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!