laptop from my
desk, and head down to the kitchen. A glass of wine, no pants, my laptop, and
the Dick Sluts are all I need. Forget getting laid for now, I’ve got some
marketing to do. I’ll fantasize about Dan later.
One of my fans posted on the Sluts asking
if anyone’s read Violet Cuddlecock’s new book. Twenty people reply saying how
wonderful it is, that is was one of their favorite books of the year, and that
it’s a must read .
My street team. Thank the dear Lord for
my street team. A few random women post that they own it, but haven’t read it
yet, and another woman says she hated it.
Comments like that seem so unnecessary.
I create a post with a photo attached of
a naked guy in bed with a sheet over just his erect dick and a quote from my
book running across his abs.
I’m
gonna drag you by your neck into this bed and fuck you until you can no longer
stand, my tight vagina princess. Then we’re going to fuck some more so tomorrow
you can tell all of your high school friends that I’m King Peen. At eighteen,
you’re Grade A Prime. ~Daven Wilderness
Ha, that’s a good one.
The Sluts comment that it sounds awesome.
They can tell from those two sentences that they’re going to love it. I smile
and sip my wine, hoping that’s true.
Shit! I forgot to look at the books Dan
bought. And I have my own to dive into as well. Fuck the online fictional dick,
I’m getting some handheld crisp white paperback dick tonight.
The two bags are still out front. I
must’ve walked right past them when I was shouting to Dan and the rest of the
neighborhood about my shaved vag.
I take my wine and the books upstairs, as
ecstatic as a mother holding her newborn for the first time. Bad analogy? Fuck
off. You don’t know what it’s like to have a love for books. I dropped
everything I was doing for these books.
A bag of books. My babies.
I dump the entire pile of retro pulp
western porn on my bed and jump in. Literally. I fall on top of them and roll
around.
I never said I wasn’t crazy.
I’m not very bright, either. Damn these
things hurt when they dig into your back. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how
to get up without a book disappearing in my butt crack. Oh, what have I done?
Oh! What have I done!
I sit up in a flash as someone knocks on
the glass door to my bedroom. I’m pant-less, on a pile of books, and someone,
no not someone; it’s Dan, has climbed up my back stairs to my deck and is
banging at my door. I can’t believe he’s looking at me. Voyeur!
Whited
sepulcher .
Not now Violet.
I’ve
always wanted to use that term, thanks for giving me the opportunity, Div . It
means hypocri...
I know what it means. Shut up.
In a panic I place a book over my crotch
and stare back at him, not sure what to do next. This is awkward. Yes, I wanted
him to see my immaculate shave job, but not in this bright light. Candle light,
maybe, but not like this.
“Dan! Turn around so I can put on my
pants!”
His voice comes through the glass in a
muffled wave. “I like you without pants. Open the door.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I look at the floor,
then at the light switch, and then back to him. I’m in a thong, not my grandma
period panties or even my low-cut briefs, nope, a thong, and I can’t reach my
pants. I wanted action tonight, but this... he’s... ug, it’s just too bright. I
can’t flash my body under hundred watt bulbs; it’s like stripping in the bright
afternoon sun on the beach. He’ll see every blemish and scar. I wish I could
reach that damn light.
Wait. Where’d he go? “Dan?”
That was rude. I pull on my jeans and
open the door, but he’s gone. No actually, he’s not. My doorbell rings. He went
downstairs. Damn him.
I run down and look through my peephole.
Oh yes. Dark hair and maple-brown eyes that glow under my porch light.
“What are you doing?”
He places his arm against the door just
above his head and leans forward. In a hushed voice he whispers, “Let me be with
you
desk, and head down to the kitchen. A glass of wine, no pants, my laptop, and
the Dick Sluts are all I need. Forget getting laid for now, I’ve got some
marketing to do. I’ll fantasize about Dan later.
One of my fans posted on the Sluts asking
if anyone’s read Violet Cuddlecock’s new book. Twenty people reply saying how
wonderful it is, that is was one of their favorite books of the year, and that
it’s a must read .
My street team. Thank the dear Lord for
my street team. A few random women post that they own it, but haven’t read it
yet, and another woman says she hated it.
Comments like that seem so unnecessary.
I create a post with a photo attached of
a naked guy in bed with a sheet over just his erect dick and a quote from my
book running across his abs.
I’m
gonna drag you by your neck into this bed and fuck you until you can no longer
stand, my tight vagina princess. Then we’re going to fuck some more so tomorrow
you can tell all of your high school friends that I’m King Peen. At eighteen,
you’re Grade A Prime. ~Daven Wilderness
Ha, that’s a good one.
The Sluts comment that it sounds awesome.
They can tell from those two sentences that they’re going to love it. I smile
and sip my wine, hoping that’s true.
Shit! I forgot to look at the books Dan
bought. And I have my own to dive into as well. Fuck the online fictional dick,
I’m getting some handheld crisp white paperback dick tonight.
The two bags are still out front. I
must’ve walked right past them when I was shouting to Dan and the rest of the
neighborhood about my shaved vag.
I take my wine and the books upstairs, as
ecstatic as a mother holding her newborn for the first time. Bad analogy? Fuck
off. You don’t know what it’s like to have a love for books. I dropped
everything I was doing for these books.
A bag of books. My babies.
I dump the entire pile of retro pulp
western porn on my bed and jump in. Literally. I fall on top of them and roll
around.
I never said I wasn’t crazy.
I’m not very bright, either. Damn these
things hurt when they dig into your back. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how
to get up without a book disappearing in my butt crack. Oh, what have I done?
Oh! What have I done!
I sit up in a flash as someone knocks on
the glass door to my bedroom. I’m pant-less, on a pile of books, and someone,
no not someone; it’s Dan, has climbed up my back stairs to my deck and is
banging at my door. I can’t believe he’s looking at me. Voyeur!
Whited
sepulcher .
Not now Violet.
I’ve
always wanted to use that term, thanks for giving me the opportunity, Div . It
means hypocri...
I know what it means. Shut up.
In a panic I place a book over my crotch
and stare back at him, not sure what to do next. This is awkward. Yes, I wanted
him to see my immaculate shave job, but not in this bright light. Candle light,
maybe, but not like this.
“Dan! Turn around so I can put on my
pants!”
His voice comes through the glass in a
muffled wave. “I like you without pants. Open the door.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I look at the floor,
then at the light switch, and then back to him. I’m in a thong, not my grandma
period panties or even my low-cut briefs, nope, a thong, and I can’t reach my
pants. I wanted action tonight, but this... he’s... ug, it’s just too bright. I
can’t flash my body under hundred watt bulbs; it’s like stripping in the bright
afternoon sun on the beach. He’ll see every blemish and scar. I wish I could
reach that damn light.
Wait. Where’d he go? “Dan?”
That was rude. I pull on my jeans and
open the door, but he’s gone. No actually, he’s not. My doorbell rings. He went
downstairs. Damn him.
I run down and look through my peephole.
Oh yes. Dark hair and maple-brown eyes that glow under my porch light.
“What are you doing?”
He places his arm against the door just
above his head and leans forward. In a hushed voice he whispers, “Let me be with
you
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