He wants me to be a prostitute. "Thanks, Mark. I'll return the money as soon as I can." I began to collect my phone and purse. "Patience. Sit. You nee... to hear me out. You owe me that much." Fucker. I do owe him, I thought. I slumped back down. "Ok Mark. Go ahead. Tell me your sex plan that isn't prostitution." Mark finished his beer and signalled for another one. I guess he still has me on a diet, though. Whatever. We waited in silence for the beer, I pretended to read my e-mails. Finally, it. We’re being joined. Another guy, as dark as the one is light, and devilishly handsome, his smile gleaming with confidence as he reaches out and runs the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. I shudder, lips parting as I wet them with my tongue, an obvious invitation. He grins, tracing my cheek bones, my jaw, my throat, and finally, my collarbone. It’s getting harder to concentrate as I sense my zipper being slowly undone. The guys have reached some sort of unspoken consent to share me. The very. Sated, at least for the moment, I pulled my pants on, and Marilyn pulled my shirt on. “That looks better on you than on me,” I commented.“That’s because it’s so short,” she said with a giggle.“If you don’t like it, you can always take it off. I won’t mind. Really, I won’t!”“You’re such a jerk!” she said, smiling.“I never noticed earlier. What did you bring with you? Where’s your stuff?”“I packed a quick bag and threw it in the back of my car. It’s out back. Can you get it?”I nodded and headed. Needless to say I was rampant when I arrived home, rushing upstairs on the pretext of homework so that I could calm down before the evening meal. I dare not look at it and managed to just about control myself while we ate, thankfully a young boys second love after permanently yearning for some kind of sex. My father was on nightshift and mother was to visit the cinema with a friend so I was packed off back upstairs to finish my home work, no chance! the book was soon open. I savoured the.
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