The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  If that penis was a piece of clothing, she would be its static cling, never falling off, despite the “jiz” raining down on her. Every once in a while she would yell out a “yippee” or a “hazzah” over her triumph of the penis’s twists and turns.

  Despite the time she was eating up riding the giant cock, I had to admit how impressive it was to see her hang on for dear life. She was inebriated from Cum Guzzlers, she wore a condom on her leg, and her dress rode up her backside, exposing her crack for everyone to see. She must have known that was going to happen because her thong matched her outfit perfectly. The girl always focused on the details, good for her.

  “Hazzah,” she shouted again, after holding on through a big jerk.

  I glanced at the attendant of the machine and noticed he was starting to get frustrated. So was I, so I took matters into my own hands. I walked nonchalantly over to the attendant and said, “This five-dollar bill right here is all yours if you turn that dick up to the highest setting and blast her off the damn thing.”

  “That’s a piece of celery,” the man said, looking at my “five-dollar bill.”

  I nodded. “I’m aware. Please make this end.”

  “My pleasure.”

  With a devious smile on his face, he cranked the dial up to the hardest level, and with one jerk to the side, Delaney went flying into the side of the ring, condom rolling off her leg and slapping Madge right in the face.

  “My condom,” Delaney groaned. “Damn you, Madge.”

  Before things could get out of hand, I took the condom from Madge and handed it over to Delaney, while I helped her out of the penis riding pit.

  “I think that’s enough riding for now. How about we settle down for a second, take a breather, and maybe just talk about the wedding.”

  “Never,” Delaney chanted, “Bring the dong. Bring the dong.”

  As if it was an Egyptian Prince being carted out on a gold throne, four women held the dong bong above their head and escorted it to Delaney.

  I hated that I’d bought the stupid thing now. All I wanted to do was get to the piñata and then go home; I was tired, irritable, and ready to try to begin my erotic plan on Henry.

  But instead, I was watching the four women unwrap a funnel from the package, which happened to be connected to a tube that turned into a plastic penis with an opening big enough for liquid to flow through.

  “Line up, ladies. We’re going to create a domino effect. We need a constant holder and pourer. The rest of you, get in a line and face the dong. We’ll run up and down the line while the cum drink flows out. Open your mouths wide; it’s time to get dong-bonged.”

  I watched from a distance as everyone listened to her, lined up, put their hands behind their backs and opened their mouths. Three ladies volunteered to be the holder of the dong and the pourer. The kitchen staff was on point and had pitchers ready to be poured down the dong funnel. What were they thinking? This entire night didn’t even feel real.

  “On three,” Delaney shouted. “One, two, three. Guzzle!”

  The signature drink was poured into the funnel and the penis hose part was run up and down the line, splashing everyone in the mouth. If I wasn’t completely sober or had a child growing inside me, would I have enjoyed such a game?

  Alcohol poured everywhere, bouncing off faces and chests, and I knew the answer. I would not enjoy this game . . . at all. I pity the cleaners of this event. I hoped they didn’t charge double.

  While they tried out the dong bong, I talked to the kitchen staff about raising the giant penis. Just two more things, the piñata and the stripper, who’d arrive shortly, so I was trying to move the party along.

  The staff was kind enough to help me raise the piñata on one of the exposed beams. I told them we wouldn’t need to have to anyone move it around. Given the amount of alcohol consumed already, they would have a hard enough time making contact.

  I made a circle around the well-hung penis—no pun intended—and escorted ladies around it. Delaney walked over to the piñata, the penis tube detached from the funnel was now fastened around her neck like a piece of jewelry.

  “Don’t you just love my delicate necklace? It’s so delicate, isn’t it?” she asked while showing off her gem, as if she was selling it on QVC.

  “Just divine,” I said, humoring her.

  Sticking up from her cleavage was Cletus, the miniature blowup doll I bought her. She’d aptly named him Cletus, since he’d spent the entire night stuffed between her boobs. He’d helped her carve, pin, and when she wasn’t clinging on for dear life to the giant penis, she had waved him around in the air like a lasso. Just as I suspected, Cletus made her night.

  “If everyone can gather around before we get started with the piñata, that would be great.” No one listened to me. “Everyone listen up,” I shouted a little louder. Nope, that didn’t help. “Hey cumquats!” I screamed, startling everyone. I cleared my throat. “Thank you. I want to remind you all the, uh . . . authorities will be here shortly to arrest Delaney for being a very naughty girl.”

  “Oh, I’m terrified,” Delaney feigned and giggled.

  “So, we have to bust this penis open fast. A quick reminder, please don’t start gathering your items from the penis until we are done breaking it open. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, and don’t forget to put on your dickwear to protect your eyes.”

  “We’re not children,” Delaney said, grabbing the stick from me and knocking it on the ground a couple of times. “Watch out, ladies. It’s time this penis gets whacked off.”

  Shoving me out of the way, I stumbled into the wall and watched as Delaney worked the crowd, asking them to raise the noise in the room by shouting, “Beat that meat. Beat that meat.”

  “Let me hear it, ladies.” Delaney walked around in the circle, putting her hand to her ear, trying to make their screeches deafening.

  Within the blink of an eye, Delaney raised the stick above her head, called out a war cry and started beating the pinata, showing no mercy.

  Smack after smack, the penis swung around, getting massacred by a drunken phallic-infatuated woman adorned with a cock bong as a scarf, and a blowup doll in her cleave.

  The staff and I all stood back . . . terrified There was no stopping her; I had lost all control of the party, and if the crowd of ladies tore down the building, the only thing I could do was apologize and maybe offer up Sir Licks-a-Lot as an apology—anything to get rid of him.

  Delaney’s arms flew around like a Jedi in an epic battle, and just when I thought she was going to give up, she grabbed the bottom half of the stick, raised it over her head like a sword, and stabbed the hell out of the balls of the piñata. After two stabs, one single cock ring fell out.

  The room silenced. Delaney tossed the stick to someone on the side and dropped down to the floor on her knees. With both hands, she lifted the cock ring above her head as if it was the body of Christ and shouted, “It’s a cock ring.”

  Her battle howl rang through the room, all the women in awe.

  Before I could stop her, Delaney tore the penis off its string, ripped the head of the cock off—I cringed for Derk—and placed the base of the penis at her hips. In a circular motion, she thrust the giant cock at everyone, spilling cock rings and condoms all over the place.

  Dignified and educated women fell to their knees and started scooping up sexual aids, stuffing them in their bras and knocking out their neighbors for the goods.

  In the center of the piñata brawl stood Delaney, holding an armful of paraphernalia and tossing it to whoever wanted to catch them as if she was Oprah saying, “You get a cock ring, and you get a cock ring, and you get a cock ring.” She twirled in circles and sprayed them all in the air, dancing under a sea of vibrating penis rings. “Everyone gets a cock ring.”

  “Your friend has some serious problems,” the waiter next to me whispered in my ear.

  I gave him the stink eye, not liking the way he was talking about Delaney. “Don’t talk about my friend th
at way, you . . . you . . . ghoul.”

  Yes, Delaney had problems. Yes, she was experiencing a high dose of crazy at the moment, but this was her night, her dream party, and I would be damned if anyone but me judged her.

  The floor was being swept up by all the ladies, making sure every last piece from the piñata was claimed, while I dragged a chair to the opposite side of the room, the seating area where the stripper would be entertaining Delaney.

  I snuck over to my purse really quick to grab my one-dollar bills for Delaney, when I saw a text on my phone from Henry.

  Henry: Hope you girls are having fun. Please be careful and don’t let any strippers smack you in the face with their crotch.

  I laughed and sent him a quick text back.

  Rosie: Don’t worry about me. Just worry about yourself. I have plans for you tonight . . . Mr. Grey.

  Henry: What? (confused face emoji)

  Not answering him back, just to keep him wondering, I stuffed my phone back in my bag in time to see red flashing lights coming down the hallway and the sound of sirens approaching.

  It was the stripper.

  Delaney perked up and looked in my direction. Her hands clapped together right before she put them behind her back and said, “I’ve been a naughty girl. Someone slap some cuffs on me.”

  Wanting nothing more than to restrain my best friend after the activities that took place tonight, I escorted her to her chair, grabbed the pair of fur-lined handcuffs I’d brought for the occasion, and kneeled behind her so I could fasten them.

  The entire room went silent as the stripper entered the room. I couldn’t see what was going on, as all I could hear were the sirens turning off and music turning on. The room gasped when clothes ripped, and I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. I knew the man candy I’d picked out for this party had the right nipple size and penis package for Delaney; I couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

  The cuffs were being difficult to clasp, but I finally got them in place and stood up to take a good look at Mr. Beefcake, Man Balls Mahki, but instead of the stripper I picked, standing in front of me was the one and only, squirrel tail.

  Alejandro.

  He was already stripped down to his banana hammock and thrusting his junk at every woman in the room. The smooth, bare and perfectly proportioned nipple man I ordered for tonight was nowhere in sight, and in his place was Alejandro with a bush popping out of his underwear and enough hair on his body to keep a polar bear warm during the winter.

  “Who is this hairy abomination?” Delaney seethed at me. We both watched Alejandro put his foot on a lady’s chair and thrust toward her face. I prayed stray hairs didn’t fall into her Cum Guzzler.

  I gulped, not liking the tone of her voice. “Um, I have no clue. The company must have gotten my order mixed up. Let me call them real quick.”

  “Do not leave me here. If that lap broccoli touches me, I will murder you.”

  “Give me one second.” I held up my finger. Alejandro wasn’t even close to Delaney; I had time.

  Quickly, I grabbed my phone from my purse, ignored one of Henry’s text messages and dialed the company’s number who provided me with Alejandro. The line rang a few times before someone picked up.

  “Balls to the Wall, this is Roshanda.”

  “Yes, hi Roshanda, this is Rosie Bloom. I scheduled for one of your male strippers to come dance at my friend’s bachelorette party tonight.”

  “Hold on,” she replied with an irritated voice. I heard her fingers clicking away at a computer before she said, “Did he not show up?”

  “Well, someone showed up, but not the person I booked. I booked the guy with the giant man balls, Mahki; instead, I got a hairy gorilla who is currently prancing around the room.”

  In a monotone voice, the lady responded, “Let me see what’s going on.”

  More keyboard clicking.

  “Ah, yes, by the way you addressed the men at the audition, we feared you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off Mahki, so we booked you with someone we thought would work well with your party.”

  “What?” My voice rose. “You can’t do that. I’m paying for this service, not for you to decide who smacks my friend in the face with their junk.”

  “Yeah, you signed a contract, and in the fine print it said we reserve the right to change any reservations if it seemed like our employees were at risk.”

  “That is ridiculous.” I snorted. “In what way would we have harmed your employee?”

  “Let me look.” It was clear in her voice that I was inconveniencing her. “In the notes it says you referred to the stripper of your choice as giant man balls and said you couldn’t wait to give your friend a black eye with his junk. The dancer didn’t feel conformable with that statement and requested to have a fill-in.”

  “That’s preposterous. I was just joking.” Not really, but the lady didn’t need to know that. “I want my money back.”

  “No refunds. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Oh, you just got on my bad side,” I said. “Expect a nasty review coming your way when you go into work tomorrow. This will not be the last you hear of me.”

  The phone went dead. The bitch hung up on me.

  “How dare she.”

  I was seconds from redialing the phone number to give her a piece of my mind when I turned to find Delaney’s head voluntarily buried in Alejandro’s bush. My entire body revolted, sweat slicked my skin, and the familiar feeling of needing to be sick hit me hard.

  Not wanting to make a mess near Alejandro’s crotch . . . again, I sprinted off to the bathroom, where I knelt in front of the toilet, and for the first time felt the effects of little Beelzebub.

  By the time I was able to peel myself off the floor, the party was winding down, Delaney was passed out on the floor, and Alejandro was stuffing his junk into a pair of sweats. He looked up at me and smiled.

  Pointing his finger in recognition, he said, “Ah, Roseanne, right?”

  “Rosie.”

  “That’s right. You’re the bonita that threw up on my crotch.”

  “Because I choked on one of your pubes,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself. “It’s called a razor; try it.”

  “Why would I do such a thing? The ladies love a man who is comfortable in his natural state of being. This right here”—he waved at his body—“is one hundred percent natural. Just ask your friend over there. She spent a good five minutes buried in my male scent.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head and held up my hand. “Don’t call it that. For the love of God, do not call it that.” My stomach began to churn again.

  “Aw, you’re a sensitive little darling. Well, I will tell you this. I’ve gotten over what happened between us. If you would like to try again, I have time before my next showing.” He casually walked over to me and tilted my chin so I was forced to look him in the eyes.

  “Ew.”

  I said it before I could even think about what was coming out of my mouth. I blame the kid.

  Insulted, Alejandro dropped my chin and walked away. “Your loss. Good luck finding such finesse like myself.”

  He wadded up his ones and took off toward the front door. Relieved, I looked at Delaney and sighed. It was time to call Derk.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sniff, Sniff, Kiss, Kiss

  HENRY

  Once Derk got the signal from Rosie to come peel his fiancée off the ground, he bolted out of her apartment, ending our poker game immediately. That was an hour ago, and Rosie was nowhere to be found.

  Sir Licks-a-Lot and I now sat on the couch together, waiting for the lady of the house to return. I was shocked when Rosie left this morning without saying goodbye, and equally shocked that I slept through it all. I hadn’t been sleeping well, because I’d been worried about the job, worried about Rosie, and worried about our future.

  Last night, knowing the job was secure, I got some much-needed sleep.

  Once I realized s
he was gone for the day, I called Derk, and we met at the jeweler. I had no idea what size finger Rosie had, so I made sure to get something a little bigger in case she had to size it down. She didn’t have sausage fingers by any means, but I still didn’t want to chance it.

  Derk wasn’t the best at picking out rings. His picks were all modern, things that would suit Delaney well, but not Rosie. My girl was old school, she appreciated vintage jewelry. Luckily, the jeweler had a line of engagement rings that were perfect for Rosie’s style. I ended up picking one that had three stones, representing the past, present, and future with filigree on the side, a design I knew Rosie would love.

  Within an hour, I had purchased an engagement ring, and needed to figure out the perfect time to propose. Knowing Rosie, she would assume I was only proposing because of the baby, if I proposed after we talked about it, so I needed to figure out something soon.

  “Where is she?” I asked Sir Licks-a-Lot, who’d found his way onto my lap. I was scratching his head, wondering when this relationship had started. “Do you think she’ll like the ring?”

  Pretty sure if I gave him a chance, he would shit on the ring.

  “Yeah, I think so. She’ll love it. Now, how should I propose? I’m guessing strapping it to your collar for a cute pet proposal wouldn’t go over well.” He sneezed and I took that as a no. “I could do it here in the apartment. I could ask her out at the beach where her parents live, or back at campus where we first met. Going on vacation is always an option as well. Give her a little distance from you.”

  His ears drew back in discontentment.

  “Hey, it’s your own fault. You steal her bras, hack up hairballs on her shoes, and beat her at games she wants so desperately to win. She gives you opportunities to be friends, but you don’t take them. I honestly don’t understand what your issue is. Are you gay? Is that why you love me so much? If you’re a homosexual feline, we will be one hundred percent okay with that and support you in any way we can. I don’t mind going to gay bars for cats, seems like it would be a good time. And I know Rosie would be supportive, but if that’s the case, you have to let us know.”