Author’s Note: The whole book is available on Amazon:
How do I get laid? That’s the only question that really matters. I’m three months post-breakup. It’s time for that crazy, rough, up-against-the-wall fuck that will erase five years of horrible sex.
I need a beast.
But how? How do I go about finding a man that will treat me like a hooker? I don’t want a relationship. That takes weeks and months of work. And what if, after all that time and energy put into building a perfect union, the sex is terrible? I can’t do it again. I can’t go another five years envious of women who get to have orgasms constantly. I don’t want to cry after sex because either I didn’t have an orgasm again or because I did, and it’s so rare that it makes me blubber with happiness. I’m not doing it anymore.
The other question I have, how do I go about looking for a beast without coming off as a slut? It is so wrong in this day and age for a woman to simply want sex. We are instantly branded a whore or loose or dirty because we want sex. Why? Men get to do it all the fucking time, and yet we must wait like proper virgins with our legs closed and our eyes down.
I’m not doing that either. I am almost thirty, and I don’t have time to mess around with limp dicks or peanut-sized penises. I am over settling for less than I deserve. And I deserve a massive cock with a man who knows how to use it.
I turn around, grinning.
Carter is on my list. Currently, he has a girlfriend, and I’m not a homewrecker. But the longer I’m alone, the hornier I get, and the worse my mouth gets. I manage a pleasant, “Hey, cutie.” but in my head, I would love to see his dick.
He pulls up a chair, joining me for lunch. We work at a law firm together. He’s the assistant, and I’m an intern. I barely make enough to support my small ass apartment, but I’m doing it, by myself, something that somebody (who will remain nameless) said I couldn’t do.
Carter holds up his banana and begins to remove the outside. Does he do it slowly on purpose? Does he hold it firmly in his grip like he’s holding his cock, on purpose?
Worse yet, can he notice me drooling? My mouth is partially open, imagining what it’s like to have a massive dick sink to the back of my throat. Then he takes a sharp bite, and I blink rapidly, leaning down into my bowl of grapes.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
Binge-watching ‘Friends’ for the third time and crying myself to sleep.
I shrug, “Maybe some shopping. Need new outfits.”
“Well, we are all going to the beach. You want to come?”
“Who is all going?”
“All the guys here. Bianca, Laura, and Yvonne from the office on the first floor. Vic owns a house. He usually rents it, but he’s got it this weekend.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Vic doesn’t think you’re ready for the beach house.”
“What does that mean?”
“We do drugs, mostly. But it gets wild.”
“I don’t care about drugs.”
He chuckles. “Right.”
“You’re, you know...Everyone thinks you kind of have this goodie two shoes thing going on.”
“Goodie two shoes? Are we six?”
“You’re perfect. You dress perfectly. You don’t curse. You don’t drink. You’re crazy pretty.”
“Crazy pretty?” I laugh. “We are six.”
“You know what I mean. You’re like untouchable.”
“Yeah, I certainly feel that way. Is that the vibe I give off? I’m too good for you?”
I shake my head, “It’s called confidence. If a man can’t handle it, he can’t handle me. And I don’t need anyone around here to tell me I’m ‘crazy pretty.’ I’m fucking gorgeous.”
He grins, laughing, “Alright. Alright. Got a little fight in you. I didn’t expect that.”
“Just because I choose not to curse doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“You ever do drugs before? Like anything.”
I chew my lip, “What’s your point?”
“Do you drink, at least?”
“I don’t need to drink. I’m a ball of fun.”
He laughs, and I can’t help my smile. He is gorgeous. Brown hair, blue eyes, a build like a track star. He’s got these arms that could lift two of me. I’ve imagined them lifting me onto his cock.
I shift uncomfortably. I should have masturbated this morning.
“Will you come?”
God, I hope so.
“Yeah. Text me the address.”
Carter gets up, throwing his uneaten food in the trash as I pick at my grapes. My belly is in fucking knots excited about tonight. Then I feel him lean over, his lips at my ear, “I can handle it.” He murmurs before whisking away.
My forehead slams on the table. Why does he have to have a girlfriend? Can’t he break up with her for like three hours? That’s all I need for a real good plow. In all pretense, ten minutes would be longer than anything I’ve been through, but I watch porn. I know there are men out there that can go for a long fucking time. I just got screwed over with love. I’m over love. It’s great and all, but love can’t fuck me till I’m hoarse and raw. Love can’t fill my pussy and cum on my tits. I don’t want to love. As I said, I want a beast. And I’m going to find one tonight.
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