Pucked

He’s got it bad for my boobs. He asked them out on the date, not me.

I sleep best when my head is resting on your delicate pillows of love.

Why do you want to have a drink with me?” “Because I like you. Because you’re fun. Because I want to get to know you better. Because I want you to see for yourself I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.

What is that?” The question is inane. But, honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Alex chuckles nervously. As is appropriate since I’m holding his dick and I’m clearly not sane. “I mean, I know what it is. Obviously. Do you have some kind of . . . disorder? Like elephantiasis of the penis or something?” I did not say that out loud. “It’s not that big.” His erection slides in my grip. I can’t stop staring. My thumb and middle finger must have a good inch or more before they can meet. I squeeze to see if it helps bring them closer together. It doesn’t. What it does is make Alex groan, and that, oh holy monster of cock, is one hot noise.

I don’t like big weddings.” Her panic is clear. “All those people make me nervous. I’ll mess up the vows and say something inappropriate.” “It doesn’t have to be big. It can be just the two of us if you want. We can wait until next summer—or the one after if a year isn’t long enough. We can get married up here by a justice of the peace on the end of the dock at sunset. A damn Rastafarian can perform the ceremony if that’s what you want. I don’t care about the wedding part. All I want to be is connected to you in the most significant way possible. I want you as my wife.

The connection between my mouth and brain are faulty, as usual, and I shout, “Exit only! It’s exit only!

I can’t wait to have my mouth on you again. I’m gonna eat you like I’m on death row and you’re my last goddamned meal.

I won’t as long as you drop the perfect gentleman crap. That’s a deal breaker. My boobs won’t tolerate it.” “I love your boobs, they’re so fun.” His smile is panty wetting. “I’ll pick them up at seven?

Buck is a mammoth, like a yeti. A huge perverted, hairy whore of a yeti. According to the sportscasters, Buck's an excellent hockey player. I'd agree, based on his yearly salary alone. No one gets much money for sucking, not even extremely skilled prostitutes.

It’s hard not to be into a girl who tells you she loves your cock repeatedly as she comes.

Popping off, I say, “I wouldn’t mind.” Even if it tastes like shit, I’d swallow Alex Waters’ jizz. Then I’d get the T-shirt.

My boobs are willing; the rest of me will come along. I’m not one hundred percent sold on you like they seem to be.

It lays on his abdomen, angled slightly to the left. It's almost cute-kind of like Snuffleupagus. Well, not really. It's huge, but not hairy, and also not nearly as daunting as when it's hard. It is magical, though. I stifle a giggle because, goddamn it, I've never seen a snuffie up close. The head is tucked up inside the soft skin, an eye peering out from the turtleneck.

My mind is wandering like a squirrel on Red Bull.

What's going on here?" Buck asks just as loudly, gesturing wildly with his giant, hairy knuckled hands. "I'm sucking his dick," I say sarcastically. Sometimes I wish my mouth didn't have a faulty connection to my brain allowing everything to come out unfiltered. Alex coughs, his fingers twitching on my hip, and Buck's face turns an unnatural shade of red. This is such an odd situation; the awkwardness causes me to continue to spew idiocy. "Fine, you got me. I wasn't sucking his dick. We were fucking each other's mouths with our tongues. This is otherwise referred to as kissing, but mouth fucking sounds way dirtier, so I'm gonna go with that.

I love his penis. I want to give it a sponge bath and dress it up like a super hero.

Egg whites are full of protein.” “So is jizz. You don’t see me harvesting yours so I can drink a glass of it.

He takes a sip of his drink, leaving behind a milk mustache he quickly wipes away. It’s then I realize where I recognize him from: the milk advertisements. Sweet Lord, I’ve been jilling off to him.

What do you want, douche-whore? Haven’t you ruined my night enough by interrupting my mouth fucking session with your fuckhot teammate? Now you have to disturb my masturbation session, too?

Is that-am I looking at her beaver?" Mid-swig, I choke on the mouthful of beer, sputtering and coughing. After I recover, I ask jokingly, "'Beaver'? Are you Canadian or something?

Do you want to get out of here?" "Buck will kill you." "I can take him.

You really shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.” I’m irritated by the attention he’s drawing to us and my fake bad habit, so I fire off an insult. “So are venereal diseases. You don’t hear me lecturing you on your whoriness.

I want to be his love slave. An image of me in a black corset wearing a collar with a leash attached to it pops into my head. Maybe stupid Lydia was right to cut the smut from the book club for a while.

He's like the Energizer Bunny on crack with an amazing dick.

There’s something you should probably know.” “Please don’t tell me you had gender reassignment surgery. I don’t think I can manage that today.

Next is a box of truffles from Godiva and then a gift certificate from Victoria’s Secret for an unknown amount. It’s made out to my boobs, which Alex officially asks on a date.

Understandable, really. Moist is a terrible word.” “So true. It should only be used to describe the consistency of cake.

Says who? I was happy reading mindless smut. I’m buying the CliffsNotes.

I slide his pants over his hips. His cock pops out, nearly smacking me in the face. I bob and weave to avoid getting poked in the eye by his swinging dick. My lack of coordination is an unfortunate issue, and I inadvertently whack it.