Not Quite What I Had Planned

It's perfectly possible for a man and a woman to be good friends,
and nothing more than friends, even if neither of them are gay. In
fact, my best friend is a man. Gerry and I have known each other
forever. We've comforted each other after relationships went bad,
we've helped each other out when money was tight, we've been to the
funerals of each other's elderly relatives. We know each other's
most intimate secrets... except for one thing: even Gerry doesn't
know about my kinkiest fetish. How can you tell someone, even your
best friend, that you get a sexual thrill from anything related to
throwing up?

Although our friendship had always been platonic, lately we seem to
have started to feel differently about each other. I guess if you're
going to fall in love with someone, you might as well fall in love
with your best friend! Gerry's a little bit shy, though, and I knew
I would have to take the initiative, so - with some nervous joking
about it - I invited him to come over to my place after dinner for a
quiet, "romantic" evening.

Gerry *is* a romantic at heart. When he rang my doorbell, he had a
bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the
other. It was even already chilled, so I asked him to open it while
I arranged the flowers in a vase. He knows where I keep my wine
glasses, and he poured us each a glass of champagne.

"To us," he toasted, and drained the glass. I sipped at mine while
he poured himself another. We sat on the couch in my tiny
"efficiency" apartment, with a lovely view of the stove and the
sink. The couch unfolds and becomes my bed at night. Gerry knows
this; maybe that's why he was sitting so awkwardly, perched on the
other end of the couch away from me.

We talked, as we've always talked, about all sorts of things. But I
tried to steer the conversation gradually towards more personal
matters. We drank more champagne - well, I had one or two more
glasses, but the level in the bottle steadily went down. Gerry
seemed to be relaxing, though, and we slowly slid closer together on
the couch, until we were touching.

Gerry put his arms around me, and I sighed and snuggled close to
him, turning my face up. I put my hand behind his head and kissed
him on the mouth, very softly, but making my intentions clear. He
kissed back, and I was suddenly aware of how very much I wanted this
man! It felt as if I'd been suppressing my sexual desire for him for
years, and now with his kiss it had all burst free. An overwhelming
wave of passion swept through my body, leaving me dizzy and shaking.
I pulled him closer, intending to kiss him deeply and let him know
exactly how I felt.

But Gerry turned his head slightly and pulled away from me. I saw
that his face was pale and there were tiny beads of sweat on his
forehead. "I... I'm afraid I don't feel very good..." he mumbled. He
burped, and an alarmed expression came over his face. "I think I had
too much champagne or something..." He sat up very straight, taking
fast deep breaths, but it didn't help. "I'm sorry, Allie... I'm
going to throw up!"

He lurched across the room and vomited, noisily and copiously, into
the sink: "Bwwlleeaaagghhh..... *gasp*..... gaaaaaaghhh...." After
the first few spasms, I went to him and put my arm around his
shoulders, saying "Shhh... it's all right, you're going to be all
right, you'll feel better in a minute..." I took a paper towel and
ran cool water on it, and wiped his face. Soon he stopped retching,
and I gently led him back to the couch.

I sat there with my arm around him, trembling, hoping he would
recover quickly. If I had been overcome with desire before, now I
was nearly out of my mind with lust! And yet I couldn't possibly
explain to him *why* I was so turned on. Here was the man I wanted
most of all, unconsciously acting out my most perverted sexual
fantasy! I stroked his back, whispering "hey, Gerry, it's okay,"
even though I was frantic with passion.

He was nearly in tears. "Oh, Allie, I didn't mean for this to
happen! I wanted to... I mean, I know what you want, and I want it
too..." he moaned, "but I feel so siiiiick...." - and he dashed to
the sink and puked again! Once again I held his head, and wiped his
face with cool water, and helped him back to the couch when he was
finished. He leaned against me; I knew that even in his misery he
could tell how aroused I was. I was shaking violently, and it took
all my self-control to simply hold him and comfort him, instead of
tearing his clothes off. But I restrained myself, and just held
him... and then he fell asleep in my arms.

What a situation! It could have been a female emetophile's dream
date, if he hadn't fallen asleep. But I knew that I could never tell
him that it turned me on to see him throw up. If I tried to explain,
I'd lose any possible chance of our becoming lovers, and I was
afraid I'd lose his friendship as well. Not only that, but if he
knew how frustrated I was, he'd feel horribly inadequate, and we'd
probably never have this chance again. So I just held him, and
shook, and tried to think of what to do next.

After a while he moaned slightly, and began to wake up. "Are you
feeling better now?" I asked idiotically. "Er... maybe a little, I
think," he said. "Do you want me to make you some coffee or
something?" He made a face at that. "Oh, no! I don't think I could
swallow *anything* right now." He stood up carefully, and I stood up
with him.

"I think I'd better go home," he said. I put my arms around him,
looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "I don't want you to go!"

"I know... Allie, I know how you feel... I'm so sorry..."
The *last* thing I wanted was to make him feel worse, emotionally or
physically. I hugged him gently and laughed, "We're going to have to
try this again. Next time we'll skip the champagne!" That made him
laugh too. But it was plain that he was still in a fair amount of
physical distress. "I really need to go home and go to bed," he
apologized.

So he left... leaving me more frustrated than I'd ever been in my
life! All that was left to do was for me to clean the sink...
thinking to myself, "if he knew what a pervert I am, getting turned
on cleaning his puke out of the sink, he'd *never* come back!" But,
since he'll never know this, I know that there *WILL* be a "next
time"... soon!