Regardless of me ignoring her, she finds me in the living room and stands in front of me, pointing the flashlight to my chest again. “Women might not want to be with you because you talk about your man-part like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Women might not want to be with you because you send inappropriate pictures to their best friend. Women might not want to be with you because you look at them like you want to…like you want to…shove your man-part into places it has no right to be.” I’m trying so fucking hard not to laugh right now. I love drunk Sasha even if that was a total jerk move she just made. “But a woman could definitely want to be with you after watching you have a tea-party with a five-year-old little girl. A woman could definitely want to be with you after watching you care for your best friend’s wife when she’s going through a hard time. And a woman could definitely want to be with you for being so complimentary about the food she makes. Just stop bragging about your man-part so much, Mr. Jags. It’s not becoming of you.”
Oh, it’d be coming of me if she’d give it a chance.
“Thanks for the insight,” I tell her.
“Anytime,” she says. With the flashlight still being the only source of light, she reaches it over to me, offering it up.
“You can keep it,” I tell her. As the softness of my words fight against another clap of thunder, the entire house illuminates with lightning. “The storm must be right over us now.” Sasha doesn’t move with the flashlight; she just keeps her eyes locked on the window behind me. I turn to see what she’s looking at, but there isn’t much there other than total darkness. “Something wrong?”
“Those clouds don’t look good,” she says.
“How can you even see anything?”
“When the lightning struck, I saw a funnel cloud,” she says softly.
I take my phone from the side table and open up the weather map, looking for a radar. After a minute or so, the page loads and I don’t see much other than storms rolling in. “I think we’re safe,” I tell her.
She nods her head with unease and clutches the flashlight against her chest, muffling the glow. I’d offer to keep her company if she was scared but I’m guessing that isn’t in the cards tonight. “Goodnight, Mr. Jags.”
“Night, doll.” I can hear her walking slowly away down the hall, followed by the bedroom door shutting with only a soft click.
I’m not sure what the odds are of me steering clear of walking into walls on the way to the bathroom, but since she’s not in there right now, I got to take my chances.
Heading down there while feeling my way around like a pinball bouncing from wall to wall, I finally find the open door and close myself inside. I’m going to go ahead and pray this house doesn’t run off a septic tank. I reach around for the sink knob and twist to the right. Please work, please. Water thankfully runs from the spout and I shut it back off again. Good to know we can all use the toilet because that would suck.
After a day of incredible sexual tension thanks to Sasha, there’s business I need to attend to. I drop my shorts and boxers and press the back of my head against the nearest wall. How long has it been? The girls in Texas definitely aren’t biting the bait like they were in Boston, that’s for sure. The last memorable night in Boston was weeks ago, which means I might explode soon. Don’t want that to happen.
She grabbed my cock. She totally wants me. Why do chicks have to pretend they’re not interested for so long before they’ll finally give in? It’s like a game to them.
With my hand gripped around my cock, I do what needs to be done, keeping my thoughts focused on Sasha’s big tits. Those things are fucking huge for such a small girl. It’s hot. She shouldn’t keep those babies so hidden. There’s no need for that.
Dude…either my imagination is fucking amazing, or someone is sitting next to me right now, breathing over my cock.
Okay, that’s definitely not my imagination.
There’s a hand on my cock.
Now there’s shrieking.
“What the hell is that?” Sasha screams.
“What the fuck!” I shout. Not that I mind that she’s in here grabbing