So far, we were three-quarters of the way down the brand new bottle of whisky, which was her grandmother's for when she came to visit, and still going strong.
“I think I’ll like your friends too. They sound weird, but fun.” That was an understatement. She had three male friends who called themselves Rice Crispies because they could snap, crackle, and pop, i.e., they made good beatbox music with their mouths, in Sadie’s words.
“They’re a blast,” she sighed, then jumped for her phone. “We should FaceTime them. What’s their number?”
Blinking at the question, I frowned when she started slamming her thumb down on the screen. “Is it broken?”
“It always does this. Oh, and now the thumb thing’s disappeared. Great,” she huffed, throwing it down on the couch. “I hate technology, it never works.”
Closing one eye to focus on the device, I noted that, yes, indeed, the thumb scanner had disappeared.
“Guess we can’t call them, then. What do we do next?”
I was expecting her to ask questions, pull out a deck of cards, maybe even pick up Monopoly. Instead, she blew my mind with her question.
“Lemme see your willie jewelry.”
“My what?”
“Your junk jewels.”
What the fuck was she talking about? “You want to see my nuts?”
“No, the pecker piercings. I looked them up online,” Sadie explained, making me growl. “But nothing really gave me a good idea what they looked like up close.”
This was a confusing situation for my drunken brain because part of me was pissed she’d looked at another guy—or guys—junk online. The other part was desperate to show her mine and glad she wanted to see it, too. What did it matter she was asking merely for the metal through it. It was still my cock she was looking at.
So, before I could talk myself out of it, knowing that drunken brains didn’t make good choices, I stood up and pulled my gray sweats down, grateful I hadn’t put underwear on after my shower this morning.
“You saw them this morning,” I belatedly pointed out, then tapped both piercings with my finger. “This is one, and this is the other.”
“I saw them from a distance this morning,” she argued, tilting her head to see the mid-shaft one better. “And my room’s dark, so it was shit.”
“It was shit?”
“Yeah, like watching Netflix with no internet.”
What the fuck?
“You wouldn’t be able to do that because you’d have no signal.”
“Exactly,” she nodded like it made total sense.
Was it my drunk brain or hers that wasn’t making sense?
Deciding to leave it, I said nothing more as she leaned in closer. In fact, she was so close I could feel her breath as she exhaled on the tip, meaning that my cock started to react, getting harder. Willing it to stop and go back to sleepy penis, I closed my eyes and started thinking of things that would hopefully distract me. My brothers, getting a puppy, how ugly her cat was…
Cat—pussy, Sadie’s pussy…
And then I felt something soft wrap around my length with enough pressure to make me go from half-mast to full alert in a second. My eyes snapped open, and I saw there was now only an inch between it and Sadie’s face, as she leaned to the side and examined the mid-shaft piercing, the top of her head skimming gently over my bare hip.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to then go and reach up to touch it with the tip of her finger, making a low growl burst out of me.
Not letting go, she tipped her head back to look up at me. “Does that hurt when I do this?” She rubbed her finger over it again.
I couldn’t talk. Well, I could, but it’d be something crude, and I only just had the presence of mind not to want to do that. Sadie deserved better, so I just shook my head.
“Your penis is much prettier than the ones I saw online. It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.”
This time, I didn’t have the control not to talk. “How many have you seen?”
Leaning away from me slightly but still holding on tight, she lifted her eyes to the ceiling as she thought about it. Jesus Christ, it needed that amount of thinking?
“Uh, I dunno,” she eventually shrugged. “Like twenty, maybe?”
And here was the cure for a boner, hearing the magic number.
Grinding my teeth slightly, I thought about the hypocrisy in what I was feeling, but I couldn’t help it. “Twenty?”
“Well, I don’t count how much porn I’ve seen, Elijah,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I keep a running tally of it. Porn is porn, it depends on my hormones.”
Blinking, I sifted through what she’d just said. She was talking about porn? And she’d watched enough of it to not remember how many penises she’d seen in it and not in real life? As in movie cock, not real-life ones.