In with the New Baby

I then enter her gently and push. I stay in her and then move back. I stop. Then I move forward again.

She sits up and wraps her arms around my neck and bites my shoulder. I feel her teeth gently cutting into the nape of my neck.

I move back and forth more quickly until I reach a steady rhythm.

She cries and moans.

“Jake,” she says. “Jake, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

I say nothing as the sweat beads up and drips down my face and onto her back.

I fuck her really hard now and she’s on the verge of an orgasm. I love to watch her big ass bounce and I can’t help but grab ahold of it and squeeze it some and even smack it for good measure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she screams.

I feel my nuts about to bust and I’m as horny as hell.

She leans back onto the bed as I blow my load into the condom, my cock still filling her up nice and tight as I shoot it into her little pussy.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s it!” she screams.

She orgasms and explodes about the same time I do.

I slow down as she catches her breath.

I collapse on top of her and try to catch my own breath.

We lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of some of the hottest sex I’ve ever had.

“Come here,” she says.

I get up and lie next to her on the bed.

“You’re the best lover I’ve ever had,” she says and looks at me.

I kiss her on the mouth and nestle her against my chest.

I grab onto her and we sit there in the quiet. I can hear the traffic on the street as well as some people laughing and yelling drunkenly.

“Stupid motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“Oh, Jake,” she says. “You need to be more at peace with the world.”

“I guess so,” I say.

Amanda sighs and in a few minutes she’s asleep.

I just want to hold onto her forever and never let anything bad happen to her.

Ever.

Chapter 19

Lincoln

I go home the next morning and just sit around and think. The fight with César Ramirez is coming up and I haven’t given it any thought. The word on the street is that I’m afraid of him; that I’m an injured has-been who simply doesn’t have the guts to face him, or that I’m just an outright wimp. He’s even made vague statements that I’m afraid of him because of his physical prowess.

El Latino Monstruoso, he calls himself: The Latin Monster. He’s a handsome dude with light chocolate skin and a jacked slender body. He’s half Puerto Rican and half Italian, and he’s got dark good looks. Hairy-chested, muscled, charismatic and arrogant, he’s the fan favorite.

I, on the other hand, have lost favor with my fan base. In some ways I’m the hero of the all-American, redneck segment. Just a good ol’ boy for the good ol’ boys.

I don’t want to disappoint them, but I also don’t want to seem like I hate the guy or that I’m afraid of him. In many ways, my nice guy yet tough persona has gotten me far. And I don’t hate Ramirez—I just think he’s a big douchebag.

But business is business and I need to get in shape. I run over to John’s to grab Rex and decide we are going to do some running. Some of the guys I work out with are against cardio. They say it destroys all the muscle work you do; that it pumps up your estrogen level up and gives you a girly voice like those recent Olympic gymnasts.

Fuck, those gymnasts are some of the most jacked-up motherfuckers in an elastic and taut way, skinny or not.

Some of the dudes I hang out with can be so ignorant. It makes me think I need to reassess the social circle I travel in.

I show up at John’s and before I can even knock, Rexie bounds out the door. He raises himself and puts his paws on my shoulders and licks my face.

“I think he missed you,” John said.

“I guess so,” I say and coax Rexie down.

John hands me the dog leash.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

“Thanks, man,” I say, giving him a hug.

“Any time,” he says.

I put Rexie’s leash on and he can’t stand still.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Rexie barks and barks and wags his tail so hard his butt swings wildly back and forth.

We run for several blocks and I clear my head. I think of nothing. Just the pavement in front of me and Rexie steadily keeping up beside me as he jogs along. His tongue lolls and he has that happy-dog-smile look on his face.

At the busy street corner, I stop and wait for the walk light. I’m sweating so I pull off my t-shirt, wipe my face and chest with it, and shove it in the back of my shorts.