by Tara Sivec
I can feel my balls start to tighten and I know I’m going to come any second. I know I should slow down and savor what could be my last time with Ava, but I can’t. Her moans are getting louder and it just turns me on even more. She screams my name and smacks her hands down on the couch as she comes, which just throws me over the edge. Usually, she calls me ‘mother fucker’ or ‘dick face,’ so the sound of my name on her lips as she orgasms is enough to make me completely lose my shit. My hips are moving so fast against her ass that the couch starts sliding across the living room floor and, with one last thrust, I start coming. I’m completely oblivious to what I’m doing because it feels so fucking good.
That was my first mistake.
Wait for it.
“SON OF A MOTHER FUCKING BITCH!” Ava screams suddenly and I feel her entire body go rigid before she pulls away from me and scrambles over the arm of the couch.
I can tell by the sound of her voice that this is not a passion-filled ‘son of a mother fucking bitch, I’m coming again’ scream. It’s more of a ‘son of a fucking bitch, I’m going to kill you’ scream.
It takes me a second to realize what’s going on because I’m still in the process of coming, my hips moving all on their own, fucking nothing but air.
My eyes fly open and I find her huddled at the other end of the couch giving me a dirty look.
“What the hell?” I ask in confusion, pulling my pants up from around my thighs.
“What the hell? YOU PUT YOUR DICK IN MY ASS!” she screams.
I open the waist of my pants and glance down at my condom-covered dick in wonder, half expecting him to look up at me and wink for that sweet ninja move he pulled.
Holy shit, I just had anal!
I raise my eyebrows and smile.
Second mistake.
“This is NOT funny. Wipe that Goddamn smile off of your face RIGHT NOW! I was saving anal for my future husband!” she yells at me before reaching for one of the empty vodka bottles on the coffee table and chucking it at my head.
“JESUS CHRIST!” I yell, ducking down behind the arm of the couch just in time as the bottle goes sailing over me and thumps against the side of the island in the kitchen.
“It was a mistake, I swear.” I raise my hands above my head and wave them back and forth like a white flag of peace. “Either you have a really tight vagina, or a really loose asshole because I didn’t even notice.”
Mistake número tres. In case you weren’t keeping track.
She screams like a banshee and I have just enough time to wrap my arms around my head before she dives over my end of the couch and starts smacking every inch of face she can reach.
“I’m sorry! Jesus, I’m sorry. Stop hitting me! It was an honest mistake!”
“HONEST MISTAKE?!” she screeches. “An honest mistake is speeding, spilling a glass of milk or calling someone by the wrong name. It is NOT sticking your dick in the wrong hole!” she argues, her fist connecting with my cheek.
In between grunts of pain, I manage to grab onto her wrists and stand up. Her hair is a mess around her face and her cheeks are red from exertion and even though I’m pretty sure I should excuse myself to get rid of the jizz-filled condom I’m still wearing, I can feel myself getting hard again.
She tries to struggle out of my grasp but I hold on tight as I climb over the arm of the couch and push her onto her back on the cushions, resting my body on top of hers. Holding her arms above her head, I stare down at her face and try really hard to wipe the goofy smile off of my mine.
I don’t know what she’s so worked up about. It really was an honest mistake. There’s only like a one-inch distance between the two holes. It could happen to anyone.
“You know, since I was already in there…”
Yep, you guessed it. I should probably just stop talking.
I may have her hands pinned, but her legs are still in working order. Her knee comes up between my legs and slams right into my balls.
I let out a scream and roll right off of her and onto the floor, clutching onto the boys as I curl up in the fetal position.
In between whimpers of pain, I watch as Ava gets up off of the couch and storms around the living room, picking up random objects: a shot glass, an empty bottle of vodka, the remote control and a huge jar candle. She cradles everything in her arms and then stalks over to me.
“I don’t think Charlotte and Gavin expect you to clean up the living room,” I groan, pushing myself up from the floor gingerly and wincing when it feels like my nut sack is going to explode.
“Oh, I’m not cleaning up. I’m going to shove these things up your ass and see how you like it,” she tells me.
“I told you I was sorry,” I remind her, using the edge of the couch to push myself up from the ground.
“We are never having sex again!”
I laugh and, with my hands cupping my balls, I start walking down the hall to Gavin and Charlotte’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. I’m definitely too drunk to drive back to my parent’s house. Hopefully Gavin and Charlotte won’t mind if I crash here.
“You said that last week, Ava. Admit it, you can’t get enough of me.”
I hear her curse and I can’t help but laugh as I use a wad of toilet paper to remove the condom and throw it in the trash before hobbling into the bedroom.
This day started off shitty and even though I can almost feel my balls up in my throat after that kick Ava gave me, it still ended on a good note. I kind of, sort of popped my anal cherry. Technically, I guess I popped her anal cherry, but semantics…I feel like I should tell someone about this. Is this the type of thing you post on Facebook or send out a mass text about? If not, it should be.
Tomorrow, I’m going to think about the fact that the man I grew up with isn’t my father and pray my parents aren’t hurt when I tell them I need to find out who he is. I have to know where I came from. Not just because it’s imperative that I have an official birth certificate, but also because I need to know if my dad was a turkey baster or some asshole who slept with my mom and then never spoke to her again. When I do find out who he is, I’m going to beat his ass.
Climbing into bed, I slide my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.
I have no idea who my father is.
I just had anal!
But I have no idea who my father is.
ANAL, MOTHER FUCKER!
Shit, I hate being so conflicted.
As soon as the photo loads to the page, I do a quick preview of my blog post and smile. Something Charlotte said to me the other day when we went shopping struck a chord. She called me the Rain Man of fashion. Ever since I was a little girl I have always been obsessed with clothes and shoes, purses and jewelry. I would take playing dress-up to the extreme, reorganizing my mom’s closet and putting outfits together for her for an entire year.
Everyone has a blog nowadays. They talk about their lives, their kids, and whatever else they have going on and it’s all the same boring crap day after day. I’ve had a blog for a while and I rarely post on it. When I do, it’s always about an outfit I wore or a sale I found at the mall and I always get a ton of hits, so I’ve decided to test something out and see where it goes. I’m starting an official fashion blog. I’ll keep people up-to-date on current trends and where all the good sales are and post photos of myself wearing certain items so they can see how I pair things together. It’s not something I’ll be able to make a living doing, but at least it’s something I’m excited about.
I hit ‘publish’ on the blog post and, while I wait for it to go live, my cell phone rings. When I see that it’s my mom, I groan before answering it.
“There better be a damn good reason why you called off of work today,” mom says, not bothering with ‘hello’.
Letting out a little cough, I make my voice sound as weak as possible. “I’m really sick, Mom. Like, really. I think it’s the flu.”
She sighs through the line and I watch with a smile on my face as the views
on my blog post already start adding up within seconds of it going live.
“Bullshit. You’ve been on your computer since dinner last night. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to work the Internet. I just saw your blog post go live. Did you seriously call off of work to play around on your blog? You’re messing up a perfectly good career opportunity, Ava. Even though I’m part owner of the company, I can’t continue to cover for you when you do stupid shit like this,” she complains.
I feel the butterflies of excitement about my blog post die a quick, painful death in my stomach when she calls what I’m doing ‘stupid shit’. I love my mom, but she’s never understood the fact that I don’t want to be part of the family business, that I have other likes and interests apart from hers. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I have to squeeze them tightly closed to keep the tears from falling. No matter what I do, I just can’t make her understand how important this is to me.
“I expect you to be back at work first thing tomorrow morning,” she adds. “And for God’s sake, call Tyler. He’s decided that every time you ignore one of his voicemails or texts, he’s going to forward them to me. Remember that song ‘Accidentally in Love’ from Shrek? Well, there is now a five-minute voicemail on my phone of him singing it, but he changed the lyrics to ‘Accidentally in Your Ass.’ I really do not need to know what that is about. Make him stop.”
For right now, I decide the best thing is to just agree with my mom. If I try to explain to her once again how much I hate working at Seduction and Snacks, I’ll never hear the end of it.
I hang up with my mom and scroll through all of the text messages from Tyler. He’s been sending them to me non-stop for five days. Five days since he violated my ass. Okay, fine, it was an accident. I know he really didn’t do it on purpose; he’s not that kind of guy. He wouldn’t just try to sneak his dick in there and figure I wouldn’t notice.
Okay, he probably would, but he would be honest about doing it once I called him on it. He was adamant that it was a mistake and I’m pissed off that I believe him. I’m even more pissed off that, after the initial shock wore off, I was sorely tempted to demand he grab some lube and keep going.
As I read each message, I’m ashamed at myself for cracking a tiny smile.
I need to ASS you a question. Are you still mad at me?
Dear Ava’s Ass: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Love, Tyler’s Ginormous Dick.
I bought a butt plug. You’re right. This isn’t very comfortable.
Never mind. This isn’t so bad.
“I’m in love (with your ass), I’m in love (with your ass). Come on, come on, spin a little tighter” Wow, these lyrics are spot on. I think I found our new theme song. Check your voice mail.
With a growl, I wipe the smile off of my face and finally reply to all of Tyler’s nonsense.
STOP TEXTING ME AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, STOP TEXTING AND CALLING MY MOM!
He replies immediately, asking me if I’ve forgiven him yet and it makes me wonder if he’s been sitting there for five days with his phone in his hand waiting for me to respond. This just makes me angrier because I kind of like the idea of a guy waiting around for me. I just don’t like the idea that it’s Tyler doing the waiting. He needs to go away.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I abandon my blog post, no longer as excited about it as I was, and make my way into the kitchen. Even though I’m not keen on being a part of the family business, I still like the things that are part of that business, namely, baking. I pull out all of the ingredients I need and get busy making some cupcakes. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I certainly don’t want anywhere near Tyler’s heart, but maybe a few dozen cupcakes dusted with rat poison will finally make him realize I don’t want him.
The first batch of cupcakes is on a rack cooling and I’m whipping up some frosting, when I hear the front door open. Glancing up from the mixing bowl, I see my Aunt Claire walk into the room.
“I smelled baked goods as soon as I pulled in the driveway. Ooooh, cupcakes. What kind?” she asks, coming around the counter and bending down to look in the oven.
My Aunt Claire isn’t really my aunt, just my mom’s long-time best friend and business partner. She’s the one who runs the sweet side of Seduction and Snacks and she taught me everything I know about baking.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough cupcakes with chocolate ganache icing,” I tell her as I turn off the mixer and grab a spatula.
“Alright, out with it,” Aunt Claire tells me as she turns around and perches on one of the bar stools across the counter from me.
“Out with what?” I ask her innocently, making sure not to make eye contact.
“You only bake when someone pisses you off or you’re upset about something, so spill. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
I should have known that Aunt Claire would realize something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. She practically raised me and can read me like a book.
“Several people have pissed me off lately. My ‘People to Kill’ list has grown by leaps and bounds in the past few weeks,” I admit.
“Well, that’s nothing new. You hate people. Be more specific,” she tells me, swiping her finger into the bowl of frosting and bringing it to her mouth. “Add a teaspoon of almond extract to that.”
Turning away from her, I reach into the spice cabinet above the stove and grab the almond. I’m not really ready to discuss how disappointed I am in my mom for not understanding my future career choices with anyone, but especially not my mom’s best friend. If I asked her to, she would keep my secret, but I don’t want to have to put her in the position of keeping something from her best friend, so I go with the easier target.
“Tyler. He’s gotten a little taste of the Amazing Ava and now he won’t go away,” I joke, adding the almond to the frosting and mixing it in.
“I’m assuming that’s why you have six boxes of chocolate-flavored laxatives sitting here next to the container of sugar?” Aunt Claire asks, lifting up one of the boxes and raising her eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “We didn’t have any rat poison. I figure if he’s shitting his brains out he’ll be too busy to bug me.”
Aunt Claire gets up from the stool and starts rummaging through the pantry until she finds what she needs. With her arms full of pastry bags, decorator tips and pre-made frosting, she comes back to the counter and dumps everything on top.
“I’m going to kick your mom’s ass for buying this shit frosting in a tub, but it will save us some time,” Aunt Claire tells me as she scoops some of the vanilla frosting from the tub into a pastry bag and adds the standard round tip to the end of it.
“Let’s give Tyler’s ass a break and do something a lot more fun,” Aunt Claire tells me.
I start to say something about how he didn’t give my ass a break, but I’m not ready to get into that with her, either. I watch over her shoulder as she begins piping words onto the cupcakes. Her handwriting with frosting is flawless and beautiful, even with the words she’s chosen to adorn the top of the cupcakes.
I read them out loud, confused a little at the last one. “Smelly crotch, dick biscuit, taint licker…shart fucker?”
Aunt Claire pauses and moves the pastry bag away from the cupcake. “Yeah, I’m running out of ideas.”
She continues writing random things on the cupcakes and we’re both silent for a few minutes as I watch her work, putting as much concentration into these cupcakes as she does with a wedding cake she makes for a stranger.
After a little while, she finally breaks the silence. “You know, Tyler might be immature, but he does have a little bit of sweetness in him, even if it’s kind of fucked up. He’s loyal to a fault and will do anything for one of his friends. Plus, his mom’s more of a slut than your mom, so there’s that.”
I can’t help but laugh and I’m thankful that my aunt decided to stop by. I still need to end things with Tyler once and for all, but maybe I can stop being such a bitch to him. After I
give him these cupcakes, of course.
Aunt Claire finishes the last one, pulling back to examine her masterpieces. “There, all done. I have to stop by Seduction and Snacks after this. Want me to hand deliver them?” she asks.
I nod my head, my eyes zeroing in on the last cupcake. I quickly snatch it from the counter. “Yes, but not this one. He can’t have this one.”
She watches in shock as I shove the entire thing in my mouth. “Hey, that was my favorite one! What’s wrong with Ass Captain?”
“Tyler, what the hell are you doing?”
Looking up from the mess surrounding me, I see Gavin standing at the end of the aisle where I’m currently sitting on the floor. It’s the end of my first week at Seduction and Snacks and really, I should be ecstatic. Every tour I did of the warehouse went smoothly, I answered all the questions thrown at me expertly and I started up a competition with the warehouse workers that’s already starting to boost morale. I’m going to have to set a few ground rules for Vibrator Sword Fight Fridays so we don’t almost lose an eye again, but other than that, I’m pleased with my performance. Shoving a handful of ice cubes into the penis-shaped pillow we carry went a long way towards calming Scott Jameson down after the Racing Rocket came close to making him a Cyclops. Obviously the penis pillow didn’t make him happy, but we don’t carry a vagina pillow. The ice brought down the swelling on his eye and he promised not to sue us for assault with a deadly weapon.
Unfortunately, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Ava won’t return my calls or that I might find out today who my dad is.
“Well, Gavin, I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by vibrators and pocket pussies. Obviously I’m trying to think,” I tell him, lying down on my back in the middle of the pile and swiping my arms and legs against the floor.
“Are you making a dildo angel?” Gavin asks, walking down the aisle until he’s standing right next to me.
I sit back up and carefully stand, making sure not to disrupt my masterpiece. Jumping over the toys on the floor, I stand next to Gavin and we stare down at my pretty dildo angel.