MACK
“Maybe I should get a boob job,”Sunny moans. “Or at least some Botox in my lips. Are my lips too thin?”
Before I can answer, her face is an inch from mine and her not thin, very kissable lips are within smooching distance. I lift the bottle—my seventh…or is it eighth?—between us so I don’t give in to the urge to capture her mouth with my own. This is your best friend, I remind myself. Do not screw up a decade-long friendship because you’re too drunk to control yourself. I pour half the bottle down my throat.
Sunny slumps back against the back of the sofa. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-five and I’m still a virgin. That feels like a crime against womenkind.”
I can pop your cherry, baby, the wicked voice in my head invites. I chug the booze down in hopes of drowning that thought out.
“Talk to me, Mack. I need words.” She wiggles her fingers.
I clear my throat to stall for time. I’m not a talker. I’m a doer. I’d rather wrestle a bear in a vat full of honey bees than give a speech. Sharing feelings is right up there with all-time terrible things. “Talk about what?”
Are my words slurred? I can barely make out my own voice.
“Anything. My lips. My boobs. My”—she points to her crotch—“girl parts.”
My tongue swells in my mouth, and my cock swells in my jeans. All those topics are great topics. If I was a talker, those three things would be the subject of all my conversations. Sunny’s lips look like a heart with two prominent peaks and a plump lower lip. Even when she frowns, her pert mouth is heart shaped. Sliding my cock between her lips would be like entering the tunnel of love. Her boobs fit perfectly into my hands. I know this for a fact because one time when we were in the checkout line at the commons in college, some asshole pushed her from behind. I was talking to someone else and turned to catch Sunny too late with my hands ending up around her tits. I shoved her away fast before I ended up doing something stupid like ripping her shirt off and sucking on her nipples. After I set her to the side, I pounded some manners into the asshole who ran into her. Bet he’s still extra careful. As for her cunt, well, I haven’t been close to it, but I’ve no doubt it’s prime like the rest of her. If Sunny wasn’t drunk, she would not be saying shit like this. Even in my foggy, half-conscious state, I know this.
“We ought to buy better booze next time,” I say to avoid focusing on her sweet, fuckable body.
“Nah. This is fine. When you’re drunk, does it matter if you’re drinking top shelf liquor or bottom of the barrel?” She tips her empty wine glass upside down.
With a surprisingly steady hand, I right the glass and fill it up—not all the way to the top but a good way over half. “If you can talk, you’re too sober.”
I grab an unopened bottle of beer, pop the top and swallow.
“Is your cock really that big, Mack? You know all the girls in school had a betting pool on how big it was. Charity Glenn said it was ten inches and as big as her fist. She said she saw it firsthand. Is that true? Did you show Charity Glenn your cock but not me, your best, best friend?” Sunny thumps her chest, and the wine that I had carefully measured out sloshes up and over the rim and onto her blue T-shirt. “Oh, shit. I spilled.”
Before I can do anything, her shirt comes off. “There. All better,” she chortles, patting her bare skin. My eyes cross as her four—I mean two boobs—flash in front of my eyes. Covered in blue lace and spilling out over the top, her tits look as edible as frosting on a cake. My mouth waters. My cock pulsates. I’ll show you exactly how big my cock is, baby.Crawl over here and sit on my lap. You can measure it out with your tongue, fingers, or cunt.
“Now you,” she says, slapping her hand across my chest. The bottle flies out of my grip and crashes onto the floor. “See. That’s what you get for wearing a shirt.”
It doesn’t make sense to me and yet it does. If I had taken my shirt off when she did, she wouldn’t have had to remind me, and thus the bottle would still be in my hand.
“Sorry,” I mumble and pull the T-shirt over my head, tossing it to the side where the abandoned bottle lies.
“Good. Now your jeans.” Sunny points at my lap.
“Why jeans?” My tongue’s so thick in my mouth, I can barely get the words out. We’re so close to each other. Her skin is glistening in the low light of my living room. She smells sweet like honey and fruit. There’s a drop of red wine hanging on her clavicle. I want to suck it off.
“I want to see the Mack Monster.” She lifts a hand to her mouth and giggles. “That’s what we called it.”
The Mack Monster swells with approval.
“It looks big in your jeans. Maybe Charity was right.” Sunny’s eyes narrow. “Did you show Charity your monster?”
“No.”
A huge smile breaks across Sunny’s face. “Of course you didn’t because I’m your best friend and should see it first before all those other bitches.”
That makes sense too. Sunny is my oldest friend. She should see my cock if she wants to and definitely before any other women. My hands go to my zipper. They move almost without me directing them, pulling down the metal fastener, then tugging and pushing down the denim past my hips and knees until I can kick them off my feet. My cockhead springs proudly between us—all ten inches, throbbing and ready.
Sunny’s mouth forms a circle. “My God, Mack. How do you even walk with that thing between your legs?”
“It’s not usually this size,” I choke out. The longer she stares, the harder and bigger my dick grows.
“No wonder you’re a virgin, Mack. You would kill a girl with that thing.”
I frown, hurt. “I would not. Women’s bodies are made for this.”
“I doubt it.”
“You’d be wrong.”
“I am not wrong. That thing”—she shakes her finger at it—“is not meant to penetrate someone else’s body.”
“Bet you a hundred dollars, it’d fit just fine in your pussy.”
“Ha! Just give me the hundred, right now then, because you’re wrong.” She flips her hand out. I lunge for her. She squeals and scrambles backward. My feet get caught up in my discarded jeans and I tumble, falling….falling….down.
My world goes black.