The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 3)

Alex: I’m not kidding; all I have to do is step out of the house and guys fall at my feet. I could screw anyone I wanted, any time of day.

Me: Holy shit. You sound like the assholes I hang out with.

Alex: Well COME ON! Give me SOMETHING here. What warm-blooded male doesn’t want to flirt a little??? You don’t want to see my boobs any more than I want to show them to you, and you don’t want to sext. Are you gay???

Me: I’m not gay, and I NEVER said I didn’t want to see your boobs.

Alex: Fine then, are you human? Or does cold blood run through your veins?

Me: Trust me, I’m warm-blooded.

Alex: Oh yeah? How warm are you? Tell me, Rhett.

Jesus, I can’t take it anymore. Her nagging to get what she wants has me turned the fuck on. Throbbing, hot, stiff, hard—take your pick.

Me: I’m hard as a fucking rock right now.

Alex: Is it big?

Me: My cock?

Alex: Yes.

Me: Yeah, I guess.

Alex: How big?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere, population two thousand twenty-nine. Graduating class of two hundred thirteen. An hour and fifteen minutes to the closest supercenter.

Seconds pass before my hand leaves the touchpad of my cell and snakes down the front of my tight boxers, rubbing the hard length between my legs through the well-worn cotton.

Squeeze.

Groan.

Fuckkkkkkk.

Alex: Hello? Say something, I’m so hot right now.

Mouth falling open, I stroke myself up and down, not giving a fuck if my dick is chafing through the material. Not taking the time to lift the waistband and stroke it properly.

Alex: You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? Tell me.

Me: Yes.

Alex: Stroking it up and down?

Me: Yes.

Alex: What does it feel like?

Me: Hard. Good.

Alex: Really good?

Me: I mean—it’s my hand, so how good could it actually feel.

Even aroused, I attempt a joke.

Alex: My hands are smooth and stroking my thigh, all the way up my flat belly.

Me: Are your legs spread, Alex?

Alex: Are yours?

Me: They are now.

Me: What are your fingers doing?

Alex: They’re in the waistband of my panties.

Me: What color?

Alex: Baby blue, see-through—you can see it all through the lace.

Me: Fuck that sounds sexy.

Alex: So sexy. What color are yours?

Me: Black. Sometimes I don’t wear any.

Alex: You free ball? Isn’t that what guys call it?

Me: Yeah—how do you know that, Alex?

Alex: I have a brother. He’s a pig.

Me: Would he approve of his little sister getting off with some stranger?

Alex: Could you do me a favor and stop calling me Alex?

Me: Uh, okay.

Alex: My brother would want to beat you up.

Me: He could only try to kick my ass.

Alex: Are you a big boy?

Me: Fuck yes. All fucking over.

Jesus, is this seriously me talking right now? I’ve never said anything that sexual in my entire damn life.

Alex: God I love hearing you talk like that. You sound so sexy Rhett.

My name flashing across the screen has me digging into the elastic waistband of my underwear. Pushing down the fabric and sliding my hand inside to free my throbbing dick.

Groaning from the excruciating pain of my need, my want.

Fuck.

Lifting my hips, I push the boxers down my thighs. Toss my phone to the comforter, spit in my palm, stroke up and down.

My phone softly pings twice and I turn my head, eyes seeking the message preview on the tiny screen. I grab the phone again and with one hand, hold the phone, letting my thumb tap out a reply while the other strokes my cock.

If I close my eyes and pretend, I can almost imagine the hand is hers.

Alex: Say something Rhett, say something. Christ, I’m begging you. Please, this is making me feel so good.

Me: Jesus Alex, my balls are tight.

Alex: I’m so…hot for you.

Me: I’m gonna come.

Alex: Mmm, I can picture you touching yourself.

Me: Don’t stop talking.

Alex: Are your boxers down around your hips?

Me: Are your fingers in your pussy?

Alex: Yessssss…

Me: You alone in your apartment?

Alex: No. Someone is in the next room.

Me: Are you moaning?

Alex: Yes, I can’t help myself.

Me: Make it loud, let them hear you.

Alex: Yesss

I rest my head against the headboard, letting my one clenched fist do all the work, working up and down the base of my cock. I close my eyes and try to visualize what Alex looks like: long black hair sweeping across her bare breasts and pale skin. Big, bare breasts with dark nipples. Legs spread. Fingers playing with her clit while she thinks about me stroking myself.

With a groan, my balls tighten painfully, pleasure starting at the base of my dick and working its way to the head. As the pre-come slickens the tip, my teeth bite down on my tongue.

I hiss.

Grip the base, jerking it hard and fast. Stroke after firm stroke until I’m coming in the palm of my hand.

My hips twitch. My dick throbs. My vision blurs.

I look down at my phone in a daze.

Alex: Babe, did you come?

Babe. No one has ever called me that before.

I blush at the sight of the word, knowing she wouldn’t say it if she got a good, hard look at me.

Me: Yes. All over my stomach.

Alex: I want to see.

Me: LOL. I’m not sending you a dick pic.

Alex: Not even if I beg for it?

Me: No fucking way.

Alex: I’m so hot for you right now, please Rhett, I’m so close to coming.

Me: Sorry, still no dick pic.

Alex: Oh shit. God, just the word dick is making me come. What would you do to me if you were here?

Me: I’d get on my knees and go down on you. Lick between your legs.

Would I? Would I have a clue how to do it if I had the chance?

Alex: Oh God, yes.

Me: I’d suck you off until you came on my face.

Me: I wouldn’t even take your panties off. I’d suck right through the lace.

Alex: How hard would you give it to me?

Me: However hard you want it, baby. However hard you fucking want it…

.

Rhett

“Someone remind me why we’re here when we have to be checked in for curfew tonight?”

We’re standing in the living room of a massive fraternity house on Greek Row, shoulder to shoulder with half the student population. The theme, it appears, is Revenge of the Nerds meets Animal House, with half the partygoers dressed like a nerd in one form or another—white collared dress shirts tied off above the belly button, black glasses with tape in the middle, short plaid skirts, thigh-high socks—and the other half in togas. Several dudes walk around with sweatshirts that say College in white block letters.

I’m pretty sure we were supposed to have paid at the door, but somehow we slipped through without paying the cover.

The music is deafening but the brotherhood game is strong.

And, for the first time since living with Gunderson and Eric, I’m the one who wanted to party. It didn’t take much convincing—just the promise of cold beer—but they’re both skeptical about the reason I suddenly wanted to go out. This isn’t my scene and we all know it.

Still, neither says no the opportunity to get drunk or laid.

“Tell us again why we’re at a frat party?”

“To drink free beer?”

They exchange glances. “You’re the one who fights us on going out every week.”

“I know, but I had a burr in my ass this morning. Maybe I’m sick of sittin’ home when everyone goes out during the week.”

Gunderson commiserates. “That’s true. Zeke and Ozzy are out tonight. Oz’s girlfriend James posted some shit on Insta about being at some wine bar, or maybe it’s one of those wine tasting places.”

“That’s the same thing as a wine bar, idiot.” Eric can’t contain his disdain.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnson.”

“Guys, Jesus, keep it down.”

We walk farther into the room, into the party, and my roommates immediately find people they know, girls they’ve fucked or fooled around with.