Pucked Page 22

“Not so drunk I didn’t know better.”

“Holy shit.”


“So? Are the rumors true?”

“What rumors?” My stomach turns. I’m not so sure I want to hear Alex-inspired rumors.

“The ones about his junk.”

The hockey hooker discussion I overheard regarding the size of the teams’ man units comes to mind. Usually rumors are a bunch of crap. This time they’re true.

I keep my face impassive. “He has a finger penis.”

“Liar. You wouldn’t have had sex with him twice if he had a finger penis.” Her eyes light up. “It’s huge, isn’t it?”

I turn away and pour more shots to avoid her excitement. “Alex’s junk is not up for discussion. It’s not like I’m going to see it again anyway.”

“Look, Violet, if these kinds of pictures turned up of me with, say, Darren Westinghouse, I’d tell everyone how awesome he was in the sack, even if it was only a partial truth.” She points a finger. “Except you. I’d tell you if it sucked, so don’t you think for a second you can hold out on the details.”

I sigh. “Fine. He has a monster cock.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Charlene sputters.

“It’s a monster.”

Her nose scrunches in disgust. “You mean it’s deformed?”

“No. I mean it’s huge.”

“How huge?”

“Unnaturally huge.”

“Like a porno dick?”


She holds out her shot glass. “I need another one of these.”

We polish off the bottle of Sour Puss while surfing the Internet for pictures of Alex and me mouth fucking. There are a shitload of images, including thousands of Alex with various women. It appears the magazine spread I encountered on the plane and this weekend’s adventures aren’t isolated events.

Alex Waters is popular with the ladies. Based on media reports, he’s been with a hell of a lot of them. I find a two-minute long YouTube montage of him making out with various women. He’s stuck his tongue in a lot of mouths. I also discover Alex has been in several promotional ads beyond the milk one. I know with certainty he isn’t storing a sock in his boxer briefs.

Sometime around midnight, my phone rings. Charlene grabs it and checks the number. “It says unknown. Is it him? I bet it’s him!”

Before I can tell her not to, she answers the call. Char’s eyes go wide, and she covers the receiver with her hand, mouthing talk to him with an excitement I’m not sure I share.

I hold out my hand, take a deep breath, and put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”


His voice is its own orgasm. “That’s me.”



There’s a long pause in which neither of us speak, and Charlene makes flailing hand gestures while mouthing things I can’t understand.

Alex breaks the awkward silence. “How are you?”

“Uh, pretty good. How about you?”

“Better now. Sorry I’m calling so late. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope. Just hanging out.”

Charlene points to her crotch and makes jerking motions. I turn away so I don’t start laughing.

“Are you in your jammies?” His voice is so low it’s almost a rumble.


“Sorry, nothing. I didn’t mean to ask that. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

And here I thought I was the awkward one. Maybe Alex is drunk dialing me. I go with it, lowering my voice to what I hope is a sultry whisper. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“Yes. No. Is this a trick question? Only if you won’t hang up on me for saying yes, otherwise no.” He’s cute, even for a manwhore.

“I’m wearing a black lace thong and a matching lace bra.”

He sighs into the phone. “Really? I didn’t take you for a black lace kind of girl.”

“No. Not even close. It’s fun to pretend, isn’t it?” I’m thankful he can’t see my face right now. It’s hot, so it’s probably blotchy. “I’m in jeans and a T-shirt. I was thinking I’d lose the bra soon.” I shouldn’t be entertaining him after what I’ve seen on the Internet and that magazine spread.

Charlene smacks me with a pillow. I fight her off while trying to keep the phone to my ear.

“Is the shirt tight?”

I check out my rack. “Um, I guess. It’s a small. If I wasn’t wearing a bra I could probably see my nipples through it.”

There’s more heavy breathing on the other end of the line. I roll off the couch, run to my bedroom, and lock the door so Charlene can’t get in. “Alex?”


“Are you whacking off?”

“God, no.”

“Okay, that’s good. I think.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. As soon as I hang up, Charlene is going to lose it on me for being such an idiot. “Did you call to find out what I was wearing?”

“No. I called to apologize.”

What a kick in the nonexistent nuts. Apologies after sex are never good.

He clears his throat. “I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures by now . . .”

“Oh, yeah, those.”

“I hope Butterson doesn’t give you a hard time. There’s always someone at the bar snapping photos.”

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