Tell me, I thought. Who, exactly, was the douchebag? What was he to her? Did she know that I'd met him? Talked to him? Got offered pussy by him?Whowas he?
Tell me.
She told me nothing.
Yeah, she said, the home's electrical system was on the wonky side. Wonky. Her words, not mine. Good thing, she said, that she didn't have to fix things herself, because she didn't know a wire from a wingnut.
I still recalled her laughing about it. I recalled trying to join in, all the while thinking, is that old guy fucking her?
Funny, that wouldn’t be a word I'd use if Chloe were with me. But that guy, it was the only thing he did. I knew the type. Who knows? Maybe I was that type, too.
I did have that reputation. And who was I kidding? Most of it was earned – maybe not at first, but soon enough. How many girls had I been with? I knew the answer. Too many to count.
Standing at my bedroom door, I tried to keep the images from coming, faces of the girls I'd been with. One by one, their faces morphed into each other, flashing by too soon for me to recall any of their names.
Then, the face changed to Chloe's. But unlike the others, it wasn't me she was with. Above her, the douchebag was making his o-face, while Chloe lay there, looking athimthe way I way I wanted her to look at me.
The scene was too messed up. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to forget. I wanted another beer. But in some vague way, I realized that I'd had one too many already.
Screw it. I reached out and turned the doorknob. And there they were, Brittney and Amber, wearing not much more than birthday suits of their own.
From the open doorway, I gave them a good, long look. They wore a lacy red bras with matching red panties, along with little red bows around their necks. They looked like every guy's fantasy, and I felt my body react.
I strode forward and shut the door behind me. Apparently, I had some unwrapping to do.
A minute later, Brittney's lips were around my cock. I was hard and ready. The girls were still dressed, if you could call it that. As for me, I was still wearing what I'd been wearing before, except my jeans and briefs were pushed down well below my hips.
My bare ass rested on the edge of my bed, and Amber was molded to my side. Her lips traveled from my neck to my mouth. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Chloe's lips – not just on my own, but down below too. Impossible? Sure. But at this point, what difference did it make?
Slowly, Brittney pulled back, sucking as she went. Giggling, she moved to the side and licked my shaft, coming up just long enough to moan, "Mmmmm…You're even bigger in real life."
As opposed to on the video. Obviously.
Chloe wouldn't say shit like that.
I opened my eyes and pulled back. This was wrong, and not only because I was thinking of another girl. Below, I was still rock hard, but above, things were going soft and fuzzy at the edges. Or maybe, things were clearing up. Who knows?
I looked toward Amber. Her gaze was troubled. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
I reached down to yank up my briefs, and then my jeans. "Sorry," I said. "Really. It's just—" I glanced at the bedroom door. "I can't do this."
At the foot of the bed, Brittney was still kneeling. She eyed the bulge in my jeans and licked her lips. "The way it looks," she cooed, "Mister Happy still wants to play."
Mister Happy?
I glanced down. Yeah. I was still hard. But Mister Happy was a dumb-shit. No surprise there.
I pushed away from the bed and eyed the two girls. Brittney was still on the floor, and Amber was sitting sideways across my bed. Their hair was alike. Their bodies were alike. Their makeup was alike. Together, they looked like twins in their matching panties and bows.
I hadn't unwrapped anything. And I wasn't going to. This might've been a nice present five years earlier. Or shit, maybe even last month. I shoved a hand through my hair, searching for words that wouldn't come.
God, I was such a shit-heel. If I made them leave, I was a dick. And if I screwed them while thinking of Chloe, I was an even bigger dick. I looked down. Mister Happy was still hard. Shit, even my dick was a dick.
Fuck.
On the bed, Amber was blinking back tears. "Is it me? Am I a bad kisser?" She sniffled and rubbed a hand across her eyes.
And that, finally, made Mister Happy see things in a different light. About damn time.
