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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Meghan Quinn
Read between
January 14 - January 14, 2025
“Yeah, about a guy who was jogging by you this morning. You said his penis was swaying like the wrecking ball in Miley Cyrus’s music video and he needed to wear man panties rather than free-ballin’ it.”
But it wasn’t that sort of quiet. It was the quiet that confirms no one awaits you as you walk through the door. The quiet that confirms you’ll be cooking and eating dinner on your own again tonight. The quiet that bounces off the walls when you watch TV and laugh at the stupid humor. The quiet in bed when no one farts next to you.
I mentally applaud Going in Blind. No, an applaud is too tame, I need something more meaningful. I mentally ass slap them, right on the glute, hand to skin, leaving a red mark, a red mark of love. Nothing says thank you like a branded red-slap to the old buttocks.
Not wanting to scare him away, I refrain from jumping up on the table and shaking my ass in his face while screaming I love meat. He might seem easygoing, but getting slapped in the face by a red-clad derriere might not scream best first date ever.
“There’s no way in hell I would be able to say goodbye to you forever tonight. I not only want to see you again, but I need to see you again.”
“Third grade teacher.” “Mrs. Dole and she was a rotten ho bag.”
All I can think is, this is it, tomorrow morning, they’re going to find my half-harvested body along the beaches of Malibu with a note attached to me that says, “She didn’t blind date well.”
“Look,” I press my pelvis against Natasha’s and pull away. “My V just touched Natasha’s V, but did we share a sweaty night together? No it was just a little V tap.” “A vag high five.” “Exactly.” I point at Natasha. “A little chest bump but with our lady bits.”
“So you twerked for an entire song with a bunch of college students?” “Yeah, there were a lot of flying butt cheeks that day. And let me tell you, twerking for an entire song is not easy. My back hurt for days after.”
We lie in silence for a few moments. Is he going to say something? Is he spending the night? Do I offer him a drink and a high five? Yay, orgasms!
“Whiskey?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure about that, Miss Clark?” “You can either give me a glass, or pour it right down my gullet.”
I sound like Mrs. Clause telling Santa to get his fill of food. Eat, Papa . . . eat!
“With a statement necklace. I didn’t wear a statement necklace on my other dates, so frankly, you’re the real winner.” “Am I?” He cocks his head to the side. “I get turtleneck with unshaved legs and the other guys get dresses with no sight of hairy Mary anywhere?”
“Don’t make me pull my pant leg up right now. It’s a light stubble. A stubble!” “Keep the pant legs down there, lady. No need to disgust people in the middle of their dinners.”
“You’re a freaking smartass, you know that?” “Well aware. So tell me about the dates. You shaved your legs and wore dresses, so that wasn’t the p...
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Call me immature, but when I pee forever, it makes me giggle. It’s like, are you going to stop anytime soon, down there?
“Yes! I’m still here! Engage! Engage! Rid me of my cobwebs. Please!” Well, that’s what I can hear, anyway . . . Clearly, I need to contain my raging hormones and refrain from pelvic thrusting in his face while biting down on my lower lip.
“What’s hockey sex?” Alex asks. “You know . . . the kind where he rips her clothes off, lifts her above his head, and eats her out while spinning around the room like he’s on the ice.” “That’s not fucking hockey sex. That’s figure-skating sex. Hockey sex is more like she holds pucks over her nipples while he fucks her on the bench in the locker room,” Alex counters. “No way, it has to be on the ice. He’s going to take her to the rink tonight, flip on the scoreboard and play porn while he fucks her over the goal. They’re both wearing skates of course, porn everywhere, blaring through the
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“I need to show him my boobs,” Lauren says. “Unzip my dress, Alex, undo my bra.”
“I have no idea what rotten ass tastes like, but if I had to choose, I would say that’s pretty close.”
“I am too sick.” I wrap my arm around my lower half. “Ouch, cramps. Oweee, being a lady sucks. Fuck you, moon!” I shake my fist to the sky.
God, there is no excuse. I’m slut-zilla, climbing dicks like skyscrapers.
“Maybe lay off on waxing your balls for a bit; you’re starting to sound like a lady.” “Bare balls are just as enjoyable as a bare vagina.”
“I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”
When I turn to Dylan, she has one hand on her hip, the other behind her head, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip and she’s thrusting her pelvis in the air.
