Read Online Plastic Confidence (Good Bye Trilogy #1) by Alisa Mullen - Free Book Online
Authors: Alisa Mullen
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masochist. I must know.
“So, she was taking care of business but she didn’t really know what she was doing and then I thought about you. Something about how you know every inch of me. For just a tiny minute, I pretended she was you. I tried to guide her like you would do it. I just wanted it to feel like you again and then I guess I moaned out your name,” he admitted as he shrugged one shoulder. I was unquestionably and outright thunderstruck. My eyebrows were aching from the force of my eyes being pushed so hard together.
“So! ” He slapped his jean clad leg that was crossed over his other one. “She got pissed and took the elevator back down. It made me think. I mean, really think. For the ten seconds that it took me to walk to your room, I came to the conclusion that you, Jules Delaney, are hands down... wait for it... wait for it... the finest woman at giving head.”
His voice was like a game show host’s telling the winner that they had just won a brand new car. His expectant expression for my thrilled moment of joy slowly faded with the seconds that ticked by.
I coughed. He did not just say that. Part of me wanted to throw my wine at his face. But then I felt it. A little sense of vanity. Acknowledgment. Admiration.
“Well, hells bells, Johnny! Where the shit is my fucking gold painted plastic trophy? Put best blow jobs right up there in my accomplishments column. Maybe right above the one that says I am the most popular singer-songwriter in the new millennium?” I was fucking fuming. Despite that small feeling I had a few moments before, did he think I was going to drop to my knees and give thanks?
“But what makes you such a good singer, Jules? Think about it. You are making love to the microphone and the mic is a dick,” he snickered as he popped one of his eyebrows up in a way that only concluded that he was right.
Touché , Johnny. Tou-fucking-che.
Did the microphone really symbolize a proverbial penis for me? Maybe. Yes, it probably did but what the fuck ever. The microphone was not an actual dick and why the fiddle fuck was I even having this conversation with him or myself?
I laid my head back on the chair and swigged my wine. I grew introspective as Johnny started to get more comfortable in the leather cushions. I never tried the whole girl on girl scene for sure but I was flawless at having sex with men. I had a lot of practice growing up and I paid rapt attention to what they desired from me.
Although most lovers, including Johnny until I trained him on a thing or two, didn’t know the first thing about a woman’s anatomy, I didn’t mind. I was there to serve their desires so that in the end, they gave me the attention I craved. It gave me great satisfaction to give them the memory of being with such a skilled woman. It made them want me more and the thought of that is what got me off. It was a confidence enhancement and I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything.
I didn’t consider that I was a whore. Nope, not in my eyes. I chose the guy... always. I had to be with a guy that was sexy. He had to be funny. He had to like to listen to music during our time together. It was what got me in the mood. Despite those specifications, I didn’t really mind who the guy actually was as a person. For all I knew, they had zero money and still lived with their momma. However, I needed to know how they evaluated my mad skills at the end. One hundred percent of the time, I was hands down the best lay they ever had by their looks of satiated bliss. I always patted myself on the back as I showed them the door. I knew there was one more guy out there that worshipped me.
“ Gee whiz, Johnny. Thanks so much for your praise,” I regarded at him with a cheeky smile. He rolled his eyes and then drank the whole glass of wine in two gulps.
“Is sharing time over now?” I asked. “I want to get a bath in.”
“I don’t want our time to be over. Can I just sit here while you take a bath?
“So, she was taking care of business but she didn’t really know what she was doing and then I thought about you. Something about how you know every inch of me. For just a tiny minute, I pretended she was you. I tried to guide her like you would do it. I just wanted it to feel like you again and then I guess I moaned out your name,” he admitted as he shrugged one shoulder. I was unquestionably and outright thunderstruck. My eyebrows were aching from the force of my eyes being pushed so hard together.
“So! ” He slapped his jean clad leg that was crossed over his other one. “She got pissed and took the elevator back down. It made me think. I mean, really think. For the ten seconds that it took me to walk to your room, I came to the conclusion that you, Jules Delaney, are hands down... wait for it... wait for it... the finest woman at giving head.”
His voice was like a game show host’s telling the winner that they had just won a brand new car. His expectant expression for my thrilled moment of joy slowly faded with the seconds that ticked by.
I coughed. He did not just say that. Part of me wanted to throw my wine at his face. But then I felt it. A little sense of vanity. Acknowledgment. Admiration.
“Well, hells bells, Johnny! Where the shit is my fucking gold painted plastic trophy? Put best blow jobs right up there in my accomplishments column. Maybe right above the one that says I am the most popular singer-songwriter in the new millennium?” I was fucking fuming. Despite that small feeling I had a few moments before, did he think I was going to drop to my knees and give thanks?
“But what makes you such a good singer, Jules? Think about it. You are making love to the microphone and the mic is a dick,” he snickered as he popped one of his eyebrows up in a way that only concluded that he was right.
Touché , Johnny. Tou-fucking-che.
Did the microphone really symbolize a proverbial penis for me? Maybe. Yes, it probably did but what the fuck ever. The microphone was not an actual dick and why the fiddle fuck was I even having this conversation with him or myself?
I laid my head back on the chair and swigged my wine. I grew introspective as Johnny started to get more comfortable in the leather cushions. I never tried the whole girl on girl scene for sure but I was flawless at having sex with men. I had a lot of practice growing up and I paid rapt attention to what they desired from me.
Although most lovers, including Johnny until I trained him on a thing or two, didn’t know the first thing about a woman’s anatomy, I didn’t mind. I was there to serve their desires so that in the end, they gave me the attention I craved. It gave me great satisfaction to give them the memory of being with such a skilled woman. It made them want me more and the thought of that is what got me off. It was a confidence enhancement and I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything.
I didn’t consider that I was a whore. Nope, not in my eyes. I chose the guy... always. I had to be with a guy that was sexy. He had to be funny. He had to like to listen to music during our time together. It was what got me in the mood. Despite those specifications, I didn’t really mind who the guy actually was as a person. For all I knew, they had zero money and still lived with their momma. However, I needed to know how they evaluated my mad skills at the end. One hundred percent of the time, I was hands down the best lay they ever had by their looks of satiated bliss. I always patted myself on the back as I showed them the door. I knew there was one more guy out there that worshipped me.
“ Gee whiz, Johnny. Thanks so much for your praise,” I regarded at him with a cheeky smile. He rolled his eyes and then drank the whole glass of wine in two gulps.
“Is sharing time over now?” I asked. “I want to get a bath in.”
“I don’t want our time to be over. Can I just sit here while you take a bath?
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