Chapter One #2
God, I was married to a man who lay on top of me with his soft, pasty body and grunted a few times before he rolled off, satisfied with the lackluster and abominable job he did.
He’d always say, “Great job, babe,” while I literally waited out, the twice a month we had sex, to scurry away and get myself off.
The fact that we remained married for twenty years is a testament to my faithfulness to keep a promise. And my ability to hide the bevy of sexual pleasure toys I left behind in the divorce. Yes, I left them…in a box with Poppy’s name on them.
I’m a girl’s girl.
And, after all, she doesn’t mind sloppy seconds.
But screw all that… I have lifeguards.
I sigh, staring because they’re a hot variety too. Like Love Island age. When life is all about making bad decisions, but doing so while sexy.
One of them epitomizes a blond surfer type. Perfect body, kissed by the sun, with the kind of tousled hair that probably always just stays perfectly styled because all he does is run his hand through it.
The other has light brown hair and a young Keanu look, but add tattoos. Yummy.
And by Keanu, I mean from that surfing movie where his abs were so perfectly sculpted that you could see the lines through his T-shirt when he was in the ocean.
I smile, my mouth only kind of watering as he turns toward me.
“Yep. Hello, Point Break. Guess I have to drown myself now.”
The thing about being in your prime is that your sex drive feels much like eating with a tapeworm. You’re never full and always hungry.
Shirtless Blondie runs his hand through the water as he says something that makes the other laugh.
Big hands. I lick my bottom lip.
They’re speaking loudly enough that I can hear the baritone but not make out what they’re saying. No matter, this is my new favorite show. I’m happy to watch it on mute.
Point Break sluttily takes off his shirt too, and I’m frozen in horny place. Because are they both getting into the shower together?
There’s only one showerhead.
To say my stomach gets warm is an understatement, because the idea of these two men sharing a spout just made me tingly in all the deepest places.
I should look away. No, I shouldn’t. It’s not like they’re getting naked. They’re just bros, who might, just possibly, or are maybe about to wash each other’s backs. It’s actually super wholesome.
More men should create friendships like this.
But as I gaslight my depravity, my eyes grow wide because Blondie dips his thumbs just inside the waistband of his red board shorts.
“Oh my god…are you taking those off…sir, we are in public.”
I know my mouth is open because I momentarily notice the fog on the glass. As if it’s Christmas, Point Break follows his lead, slipping his thumbs beneath his band.
Holy shit.
This is karma for being a good person. I’m reaping the cosmic rewards for being a decent human.
I love me. I’m so proud of myself.
Oh god. Hip is exposed. I’m blinking a mile a minute. Fast enough that they look like those drawings on paper that only move when you flip through them quickly.
Blondie turns around, exposing the top of his ass as he dips his head under the water.
Holy shit. I can’t watch this. I shouldn’t. This is weirdo behavior.
Then again, it’s not like I’m looking through their bedroom window. Just mine. Plus, anyone could see them. They’re doing this in public. I’ve basically been invited.
Although this is the side of the house, maybe they assume privacy? They did come from the beach.
A thousand more points and counterpoints go through my head, but my body stays glued to the spot where I’m standing. Except for the small step I take to bring my legs closer together so I can squeeze them.
Oh god, it’s settled, I’m a criminal. A lech. A pervert.
I accept me.
So I don’t move. Instead, I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, letting it drag out slowly as I watch six-packs flex and move with each tug of the shorts.
Why are they taking so long to de-pants? It’s like they’re teasing me.
I’m waiting with bated breath, my chest rising and falling with depraved intention as that red fabric dips right, then left, then right, then left.
I hum out a breathy chuckle because I realize my shoulders are wiggling along with the movement. But my wide-eyed expression slowly drifts into a frown. Because joke’s on me.
Both men drop trou only to reveal little red Speedos.
My head draws back as goddammit draws out inside my mind.
I look away, half-annoyed because I got what I deserved. I’m objectifying two hot, sculpted men.
Who do I think I am? A man?
No, I’m a starving woman who’s desperate for sausage, that’s who. I’m horny with a capital H. Ever since the separation, it’s felt like seeing color for the first time.
I’m shaking my head as I glance back, narrowing my eyes at the cock teases.
Blondie, who I’m going to name Rocky Balboner because he has amazing arms and a well-filled-out Speedo, splashes water at his friend.
He’s smiling, his perfectly white teeth on display. It makes me smile too. I’m definitely not smiling because his whole body is now facing me, and all I’m actually thinking is off with the smugglers.
I’m a girl with a bone or the very real need for one. Jesus, I need to walk away.
And that’s exactly what I begin to do when I gasp.
Because Balboner has his hands on the sides of his Speedo.
“No way…”
I’m back at the window. This time, my hand is gripping the fake wood trunk of the olive tree next to me. It makes the leaves rustle like plastic. My teeth carve into my bottom lip as I blink quickly, watching the wet red fabric begin to slowly shimmy down over his hips.
“Go faster.”
This is naughty. I’m naughty. I’m also one inch away from a visual jackpot until his friend, Point Break, who I shall now call Cock Blockhead, stands in the damn way.
“Nooo,” I groan, immediately strangling the tree with my grip.
Now my only view is a very hot back. It’s not bad, just not what I ordered.
Give me porn.
“Move,” I whine. “I want to see a real one.”
Another sad reality of the past me was that all I had was porn or Jeffrey’s micro penis.
And porn dick is unruly. They’re like a cautionary tale.
I’m just a girl looking for moderation.
Regular women can’t be out here doing either breathing exercises and keeping lube on subscription or getting fucked by a belly button.
There has to be a happy middle ground between blowing out your pelvis and holding on to the condom the first time you fuck. I wish that weren’t a true story.
I’m honestly surprised Poppy’s knocked up. I didn’t think semen lived that long, given the distance between his dick and her ovaries.
“Come on” falls from my lips as well as “I’m waiting.”
But I’m too loud, not nearly quiet enough, because my impatience masks the sound of my bedroom door opening. And the deep throat clearing behind me.
All of which I hear on a delay because I’m mid-“Show me the goods” when my eyes almost pop out of my head, and I swing my body around, taking the tree with me, as a very deep voice says, “Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m not a perv!” I scream as the tree slaps me in the face, and I tumble to the floor.
In what can only be described as a Chris Farley through a table kind of fall, I hurl myself, my leg lifting and wrapping around the fake olive tree for some unknown reason as I hit the floor with the loudest thud, looking like a deranged koala.
Face down. Hairy ass up.
Fuck. My. Life.