I crept up the stairs, heart pounding harder with every step. The mix of excitement and nerves was unlike anything I'd ever felt. At the guest bathroom, the door was closed, lights off, no sound—nobody there. The guest room door was open, but it was empty too. The master bedroom door, though? Closed, with muffled noises coming from inside. Someone was definitely moving around in there. I checked the guest room first—confirmed, no one. Then I lingered by the guest bathroom, ear pressed to the door, double-checking it was empty.
Suddenly, Tyson's hushed voice came from the master bedroom: "Ready to record?"
Alex replied, "Yeah, go for it!"
The words jolted me, confirming the guest bathroom was clear. I slipped into this hyper-focused mode, inching toward the master bedroom door.
What follows is pieced together years later, after Kimmi filled in the details. Back then, I only caught sounds and emotional vibes. Sure, some rational folks might call this my imagination running wild, but those "special" noises from a room with two guys and a girl? You could say they're practicing "beatboxing," but Kimmi's account years later confirmed most of my suspicions. Some parts only made sense with her input, but for readability, I've blended it all into one cohesive story. Kimmi's version will clarify the full truth later.
Outside the door, I heard Tyson and Alex's footsteps. Tyson climbed onto the bed, whispering, "You sure this is cool?"
Alex sounded confident. "I know Kimmi's personality. She's too timid to fight back. Just do what I told you, and she'll go along with it quick."
Tyson, still cautious, whispered again, "No, I mean, you're cool with this?"
Alex, like he'd made up his mind, said, "No problem."
That sealed it—Alex and Kimmi were not just "good friends." I was almost certain Alex had been crushing on her, maybe even tried to win her over and failed. Now, out of some twisted resentment, he was using Tyson to… mess with her. My mind was at war. I loved Kimmi, but this dark, buried urge to see her humiliated was screaming at me, handed a once-in-a-lifetime chance. But if they hurt her? No way, that was my line in the sand. So, I figured I'd let them look or touch a bit, get my own thrill, then storm into the guest bathroom for a shower—loud enough to spook them off.
As I plotted, the room went silent. Tyson had already climbed onto Kimmi, who was sleeping in her black spaghetti-strap nightdress, half her back exposed. He started kissing her spine, shoulders, and neck, slowly moving to her ear—her ultimate weak spot, the one that makes her melt instantly.
I heard Kimmi's sleepy voice, tinged with a smile: "No… mm… babe… stop… you jerk…" Her soft moans made it clear she thought it was me.
Tyson teased, "No what? I've been touching and kissing you for five minutes, and you didn't say a word. Only now, when I hit your sweet spot, you tell me to stop?"
Kimmi snapped awake, her tone shifting to panic as she struggled. "No, I was asleep… I didn't know it was you… stop… my boyfriend's here."
I was floored when Tyson spoke up. Part of me wanted to bolt downstairs, give them a chance to slip out, and pretend I saw nothing. But Tyson's response threw me. Instead of panicking, he chuckled, oozing confidence. "Relax, your boyfriend's passed out drunk downstairs. As long as you're not too loud, he won't know a thing."
Kimmi kept resisting. "No… stop…"
Alex cut in, "You really want us to stop?"
Tyson's voice cut through the tension. "Alright, fine, we'll stop."