Man Juice

I have to blink twice to make sure she’s even fucking real and actually standing before me, not just a sultry figment of my wild imagination.

When she removes her shirt, her humongous tits reveal perky, succulent nipples of an appetizing pink color.

“You’re really hot,” I say, even though I know my lame line is one she’s heard before and will undoubtedly hear after me.

She doesn’t speak or respond to my compliment, but she does slowly crawl her way on top of me, where she straddles me to lean in for a kiss.

She smells feminine and flowery, but I can’t focus on her like I want to. Her lips are soft and delicious, but the chemistry is not on par. There’s something missing.

My head swirls around and I begin to picture Molly’s face instead of Crystal’s.

Is this one date for an hour with Crystal even fucking worth losing Molly over? It’s not like Crystal will ever even remember my name.

I’m just another number to her, another payload.

Molly and I have true chemistry and passion together that can’t be matched or mirrored, and I’m certainly not going to fucking find it in Crystal.

I shake my head, then realize I’m talking. I’m saying no, over and over.

Crystal stops briefly and speaks to me for the first time. “I’m sorry, what?” Her expression has flecks of annoyance in it.

“I can’t do this,” I say and push her off me.

“What the fuck, dude?” Crystal looks deeply offended.

“I’m sorry.” I begin to dress myself again. I can’t get out of there fucking fast enough now. “It’s really not you. It’s just…I mean you are fucking smoking hot, don’t get me wrong. I thought you were what I wanted but as it turns out...there’s another girl who I want to fig

ht for more.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she scoffs.

“I’m so sorry.” I continue to apologize profusely, but really, why the fuck am I? It’s not like I’m actually hurting her here. The one who I’ve hurt is Molly, and I need to fucking get to her right the fuck now.

“You still have to pay for your hour,” Crystal spits out.

“Whatever you need me to do,” I say as I head for the door and dart from the room. I don’t fucking care. I’ll pay twice her normal rate. I’m just fucking relieved that I didn’t make the biggest mistake yet and actually fuck her.

I race down the elevator and out the door of the club onto the crowded Manhattan street where I can finally capture some air in my lungs.

I just fucking hope my decision to choose Molly hasn’t come too little too late.

23

Molly

The only sound in the room is the clink of sterling silver forks and knives brushing delicately against pretentious white china plates.

The dining area is lit only by the soft glow of flickering candle flames.

The scene should be serene and peaceful, but the company I’m with unfortunately dampers any hope of achieving such a feat.

I’m eating dinner in my father’s dining room, where I last sat three weeks ago and stormed out after my father insulted me, telling me I wasn’t good enough to sit at his fucking precious right hand.

I’m facing my older brother Harry as we eat dinner. The two of us flank my father, sitting in his prestigious spot at the head of the table.

“So, how are things, Molly?” Harry asks.

“Hmm?” I glance up absentmindedly as I realize I’m only playing with the peas on my plate, not actually bringing them up to my mouth for consumption.