You Don't Know Jack Schmidt
I’ve always been the social butterfly, the girl with an Angry Vagina Box, the one who goes home with just about anyone for a booty call. So, why in the hell am I lying in bed alone on a Friday night downloading The Watering Hole dating app onto my phone?
Wait, what? No. Why am I creating a profile? No, no, fingers! Stop scrolling!
Kind of nerdy chic, but cute.
I bet he’s a barista.
Why am I drooling over the guy who has a strong set of morals and only wears matching socks? Who the hell is this guy?
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“Hey Jacoby?” I say quietly as we sit in the treehouse copying math homework off each other. “Yeah?”
I’ve been waiting to ask him this question since yesterday, but I had to be certain we were alone first. Going through the foster system as much as I have sucks on so many levels. I may have made it to the eighth grade, but there’s so much I don’t know, and nobody to ask except my new best friend.
“Uh, so...do you know...what a twinkie is?”
“The Watering Hole...it sounds like a pee trough or something.” I shake my head and lay my phone down next to me, willing myself to fall asleep before I do something stupid. The idea waffles back and forth in my mind for almost fifteen minutes. I don’t know what the heck makes me do it, but my finger hits the link to download the app before I can stop myself.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I mumble. Within about fifteen seconds The Watering Hole app is on my phone and I’m opening it to see what happens. Will there be a list of guys I can just choose from? “I bet they’ll all be mega nerds who boast what big dicks they have.” I snort. “‘Cause you know, they speak Spockly and carry big dicks.”
I watch as she reaches for a bottle of lotion. She squirts some into her hand and looks up at me again. “You are about to taste like hot buttered rum.” She says. “My favorite.” She licks her lips and runs her hand up and down my length spreading what must be a flavored lube all around me. I gasp as a cool sensation spreads at her touch, and hold my breath for what she might do next.
She’s going to do it.
Breathe Jack. You got this.
Oh, my God, she’s really going to do it.
My very first blow job.
Susan Renee wants to live in a world where paint doesn’t smell, Hogwarts is open twenty-four/seven, and everything is covered in glitter. An indie romance author, Susan has written about everything from lawn mowers to thick colossal bottles of wine, and has won a Snuggle Buddy award for her nonfiction book, “The Hula Hoop Tester’s Guide to Jumping.” She lives in Ohio with her family and seven tiny donkeys. She’s a Pet Whispering major from OMGU with a Masters in medical care for inanimate objects (a la Doc. McStuffins). Susan enjoys crab-walking through the Swiss Alps, drinking Muscle Milk, and doing the Care Bear stare with her closest friends.
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