Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I jerked my head toward Rex’s lap.
“That go in the fuck book?”
The man could barely answer, eyes rolled back up in his head so that only the whites showed. But as the girl took another deep suck, cheeks hollowing, he gasped, head bolting upright.
“Naw, I don’t think so,” he managed through clenched teeth, abs and chest tight. “I did this shit last week with twins, it was better then.”
My head shook.
“Alright, no fuck book then,” were my careless words.
Because we keep logs. It’s leftover from the old days, when I still felt the need to prove myself. We record every depraved act, competing amongst ourselves. There’s some messed up shit for sure. Doing a girl and her mom. Doing twins. Triplets. Triplets and their mom. It’s called the fuck book for a reason. Because we fuck girls but we also fuck ‘em in fucked up ways. Keeps things interesting, puts an edge on life.
But lately, it’s gotten boring. There just aren’t that many variations, you know what I mean? How many times can you bang identical twins? How many times can you do a circus performer who stretches one leg behind her ear while upside down? It was just more of the same.
And clearly, I wasn’t the only person who felt this way.
“Our books are shit,” came a clipped voice over by the window. “Nothing new or challenging.”
I shot a glance at Reginald, a dandy in a tweed suit. The guy was actually interested in the game, bent over towards the stadium with a glass in one hand. He was English by nationality, new to the States but old money all the way.
And Reg lifted his glass in a toast.
“We need to do something different,” he said in that hoity-toity uppercrust accent. “Something exciting. Something marvelous.”
I almost snorted. What guy uses the word “marvelous”? But maybe that’s just how UK people are.
“So what do you have in mind?” I drawled lazily. “What’s up your alley?”
Reginald shrugged nonchalantly, turning back towards the glass. His suit was real dapper, complete with a gaily colored handkerchief square peeking from the breast pocket. Really? To a basketball game?
But Jonas jumped in like an eager puppy, almost wriggling with excitement.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, eyes wide and way too bright. “Got any neat ideas?”
Reg shot him a cool look. Jonas isn’t popular with any of us, and now wasn’t an exception.
“I’m sure between the twelve of us we can think of something,” Reginald said in that clipped voice. “Why, have any ideas?”
That was the opening Jonas was waiting for.
“Yes!” he cried, bolting upright in his seat. “Maybe we could get a girl, tie her to the wall, and take turns beating her. And then after we’re done, I’ll break her free and she’ll act like I’m her savior. Or you can be her rescuer if you want. We can take turns,” he said eagerly. “What do you think?”
I stared at him. Clearly, the boy had problems. Like real serious problems. Because what was up with that fantasy? I get the sadomasochism part, some people like tying others up and whipping the shit out of them with paddles and whatnot. If all parties are cool with it, then I’m cool with it too.
But what was up with the “savior” storyline? Why did Jonas need to play the role of a superhero descending from the sky to rescue a damsel in distress? Jonas was like an insecure teenage boy, desperate to pump himself up and act the big man on campus. Strange. Real strange.
So I shook my head.
“Naw, no need to get all Avengers. Not necessary, I’m good.” Pushing the skinny escort off my lap, I ignored her surprised oomph as she landed on a cushion. Brushing off my slacks, I stood. “Listen, if that’s it, then I’m out. It’s been great, but this game hasn’t exactly been holding my interest.”
But Reg wasn’t done yet. Twirling his moustache like Sherlock Holmes, he raised an eyebrow.
“Well, maybe that’s it,” the Englishman lilted. “We’ve done everything under the sun already. So let’s do the opposite.”
I shot him a skeptical look.
“And what would that be? Grandmothers instead of MILFs? Grand-MILFS? Great-grand-MILFs? I mean, really man. How far does this go?”
Reg’s pale blue eyes were like glints of ice.
“A virgin,” he said simply. “Let’s find virgins for our fuck books.”
Stunned silence for a moment. Virgins? Did those even exist anymore? I thought they were unicorns, mystical and magical, a figment of the imagination. And clearly, other dudes thought the same thing.
“Are you serious?” someone guffawed. “Where you gonna find one? Junior high? Elementary school? Please brother. You wanna go to jail?”
There were more stupid comments as well.
“There ain’t no virgins out there anymore.”
“My mom’s a virgin.”
“Your mom? You wanna do her? You think Daddy-O will mind? Or he in on the game as well?”