3. June
June
Have you ever been dicked so good that all you can think about is getting it again?
I’m talking instead of cloud nine, you’re riding the cloud dick train.
Dick that makes you ache between the legs, both from the experience itself, and wanting it badly again.
It turns everything you do into a potential dicking.
Do the dishes? What about getting railed from behind?
Take a shower? Slam me against the wall.
Check the mail? How about a little exhibitionism?
I wake up thinking about that thick, juicy cock, and I go to sleep wishing I could manifest it into my ravenous hole.
I swipe through the matches on my phone, none of the guys putting off the type of vibes I’m fiending for.
I even up the age parameters, hoping like hell I’ll come across the guy from the bar.
Not that I’ve ever been the type to chase down a lay like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
And just imagining the adrenaline I felt that night, laced with the insane pleasure, it has me doing nearly anything to track that thrill down again.
It’s been a week. Seven days of working multiple jobs and dealing with my idiot roommates, and I haven’t seen the mystery man once.
Every night, I wipe the tables down and glance over at the corner booth he would usually reside in and wonder where the hell he is.
Not because I caught feelings or anything like that.
I’m game with keeping things strictly professional, in an X-rated kind of way.
It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be found.
He went from being in the bar a few times a week to nothing at all.
I don’t even have to know his name. I’m good with anonymity.
Does he regret hooking up with me? What if he’s in jail for beating up that guy?
But instead, I’ll settle for trying to match with someone random and hope that it’s enough to satiate my desire.
“You want to leave early?” Jack asks me. He props his elbow up on the counter. “Pretty slow and doesn’t look like it’s going to pick up anytime soon.”
I straighten up and glance around. “I mean, you’re the boss.” Forty-five minutes isn’t going to make or break my already depleted bank account and there’s a slim to none chance that any of the people in here will tip me anyway.
“Yeah, get out of here.” He nods to the kitchen area. “I can pull help from there if I need it.”
“Thanks.” I slide off the stool, grabbing the bottle of well vodka nearby and putting it back in its place on the shelf with its brothers and sisters.
“See you tomorrow, June.” Jack tosses the rag he was using to clean the counter over his shoulder.
He’s a decent man. A bit awkward when it comes to menstruation, but what guy isn’t?
He was kind enough to take me on when I needed another job, and he’s been considerate to let me flex my hours when my other two jobs demand more of my time.
This shitty dive bar is exactly that, a shit hole, but it’s my favorite place to work, and trust me, I’ve been around the block.
Literally.
I make my way out the front door, sidestepping a couple that drunkenly walks by and almost knocks me down.
The two hang on each other, slurring gooey sweetness about loving each other.
I shake my head and turn in the direction they came from. The Haven District.
AKA, a fuck ton of bars jam-packed in a side of town where booze can be carried to and from in open containers.
Stay in the Haven, you’re good to go. Leave the Haven, bye-bye alcohol.
I pull out my phone and send a quick message to my potential date for tonight, letting him know that I got off work early and can meet him sooner, rather than later.
Fingers crossed that it works out, because I’m ready to bang my last lay out of my system and hopefully get his cock out of my mind.
I could text Cora, see if she wants to hang out in the meantime, but considering I have a one-track thought process lately, I don’t want to bother her just to ditch her for a dude. I’m planning on seeing her tomorrow night anyway, so I should just ride solo tonight.
“Excuse me,” I tell a group of guys standing near the entrance of the bar I’m trying to get to. When they don’t move, I speak up louder. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
Their eyes widen and they collectively stare at me. A murmur of, “Sorry,” then the shuffling of feet as they comply with my demand.
“Bitch,” one of them says.
I stop in my tracks, a few different scenarios playing out in my head.
There are five of them. One of me. They’re piss drunk. I’m too sober.
I could easily throat punch one or two of them before the others get involved. But then that would cause chaos, potentially ruining any chances I have of getting laid tonight. I sigh, settling for the safest option.
I grip the handle and swing the door wide, smacking it into one of them. “Oops,” I say, as if it was an innocent accident. I don’t bother listening to the rest of what they spit out, yet continue into the booming bar.
I weave my body through the crowd, putting those douchebags in the past and silently praying the guy I’m meeting isn’t that big of a tool.
It takes me fucking forever to wiggle up to the bar, finally squeezing myself into an open section and attempting to draw the attention of the nearest bartender.
A person bumps into me from behind, sending me into a patron sitting at the bar. “Shit, I’m sorry.” A legitimate accident this time.
I put my hands out to steady myself, and my victim reaches over to stop me from tumbling over completely.
“Are you okay?” His cobalt blue eyes glance up at me through his dark lashes, something so fucking familiar about them. About him.
My gaze trails down to his lips, to the freckle just barely visible above his chin.
No, it can’t be. It isn’t possible.
My memory flashes back to the summer before seventh grade.
I was maybe twelve years old. I couldn’t fathom the idea of starting junior high school without having my first kiss.
I thought people would somehow be able to tell.
See me as the girl who had never been kissed.
In comes the sweetest, most thoughtful boy I’d ever met.
We had been best friends since childhood before that, but upon telling him about my virgin lip worries, we crossed that boundary together, taking our friendship to the next level.
I was infatuated. Completely in puppy love with him.
That entire summer was full of sneaking out of the house, stolen smooches under the night sky, breaking into the local ice cream shop for a midnight cup of java chip, and dancing in the rain.
It was the shit you see in movies. Raw. Real. Innocent.
And it was over in the blink of an eye.
One day, we were holding hands on the rooftop of our favorite pizza shop, the next, we were saying goodbye through the window of his dad’s run-down truck as it drove away.
I’ll never forget that moment. Watching that stupid pickup sputter and kick up gravel and dirt with each inch it got further from me. I could feel the pull of my heart, the connection I had with him being severed the bigger the space between us grew.
He hung out the passenger window and once it became no longer safe to do, his dad pulled him inside and he pressed his hand against the back glass.
I never heard from him again. And with each passing day, my heart grew cold to the love that had been lost. I had always heard stories of heartbreak.
Whispers of a pain unlike no other. But I never knew what it meant to have a broken heart until that moment.
It was swift, ruthless, and unforgiving.
It came with no warning, and forced itself with no regard.
That was the first and last time I would ever allow myself to be vulnerable enough to feel that way.
I knew the only way to overcome that horrible feeling was to flip the switch and power through.
And that’s exactly what I did. I got myself to the other side, and I haven’t looked back since.
I hadn’t even thought of him in years. Not until now, as I trace the shape of his features with my gaze, wondering if any time had passed at all.
“Coen?” His name rolls off my tongue like a question, despite being certain that it really is him holding onto my shoulder to steady me.
His brows pull together. “J?” He calls me by the nickname he used all those years ago.
It’s then that I snap out of the stupor, shaking his hand off me and standing firmly on both feet. “June.”
He is not the same person I kissed on the beach at night under the stars. Because I am not the same girl who wept for days when he disappeared from her life.
That Coen and June died almost ten years ago, and I refuse to ever resurrect those pieces of me.
It made it all that much easier when I went back to school that fall and everyone was certain I lost way more than my first kiss to that boy a few years older than me.
I went from being worried they would think I was inexperienced, to defending that I still had my virginity intact.
It became a fruitless effort, and eventually, I decided I might as well embrace the girl that everyone accused me of being.
It wasn’t that difficult, considering all the boys paid much more attention to me than the other girls.
Not to mention, I quickly realized how damn enjoyable sex could be.
Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of lousy experiences, but I discovered quickly just how much I liked exploring my sexuality.
And as long as partners are consenting, and safety is being practiced, there’s not a thing wrong with getting in touch with your wild side.
“You look good,” Coen says.
Of course I do. I have my please tip me well outfit on.
“You, too,” I try to reply with as little intrigue as possible.