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“Friends?” I scoff. “Matt, I’ll be spending the next year of my life manifesting the shit out of you losing your testicles by an inmate you meet on your first day in jail after committing one of your felonies you seem to find joy in.”
“You’re terrible at giving oral, you couldn’t find my clit if it knocked you on the nose, and your penis is crooked, and not in a good way. It felt more like trying to wrangle a bent pencil in my vagina than getting pounded by a beefy salami.”
“Never would have seen you as a creamer kind of guy.” “Oh, I cream a lot,” I say as she takes a seat on an island chair right across from me.
“Nice visual, but like I said, I could do better. Your pussy is not worth my time.” “I have a great pussy,” she defends. “You’re not worth my pussy’s time.”
“Yes, your house is nice. You, on the other hand, just popped out of Satan’s asshole, and I’d rather not share a living space with a fiery anus. Thank you very much.”
“I’m anything but a prince. If you want to address me, you can address me as king . . . or daddy. Never prince.”
“You smell like electric sunshine.” “Electric sunshine?” she asks. “What exactly does that smell like?” I shift, my body precariously growing closer. “Radiance with a zing, like soft summer meadows zapped by lightning. Like a sweet combination of fire and rain. Soft and edgy. Bright and dark all in one.”
