Billionaires in Tokyo

I don’t care how much he waggles his eyebrows. We’re not having a threesome. Well, maybe with another man…

My phone is back on as we meander toward the plane, the late Japanese afternoon promising we’ll get home around the same time as right now, if my brain and body can handle it. “I’ve gotta tell Eva this bullshit.”

“You don’t have to tell the resident big ol’ lesbian about every woman coming to crash her turf.”

“Yes, I do, if she’s my best friend.”

Ian rolls his eyes as we board the plane. My tender ass is on a leather couch by the time Eva gets back to me.

“You don’t say? Making me pine for my single days, girl.”

“You’d probably think she’s hot, too. She’s got your style.”

“Wait… now, I’m not gonna suggest that every lesbian in Japan looks and acts the same. I don’t want to have my credibility card revoked, you know. So, uh, tell me her name?”

“…Why?”

“No reason!”

“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you!”

“Maaaaybe. Tell me her name.”

I can’t believe it. Or maybe I can. This world is so damn small, especially when you reach a certain income level like everyone on this plane, that I fully believe that Eva has made her way through every lesbian heiress in the world. I don’t have to share Junri’s name. Damnit.

“So!” Ian sits down next to me and lowers his voice. “Just so you know, I’m looking forward to you proposing to me.”

“Wanna share some of your deepest desires with me?”

“Oh ho ho, if only you knew.”

“Try me.”

He nips my earlobe before saying, “You and me in bed with the windows open, letting in the warm breeze as it tickles our naked skin. You douse my ass in sweet lube before sliding your fake cock inside me, your lips trembling as they say ‘Marry me, my love.’”

One side-eye and he’s cracking up as the plane taxis down the runway. Every time I think my boyfriend is some sophisticated, romantic man, I’m reminded that he’s actually the epitome of eternally teenaged.

Yet somehow I still love his virginal ass. We’ll probably be married by this time next year.