feels right in the deepest parts of us. Knowing when to stop is just as important as knowing when to leap. And sometimes, those moments tell you more about who you are than anything else.