Greater Wrong of Right (part 2)

Leslie brings me back to her room. She said she had a book I might like. Once in her room I sit on the bed. Leslie kneels down, opens a drawer and pulls out the book, then tosses it to me. I look the cover, Life of Pi. I’ve never read it.

Leslie turns around and unzips my pants, pulls my underwear aside and stuffs my flaccid cock in her mouth. After a few strokes with her warm lips, I get hard, yet I feel indifferent about the situation. While she is busy sucking, I unbutton my pants and pull them down farther. Leslie begins to fondle my balls in her right hand, pulls me out of her mouth and licks my shaft down to the base. Leslie then tongues my balls, then sucks my right ball in her mouth while she strokes my cock. I look down at her, she looks at me, letting my ball fall out of her mouth, she smiles. I don’t smile back.

Leslie gently blows her warm breath on me, then puts me back into her mouth and begins to bob up and down, faster, tightening her lips until I’m about to cum. I pull her head off my lap and begin to climax. At first a small gob of cum shoots from me and lands on my right thigh, followed by a thick, but short, stream which arcs and lands mostly on her bed, the rest settles on my thigh. A few more spurts dribble out and run down my cock and Leslie’s fingers. She laps at my freshly exploded head, squeezes a bit to milk the residual cum from my shaft and lets it rest on her hand, briefly, before she lifts her hand away and flicks my cum into the trash. I feel nothing for her.

“Hope you enjoy the book.” She says.

* * *

Sitting in Starbucks for me is like sitting in a box of a theater waiting for someone to shoot you in the back of the head. This began a year and a half ago when I had a brief two month fling with a barista. Audrey was flat and did nothing in bed. I broke it off and that’s when the text messages started, which inevitably ended up with “coincidently” seeing her everywhere I went, including seeing her ‘98 red Jetta parked outside my house at 3 a.m. almost every night. I never lock my doors.

“Well have you thought about taking time off school to work?” Darren asks.

“Why would I? I’m thirty-thousand dollars in debt.”

“Exactly, you’re thirty-thousand dollars in debt. Do you think it will just magically disappear? You know it’s just going to get higher don’t you?”

I’m well aware of this fact. “Yeah, but it will all work out.”

“What you need is a budgeting strategy.”

I look out the window and see a red Jetta. A wave of nausea washes over me, I begin to squirm in the hard, wood colored, plastic seat. The Jetta passes, it wasn’t Audrey.

“You know that’s what you need. Budgeting is your friend, why don’t you ever plan ahead? I’m just trying to help you man.”

“I’m leaving.” I say.

“Are you, or do you just want to smoke?”

“A little of both.”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

We grab our coffees and go outside. The greyish wisps of cloud hover in the sky, for some reason they mean something to me. I light a cigarette and sip my coffee. It tastes burnt.

“Fag me.” Darren says while fluttering his fingers in my face. I toss him my pack; he pulls out a cigarette and lights up, then tosses my pack back.