F*cking Awkward

by Anthology

  “Um, yeah sure.”

  “Say it,” he says, gasping and heaving.

  “You’re um, big.”

  I swear the horse head is staring at me.

  “Again,” he says, pumping into my leg faster.

  “You are so big,” I say, pulling my phone close and thumbing out another Tweet: Lube is your friend. #GelatinousGlobsOfGoodness

  He abruptly stops when a huge queef bubbles up from the middle of my thighs and echoes throughout the room. “Was that you?”

  “Me? Um, well there’s a lot of lube…”

  “That’s quite okay. I like it. It’s dirty.” Oh my God, he’s breathing in deeply. Is he trying to smell it?

  He pulls back and slides his cock over my feet. What in the actual fuck?

  “Oh, Mommy,” he murmurs.

  Wait, what? That’s…that’s just not right. That’s just too much to unpack right there.

  I’m mortified. This man-boy is having sex. With my foot.

  “Are you close?” he asks, jamming himself along the webbing between my toes.

  “Close to what?” I ask, amazed at his sheer stupidity. Does he think girls can have an orgasm this way?

  “Are you close?” he moans out again.

  “Oh, oh I’m good. You…you just go ahead.”

  A guttural groan rips out of his mouth as he pumps two more times against my foot.

  His body collapses on the tiny bed next to mine and he smiles lazily at me. “Give me five minutes and we’ll do it again.”

  I may have started to weep.

  I seriously consider it a gift from God himself when I hear a woman in the hallway calling his name. I don’t care if it’s a wife or a girlfriend; I just want an excuse to not be here any longer.

  “Joooooon-Boy!” the voice calls as the door swings open.

  There in the doorway stands an elderly woman holding an empty laundry basket. Her gray hair is tied back in a red kerchief and a kiss the cook apron is wrapped around her waist.

  “Who is that?” she stares at me through narrow slits. I am suddenly aware of how very naked I am in her presence. “You didn’t have to pay for this one did you, dear?”

  Tweet: Time to vacate the premises. His mommy is here! #IThinkTheHorseHeadIsHers.

  I find every piece of clothing except of course, for my pants. But I don’t care. It’s a sacrifice I will have to make to get the hell out of here as soon as humanly possible.

  Tweet: So if you see a girl running down Main Street with no pants on, you know why. #MyBigFatStupidHookUp

  The End

  * * *

  Christine Zolendz resides in New York City with her favorite NYPD detective and their two beautiful daughters. She loves reading, writing, wine, and caramel lattes. Get to know her better by visiting her Website, Facebook Page, or signing up for her Newsletter.

  Definitely a J Name (starring Emily, from City Beautiful)

  CM Foss

  There comes a time in every woman’s life to celebrate. Sure, most people celebrate happy occasions, but sometimes you celebrate shitty stuff to make you happy. That’s what led me to dragging my friend, Ivy, away from her new husband and all their wedded bliss to help get me happily wasted.

  “To motherfuckers!” I raised my shot glass high above our bar table and clinked it against Ivy’s.

  She rolled her eyes and slung back her drink, grimacing as she swallowed.

  “I refuse to toast that motherfucker.” She wrinkled up her nose and twirled her glass around. “This is horrible. Why aren’t we drinking your grandpa’s moonshine?”

  “Oh!” I leaned over in my chair to rifle around my purse, and pulled out a mason jar, glancing around as I slid it across the table. “We just had to get the first shot out of the way.”

  Ivy squealed and clapped her hands. “Now this is what the doctor ordered.”

  I eyed the jar. “I don’t know if a doctor would approve of what I plan to do tonight. But I’m glad you do.” I smiled at my friend, thankful she was celebrating a shitty occasion with me, and that her husband didn’t mind.

  “No really. Patrick actually said, ‘Get Emily drunk on moonshine.’”

  I let out a loud bark of laughter. Her husband was a doctor, and while he could be a little stiff at times, he was one of my favorite people.

  “He should have come out with us.”

  Ivy shook her head, her blonde waves shimmering around her. “Not a chance. He said he didn’t want to see you in action.”

  I frowned. “That’s not fair. I look good in action.” I poured us both a shot of moonshine and tipped my glass back, immediately refilling it before tucking the jar back into my purse to hide it. “And that’s the thing.” I raised my voice and threw my hands into the air, wincing as the chronic twinge in my shoulder spasmed. “I’m good in bed. Better than good. I’m fucking great. Before I hurt my shoulder, I could do this thing where—”

  “Ah ah ah.” She held up a hand. “This is why Patrick didn’t wanna come. I don’t need every detail. And don’t explain that to your physical therapist tomorrow. I’ll never be able to go back there.”

  “I’m just saying, there was no reason to cheat on me.”

  “Technically, he wasn’t cheating on you. He was cheating on his fiancé. With you.”

  I groaned and let my face fall into my hands. “How did that happen? I’m just a nice, normal girl from the country. I pay my bills and taxes. I serve people alcohol, but I always cut them off when they’ve had too much. I even drive drunken people home from bars!” I cried out.

  Ivy pursed her lips and nodded. “I know. That’s how you met the douchebag, remember?”

  I glared at her, ignoring the fact that my vision was getting a tad fuzzy. “Well tonight, I’m the one getting drunk. I’m gonna be the douchebag for once.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re well on your way.”

  I took another shot of moonshine and looked around the bar for a willing participant. “Where is everyone?”

  “It’s 7 PM. You have a solid hour to get blazing drunk before you have a chance of anyone coming in that you can make bad choices with.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe I need some beer to chase these with?”

  “Maybe water?”

  “Sally!” I ignored Ivy’s suggestion to call out to the bartender. “Can I get two beers?” I held up my fingers.

  “Only if you put away that shine!” she hollered back.

  I rolled my eyes, as the beers were sat on the bar in front of me, and pulled the moonshine from my bag, then took a huge gulp directly from the jar. “Not a chance.” One a mission, I picked up and downed almost half of the first bottle, before chasing down more moonshine, then winked at Sally to offer my gratitude.

  My back was slammed into the door as … so-and-so fumbled to open it. Name, name, name. His name was … Jason? Maybe? I could probably figure out how to just not use it. I was certain it started with a J.

  “Oh, Emily. Fuck me, you’re hot.” Shit, he used my name! But then I stopped caring about what he called me or I called him as his lips attacked my neck, and his teeth nipped and scraped, filling my inebriated body with sensations. He kept speaking, almost to himself. Hopefully to himself. “I’m gonna insert my Obturator Externus inside your Obturator Internus. I’m gonna thrust so hard that the grey matter in our Sacral Plexi bang together, sending sciatic radiculopathy down to the neuroma’s between our toes.” His words were mumbled and slurred together so quickly as he spoke under his breath that I couldn’t entirely make them out. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. It sounded medical. Sterile, and … drying.

  Fortunately, between strange phrasings, he put his lips to good use, which canceled out the weirdness of his words. I panted and gasped at each lightning strike that zinged down my spine. I felt like we were floating, flying, falling.

  We hit the ground with a thud, but thankfully, Josh braced himself from landing his weight on top of me. I still lost my breath slightly on impact,
but didn’t feel a thing, which was strange considering my neck routinely had muscle spasms and twinges of pain.

  Josh? Hmmm. That was close. I was almost sure.

  A sharp tug on my hair jolted my mind from its wanderings at the same time I felt a tongue glide along the bottom of my foot. I frowned for a moment, first wondering where my shoes went, and then wondering how he licked my foot when his hand was in my hair. I ignored the question of why he would lick my foot in the first place. I would never judge someone on his tastes.

  But when I felt something furry and warm gyrate on my leg, I popped my head up, knocking foreheads with Joe.

  “Shit.” I pressed my palm to my head and gave a little shake to clear my vision. It didn’t help with seeing, but it helped with the pain.

  John was looking at me through narrowed eyes. They were dark and sexy. I was sure I hadn’t gone home with a coyote ugly, so that was good. I just wanted to get lost in getting laid, and at least pretend I was doing it with someone infinitely hotter than my ex was. Through my haze, I had a thought that, just maybe, it was reality. Then again, I didn’t want to know if it wasn’t. All I really knew what that something furry was humping my foot, and as much as my head hurt and was spinning, there was … something furry humping my foot.

  “What the fuck?” I hissed.

  Dude jumped to his feet in a squat position, hands out as if he was warding off an attack. I snorted aloud when I saw his position, and then squealed when a sharp set of teeth sank into the sensitive arch of my foot. Out of instinct, I scurried back in a crab walk, but my arms weren’t quite stable, and I wound up landing, once again, in a heap on my left shoulder. This time, it fucking hurt. It felt like shards of glass shot along the side of my spine and then twisted in, one by one.

  I sucked in a breath as spots danced behind my eyes. Fuzzy spots, but still.

  “Peanut, no!” Jeremy hissed at the small, brown mutt that scurried away. “Are you okay?” he whispered, clumsily pushing the hair off my forehead. At least he was definitely as drunk as I was.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” And I was. The pain ebbed as the heaviness of the alcohol’s effects blanketed me once again.

  His hands tangled in my hair and his lips crashed against mine, our tongues tangled and stroked, and then the little furry fucker was back on my leg, this time higher up. I squealed and jerked my knee up as teeth scraped my sensitive flesh—straight into Joel’s nut sack. Seriously, I could feel the texture of his nuts pressed under the corner of my knee. There’s a texture, and it made me cringe.

  “I’m so sorry. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

  I slid my hands between us and covered my face, pressing my fingers tight against my skin. It took a moment for me to realize he wasn’t speaking, or moving. Or possibly breathing. I peeked between my fingers to see his face pinched and eyes squinted. I placed my hands on his chest and gave a little nudge.

  “Jeff,” I whispered. His eyes opened and he looked at me in confusion. “Are you okay?”

  He cocked his head and took a breath, then crashed his lips back to mine. I guess that was a yes. His hands traveled down to my hips and he gripped me as he ground into me. I lost my breath at the sensation of pressure and friction that rocketed up my core. I started to forget our last several awkward moments and gave myself over to the lust and inebriation that hung in a cloud over my body.

  His fingers pressed into my flesh, almost painfully, as I writhed against him. “God, Emily. Your hips are so tight.”

  What? “Oh, yeah,” I gasped. I wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate response, but I guess I thought tight hips seemed like a good thing.

  “Fuck.” He growled as I hitched my knees higher up his waist, my body heated by the gruffness in his curse. “So tight.”

  “So tight,” I whispered against his mouth. Oh my gosh, I hated small talk. It was killing my buzz.

  “No, really.” He squeezed again. “How do you move?”

  “What? I can move.” I proved my point with a thrust.

  He laughed in short, winded breaths that scattered across my neck and raised my flesh. “Point taken.”

  He pushed away and staggered to his feet, then extended his hand. I stared at it for a long while before I could figure out which one in my vision was real. Then, I grasped hold and allowed him to pull me to my feet. I had to balance against his chest while I got my bearings.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered, brushing his lips across my cheekbone.

  He led me out of the foyer and down the hall, into a darkened room. I couldn’t make out any distinguishing features except the large bed. We reached it, and crawled to the center. He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his hips. I tilted my head to reach his lips, ready for another onslaught, but was met with deep, even breaths of slumber. He feel asleep.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  “Jim?” I tapped his shoulder.

  Nothing. Not a twitch.

  His arm was heavy over top of me. I couldn’t move. His leg swung over me, making me his human body pillow. The good thing? At least his weight stopped my world from spinning. I’m not only talking about from the alcohol, either. Getting cheated on is one thing. Having someone fall asleep on you during sex is a whole other situation. Not wanting to consider either, I eventually released a long sigh, along with the awkwardness, and passed out with whathisname was snoring in my ear.

  Ivy: Call me

  Ivy: Wake up

  Ivy: I need details

  Ivy: Are you alive?

  Ivy: Was his penis bigger than whatshisface’s?

  Ivy: WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING?

  Ivy: Are we fighting?

  Ivy: Are you dead?

  Ivy: Did you die happily of orgasms?

  Ivy: You so had UVT last night

  Ivy: I had UVT just watching you. Unintentional Vaginal Twerking was strong.

  Ivy: Are you still going to your physical therapy appt?

  Me: Holy crap you’re chatty this morning.

  Ivy: YOU’RE ALIVE!!

  Me: You seemed very concerned.

  Ivy: Hey, I take my responsibilities very seriously. I knew you were in good hands.

  Me: Huh? How?

  Ivy: What do you mean how?

  Me: I’m so confused.

  Ivy: How drunk were you last night?

  Me: Pretty sure very. I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE RESPONSIBLE!

  Ivy: To be fair, drunk you is very similar to real you. It’s tricky. Still, you were safe.

  Me: Well that’s a relief.

  Ivy: So?? Good night?

  Me: Noooo. Or… I don’t know.

  Ivy: Tell me.

  Me: We didn’t have sex. He passed out.

  Ivy: Oh. Well, that’s awkward.

  Me: That’s the least of it.

  Ivy: Dang. I would have thought better of him.

  Me: You know him?

  Ivy: EMILY! I introduced you.

  Me: Huh. Well then, what was his name?

  Ivy: You don’t remember his name?

  Me: I know it starts with a J.

  Ivy: You don’t remember any of this?

  Me: No!

  Ivy: Are you still going to your therapy appt?

  Me: Yeah, I’m in the parking lot. Why?

  Ivy: Call me after.

  Ivy: No! Come see me. Come see me straight away.

  Me: Why?

  Ivy: Gotta go! Have fun

  Me: Ivy!!!

  And she was gone. No little dots blinked and signaled she was typing or waiting. I was so confused. So hungover. I had snuck out at dark o’clock this morning, while he was still snoozing away. I didn’t get the greatest look at him in the lack of light, but I could see the definition in his arms and back, and the scruff on his face that begged me to trace the line of his jaw. He was sexy. That was a relief, I guess. And I could remember the fact that he was a good kisser, so there’s that. But, he stayed asleep as I crept away. Another relief. I’d arrived hom
e with enough time to shower and guzzle half a pot of strong coffee, right before I left again. Ivy’s magical physical therapist and acupuncturist could fix me, right? Needless to say, I didn’t look great. As instructed, I wore a pair of shorts I could work out in, a sports bra, and a tank top. I hadn’t bothered with makeup and my curls were wildly piled on the top of my head. If this man made me actually exercise at any point, I was sure I’d vomit.

  With tunnel vision, I shuffled into the gym where Ivy’s dude was awaiting. It had only taken her six months to convince me to come and get my neck and shoulder sorted out, and as much as I wanted to cancel this morning and go back to bed—my own bed—I knew she’d kill me. Or just drag me here herself. To hear Ivy tell it, the man had magical hands and was the only person who could fix me.

  A rush of cold air hit me as I stepped in the front door. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, stood behind the counter and smiled as I approached and introduced herself. She led me to a back room where I sat on a massage table to wait for Michael. Something fleeting crossed my mind as I thought of his name, but it was gone when a knock sounded. The door opened and my jaw hung wide dropped.

  Him.

  “Hi, Emily,” said dude from last night, his face a tad flushed, which made me feel better about my on fire cheeks. He had short, dark hair and his jaw was scruffy. I wondered if it was always that way, or if he’d felt as rough this morning as I did.

  I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I was going to kill Ivy. Kill. Dead. Smother.

  “I’m Michael.”

  I blinked three times. Not a ‘J’. The damn dog ran in and jumped up on the table beside me. I stared at it stupidly before looking back at … Michael. He was wearing a soft looking grey T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and did nothing to hide the definition in the muscles underneath it. I couldn’t stop myself from a quick perusal of his body. I remembered those abs. I remembered those arms. Funny how I could remember all of that, but not his name.

  “Not Jjj…”

  “No.” He laughed. “No J.”

  My mouth formed an “O.”