Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

My hunger grew with each item he listed off until I thought I’d bust through the fence like the Kool-Aid Man.

Many men and women would prefer the kind of no-strings arrangement that entailed no post-sex hangout. To come and then go. Jizz and then jet. Ejaculate and then evacuate. Blow the load and then hit the road.

“I love spicy food.” “I know.” He knows. Of course he does. “Except the heartburn.” Shifting me to the side, he pulled something out of his pocket and set it on the table. Antacids. “I know,” he repeated. Not just does he know. He knows. And not just am I in big trouble. I’m in huge trouble.