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“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” ―F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Once upon a time there was a magic castle in which everything wilted but the soul of one boy. He was six when she met him. The girl had arrived with her mother to prepare a festive meal for his family. She roamed the hallways, gliding over the marble floors of his mansion on socked feet. She was five—far too young to appreciate the grand arches and courtyards of roses. She slid back and forth, occupying herself until her mother was done, while thunder cracked outside.
She was surprised to see a small shadow lying on a sunbed by the pool, out in the rain. A boy. He lay very still, letting the downpour hit him without resistance. He simply took it, accepting the punishing lashes of hail on his skin. Panicked, the girl began to pound the window. What if he was injured? Unconscious? Dead? Did she even know what death meant? She heard about it sometimes, when her parents thought she wasn’t listening. She banged the glass harder. His head turned slowly her way—lazily, almost like she was of no importance. His gray-blues met her light greens. “Come in!” she
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The girl wondered what would happen if the sun kissed the moon. She had no idea she’d find an answer to that question one day. Or that the person to give it to her would be that very lonely boy.
“Time to wake up, Captain McCrabson,” my friend/angel on my shoulder, Knight Cole, announced. The tip of his Margiela sneaker nudged my back. Based on the hard surface underneath my aching muscles, I gathered I’d crashed on the floor again. And by the sticky feeling in my groin, followed by the breeze rolling through my neatly trimmed pubes, I knew I’d shoved my cock into holes I shouldn’t have the night before, and I was gloriously naked.
Tits. I felt tits. Nice, plump, and natural. Without opening my eyes, I brought a nipple into my mouth, suckling on it idly. “Want some coffee with your milk?” Knight wondered aloud. My hand descended its way along the chick’s stomach, down to her holy grail. She was wet and hot, arching her back, her thighs quivering with need. I began to rub her swollen clit, prepping her. My cock yawned its way into a semi, just as another body pressed against me from behind. Jackpot. “Taking your coffee with milk is like going down on a woman with a condom on your tongue. The Italians would exile you for
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Why were Knight and Vaughn offering me coffee and conversation instead of a rubber? They should be fired and replaced with wingmen who’d actually help me score. Not that I had any trouble in that department. “Just throw me a rubber before you leave, will ya?” “Give your cock a timeout and wake the fuck up.” A muddy boot found its way to the side of my head, threatening to squash my skull. Vaughn, AKA the devil on my shoulder. On anyone’s shoulder, really. I had a love-hate relationship with the motherfucker.
The girl in front of me, Alice, grinned sleepily as she curved her back, plastering her breasts to my chest encouragingly. Shit. I was still fingering her. It was hard not to when she made all those delicious noises. I removed my hand from her pussy reluctantly. The girl behind me, at least, had the decency to stop humping my leg like a guinea pig that had just discovered its genitals.
“You and another dudebro tag-teamed five chicks yesterday.” Vaughn kept his foot on my temple. This violent act was probably the highlight of his week. Why he couldn’t find the simple joys of life in booze, women, and overpriced clothes from aging rappers was beyond me. He made everything seem so fucking complicated.
“All I heard was the word fuck, and I’m definitely game for that.” I patted the table next to the couch, found a pack of cigarettes that wasn’t mine and a lighter, and lit one, puffing smoke upward. I only smoked occasionally, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to look like an asshole when it presented itself. “Why’d you cockblock me?” I squinted, pointing the cigarette between Vaughn and Knight, who stood in front of me, hands on hips, full-fledged and shit.
It wasn’t like my friends to be serious or worried. I sat up and secured the quilt around my narrow waist, resting my chin on my knuckles thoughtfully. “I’m listening.” (I wasn’t. I was thinking about who I wanted to fuck tonight.) Maybe Arabella. No, definitely Arabella. She was the hottest piece of ass that was still single in town.
