Slippery When Wet (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 3

by Chris Genovese

“Eat my pie,” I said.

  I can’t believe I told you guys that. But I said it. I know. Shut up.

  He plowed his mouth into me like he had something to prove. He wanted me to know he was worth it. And damn he was worth it. His tongue twirled inside me, licking all around my hole and then out where it danced back and forth over my pussy lips. His thumb pressed against my asshole and the pressure was insane.

  I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand up. My legs shook and his tongue went deeper inside me, licking at my insides, scooping out the fire inside my pussy.

  Then he pulled away, stood up, and I watched through the mirror as he prepared to enter me.

  “Oh God no,” escaped my lips. “I can’t. I physically can’t.”

  “Shh, it’s alright,” he assured me.

  No, it’s not fucking alright. Don’t you remember the last time when you nearly ripped me in half?

  Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth, wet them, and put them inside me. It felt incredible. His two fingers were so big they were more like the dicks I was used to. A whimper shot from my lips and I thought I might cry as the emptiness inside was filled by his incredible fucking fingers.

  He fucked me with his hand and I backed into him, burying them all the way to his knuckles, bucking my hips like I would if he had me bent over doggy style. My tits shook and my mouth hung open. In the mirror I thought I must look ridiculous to him, but he was grinning and shoving his hand into me. He loved it.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Fuck, yes. Fuck me.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth I wished I could grab the tail end of them and pull them back in, like Indiana Jones reaching for his hat as the stone wall came crashing down. It was too late. The request was out. I meant fuck me with your fingers but he took it as an invitation, THE invitation he’d been waiting for.

  He pulled out his fingers and gripped his cock at its base. The mirror reflection wouldn’t let me see him well enough so I turned, looking over my shoulder, and saw the determined expression on his face. His eyes zeroed in on me and his tongue swiped his bottom lip. He’d been waiting for this moment.

  “We can do this,” he said. “Just relax.”

  I breathed deep and couldn’t control myself. I thought I might hyperventilate as the fear of being ripped open consumed me.

  “We can do this,” he repeated.

  Then I felt his head at my lips. He was going for it…and I was letting him. I was too horny to stop him. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that big dick push its way into me. At least that’s what I thought.

  “Go slow,” I warned him.

  “Of course, baby,” he said.

  He went slowly but it didn’t matter. As the mushroom shaped head of his cock entered me, I slapped the mirror and nearly broke it. The pain was immense. But I wanted it. I held still, frozen in place, as he fed it into me.

  I huffed and puffed and took it a little deeper.

  “Slowly,” I said.

  “Yes, baby.”

  He was probably only a fourth of the way in when my eyes teared up like I was chopping a fucking onion or something. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it. He rolled his hips from side to side and it felt like someone had poured lighter fluid all over me and tossed a match.

  “I can’t,” I said as I pulled off him and crashed against the mirror. “I just can’t. I’m so sorry. I physically can’t. You’re trying to drive a train through the eye of a needle.”

  His brow furrowed. He was confused.

  “Your dick is too big,” I said.

  “Mandy?” Ben called from somewhere in the store.

  If he’d only shown up a few minutes ago I wouldn’t feel like I’d eaten a jalapeno cocktail and pissed it out.

  “We can make it work,” Braden Bot said.

  Make it work? Unless you plan on finger fucking me through our entire relationship, there will be no making it work.

  He was so hopeful. I didn’t want to be the one to break his heart, to be that bitch, but I knew I would be.

  “I need to get dressed,” I said, pulling up my panties and fishing for my bra.

  He was so sweet, helping me fasten it, then pulling my dress over my shoulders.

  “We’re good together,” he said. “You have to see me again.”

  “Maybe I will,” I said as I reached around his neck and pulled him down so I could kiss his cheek.

  Braden Bot stayed in the dressing room for a while, probably too embarrassed to come out. I felt like shit for leading him on but I’d tried to warn him. He was a good guy and he’d eventually find a good woman with a giant, hollow pussy that could handle him. There had to be some out there, right? Some genetically mutated person. Like a sex-charged member of the X-Men or something. A She-Hulk of sorts.

  Ben bought his suit and we left. I went home to ice my pussy with a pack of frozen peas, swearing it was the last time I’d attempt a go at Braden Bot.

  Chapter 3 – No Place Like Home

  The date of the reunion rolled around quickly. As much as I dreaded the event itself, I did look forward to visiting home, not that I expected it to have changed much.

  As predicted, home was pretty much the same. The video store became a Hooters and the arcade evolved into a Build-A-Bear. Build-A-Bear. What an awesome concept. Kids go into a store with empty hands and come out the proud owner of a stuffed pet they helped create and name. As Ben drove past the strip mall, I couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to have a Build-A-Man.

  Not a stuffed man, although that might be a great idea too. A man who never opens his mouth. What am I thinking? He absolutely needs to open his mouth. That’s where we do the stuffing.

  Imagine walking into a store and pointing at an empty shell of a man. You can choose his coat color. Is he white, black, slightly tan? How full will he be? Will he be big in the arms, big in the legs, big in the belly? Of course you’ll stick some extra stuffing in the dick area. That’s a must.

  Then comes the heart. How big a heart do we choose? It’s no secret that women love to love the bad boy. We think that’s what we want. Then he treats us like shit so we finally, after years of contemplation combined with terrible taunts and magnificent makeup sex, hit the road.

  Nice guys, the kind who might have a gigantic heart, usually tend to be kinda boring. Right? I hate to say it, but it’s the truth. Where a bad boy would bend you over the hood of his car, right there in the garage, and pound the hell out of you with the garage door slightly ajar, the good boy will usually expect missionary or maybe, if you’re lucky, some riding.

  The bad boy will be willing to try the fucking wheelbarrow move if you ask for it and will be glad to talk dirty to you. The good boy? Maybe doggy…when he’s been drinking. Any foul language in the sack might scare the hell out of him.

  Reminds me of that guy from my diary entry, the one who wanted me to suck his cock but then said he wasn’t comfortable with going down on me? Remember that? Fuck that. If a man doesn’t eat pussy, you’re gonna find that Build-A-Man in the dumpster…or the incinerator.

  So I’m thinking we might need to put a mid-size heart. Something not too tiny but not big enough that we have to hear about his mama all day.

  Of course, with a Build-A-Man we get to dress him too. Do you like cargo shorts and a vintage T-shirt, a suit and tie, a biker jacket, or maybe he walks around shirtless all day…or pantless too for that matter. Oh, the possibilities.

  Dear God, please bless us with a Build-A-Man shop someday.

  “Oh my God!” Ben shouted as we rounded a bend and passed yet another strip mall.

  I knew instantly what he was so excited about. It was our old stomping ground. Fun Escape. Back when we were in high school, this was the place to be. It was brand new and during our senior year, we’d all rushed over to the trailers set up out front to inquire about jobs. Most of us, us being all the people we hung out with, were hired on the spot. We were bubbly, cute, and legal to work.

  Fun Escape was a giant indoor
amusement park of sorts, attached to a movie theater, and filled with several popular fast food joints, a giant jungle gym, a huge arcade, bumper cars, mini-golf, and tiny-bowling (tiny bowling sounds better than mini bowling, plus I didn’t want to use mini too many times in the same paragraph…fuck, now I’ve used it twice more just explaining all this). Every kid under the age of twelve celebrated a birthday there in ‘96. Wow, 1996. Those were the days, and Fun Escape was the place to be.

  I’d been a birthday party host. This meant no matter the mood I was in or how hungover I might have felt, I needed to put on a smile and prance kids around the park before taking them upstairs to the party rooms where I’d lead them all in the usual sing-song and cake tradition.

  The party rooms were also a private hideout for employee hookups too.

  “I have so many fond memories of that place,” Jill said from the backseat.

  She’d been my boss when I worked there. What a fucking joke. If you knew how many times I had to bail her ass out of trouble because she stumbled in either drunk or high from a wild night…man. I was kind of the unofficial boss without the pay that goes along with the job. I think it was Jill’s hardcore hookups that led to my sexual curiosity and openness.

  I can NEVER tell her that. She’d never shut up about being my sexual Yoda. She’s already joked about it a few times but I never admit she’s right. Yes, she was the Jedi master of the cuntal arts. Is cuntal a word? Ha, we just made it one! Add that to the book, Webster!

  Webster. Why, whenever I see a dictionary, do I imagine some little eight year old named Webster driving his family batshit crazy? Like he’s sitting there making up words and shit. Like, “Hey mama, I got another one. Insidious. I think that word means stealthily treacherous and deceitful. Like my sister, Annie, and her insidious plan to cover up that hickey.” I imagine mama saying, “That’s nice, Webster. Why don’t you write it in a book, dear?”

  Sorry, you know me and my tangents. Ok, back to my story. So Jill was probably more excited than Ben and me when we drove past Fun Escape. I was surprised she didn’t get pregnant working in that place. For a whole year she dated the owner’s son. By dated I mean she fucked him whenever he wanted and used his money wisely.

  I’ll never forget the time I went to double check the party rooms and heard a gruff voice whisper, “Sing it for me, baby.”

  Then, through pleasurable moans and grunts, I heard Jill singing the song I’d begun to hate.

  “Hap…py…birth…day…ohhh…ohhh fuck…Happy…birrrrr…birrrthday…to…you.”

  His name was Jonathan and I remember because it took her like thirty fucking seconds to finally spit out his name. Apparently he was hitting it pretty hard. Don’t ask why I stuck around for over thirty seconds. I was both enthralled and horrified. Hearing them fuck made me horny as hell, but thinking of the fact that I’d have to serve birthday cake to kids the next morning seemed, well, unsanitary.

  The rest of our old town looked pretty much the same. It was early on a Friday so the kids were all in school and the adults were mostly working. I realized how much the people had changed when we stopped for gas on the way to the hotel.

  I stepped in to pay and found an overweight, balding, greasy guy behind the counter. He stared at his register and then glanced up at me with his head still down, double chins on full display.

  “That’ll be thirty-two dollars. Exactly.”

  A spark of recognition crossed his features and he tilted his head to the left like a confused puppy who couldn’t figure out if he liked the snack I held in my hand or not.

  “Mandy?” he said. “Mandy Young?”

  “Heyyyy….” I said, fishing through my memory of the morning’s peruse through my old high school yearbook. I had no fucking clue who the guy was.

  “Come on,” he said. “Roy. Roy Brady?”

  Roy Brady? The hot hunk from the football team? The one I was infatuated with through ninth and tenth grade but finally gave up and decided to date within my means? That Roy? This guy? No fucking way.

  “Roy!” I said as if I’d spotted him, the love of my life, on the other side of the airport.

  He threw his arms open and leaned forward, bumping his belly against a display of tobacco chew cans, spilling them onto the counter and over to the floor. I opened my arms and leaned in to meet him halfway.

  “You are so…fucking hot,” he said. “Wow. Man…people change, don’t they?”

  Still a douchebag. Nice.

  Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad for not remembering him and not liking him once I did. I backed away from his clench and touched his arm gently.

  “They sure do,” I said. “How have you been?”

  “Good,” he replied. “You know. Just hangin’ out, taking it day by day.”

  “One paying customer at a time,” I said.

  “Yep. And you? You here for the reunion?”

  It seemed like a stupid question but I was in one of those situations where any talk was good talk. I wanted to avoid awkward silence.

  “I sure am.”

  Why was I using the word sure so much, like I was some kind of Mayberry mom? Or was that a Wisconsin thing? Like, “I sure am, dontcha know?”

  Ha! Just kidding around. If you’re from Wisconsin, don’t hate me. You guys have outstanding cheese, and the Packers are the only football team I watch (ever since the yummy Brett Favre I’ve been kinda hooked) and Wisconsin Dells fucking rocks!

  Ok, enough kissing my Wisconsin friends’ asses. Love ya, dontcha know? Wait, is that more North Dakota than Wisconsin? Fuck it. Back to my story. I was worried I’d be stuck talking to Roy, but Jill poked her head in and all attention went to her. Thank God.

  “No fucking way!” he said.

  Yes, before you ask, Jill fucked him too. Like I said, he was a football playing hunk. How could she pass that up? She couldn’t.

  “I need a drink,” Jill said. “Ben keeps singing fucking hits from the nineties. If I have to hear ‘Baby Got Back’ one more time I think I’m gonna puke.”

  “Jilly?” Roy screeched.

  And I do mean screeched. Sounded like a car coming to a halt.

  “Yes?” she replied, obviously having no clue who he was.

  I had to stifle my laughter. This poor guy, who’d had such a way with the ladies, and by way I mean his way, was having a hell of a time reconnecting with them.

  “Jill,” I said, “Remember Roy Brady? That guy you were so into back in the day?”

  She glanced at me quizzically. The name wasn’t ringing a bell. Then again, he was younger than she was so it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d fucked him without ever learning his name.

  “Roy,” Jill said, turning the name over in her head with a fake smile only her best friend would recognize. She was about to turn on the charm. “Of course I remember Roy. How could I forget?”

  “You guys should totally hookup tonight at the reunion,” I teased.

  She could kill me later. Watching her squirm was totally worth it. Ben saved her, as he bounded through the door, waved at Roy, and said, “Hey Roy! Good to see you!”

  How the fuck does he remember him?

  This time it was Roy’s turn to look confused. He had no idea who Ben was, but that didn’t surprise me. Ben had put on a bit of weight and other than being the showtune singing drama club member, Ben didn’t make an impression on many of our classmates. Some would mutter the word “queer” as he passed in the hall and the quiet girls in his classes loved him, but to anyone else, he failed to exist. We had a large graduating class though.

  I couldn’t pay Roy quickly enough. I only wanted to get to the hotel. The thought of facing more people I had no desire to see made me nervous. That was the evening I had to look forward to. The sole reason for me being back home was to go to a big room full of people I’d avoided for many years. Why had I been so willing to come along for this trip?

  ***

  The hotel was big and brand new. Jill hopped out of the car, yanked
her bag out of the backseat, and bounded up the steps, leaving Ben and me in her dust. She was way too excited for this weekend. Me? I was busy trying to come up with a way to explain my job. Saying that I sold the advertisement space surrounding an indoor arena sounded too lame.

  “Are you gonna lie?” I asked Ben as he passed me the handle to my rolling suitcase while humming what sounded like the chorus to Tom’s Diner, you know the doot…doot…doo…doot…”

  “Lie about what?” he replied. “I’m out and proud and there’s no way I’m going back into the closet.”

  “No, about your job.”

  “What? I love my job! What’s not to love about being a personal shopper?”