Flat Tire Girl

She was an exact but more mature replica of Jessica. Maureen, I could tell, was just beginning to sag in the most enchanting ways. Though she was in good shape, she was dropping in just the right places—in places that suggested a slutty use. I was getting horny again thinking about the possibilities. "Ok, little lord Fauntleroy;" I said to myself, "You better get out here."

And I did.

***

It was already late afternoon and the ride home was refreshing. It gave me time to think. In less than twenty-four hours I had fucked my best friend, his mom, and his sister. Not to mention his sister's friend. I was a very bad boy and it felt good. But I was worried. I very much wanted to continue my relationship with Marc and was afraid the sex had bunged it up. An ordinary person would quit while he was ahead. Just walk away. Hell, an ordinary person wouldn't have done what I done—maybe not even thunk it. I wasn't an ordinary person and decided that the only way to fix things was to escalate them.

I pulled into my driveway satisfied that I had a plan, a vague plan, but a plan nonetheless. I was going to fuck the shit out of this summer.

My Triumph roared to a stop and I swung my leg over the side to get off. Cheerfully, I swaggered into my house and headed toward my bedroom. I emptied my pockets and pulled a wrinkled receipt from my wallet. It had Deborah's, the flat tire girl, phone number written on the back. On a whim, I studied her purchases. Anal beads, butt plug, Astro-glide!?! These things were from a local sex shop. Could she be a woman after my own heart? I picked up the phone next to my bed and dialed Deborah's number. After three rings, I was prompted to leave a message.

Yeah, I was going to fuck the shit out of this summer.