insult, made to make me feel disgusting, lowdown, a piece of vermin.
I was an option for her, not a priority—and maybe not even an option on account of how lowdown I was. She was going to ride with that Lawson Willard buttfuck until he went away to his snob school, then she’d latch onto some other rancher’s son.
She was the first girl I’d ever tongue-fucked, and it was a fresh, hot treat. She tasted like sweet cream with a slight tang. Had I done it wrong? Had I injured her? I was pretty sure I knew how juicy a woman flowed when she came. How she squirted into my mouth, how her toes curled up, how she stiffened and shuddered and acted like a maniac undergoing a lobotomy.
Most women—all?—purred like kittens afterward. Not this one. She was so feisty, so full of piss and vinegar, she couldn’t just say thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm. No, she got all up in my face about it like it was a giant mistake, although later that night she snuck into my bathroom and spied on me draining the monster in the shower. Yep, she stood there for a whole five minutes with her mouth half-open while I gave her a one-man show. I even played it up, acted all lust-filled and theatrical like a porn star, to give her a little extra for her effort.
I figured I’d show her what she missed out on, having her little conniption fit, pushing me away like that. I’d been named Dynomite by a former girlfriend in Paducah due to my penchant for hitting the ceiling with my jet of jizz. Believe me, it wasn’t hard to spout off like that with April Pleasure sliding down the wall eight feet away. I tried not to let her know that I saw her. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be getting any fucking sleep that night. I’m hung like a bull moose and women go crazy for my dick. It’s aesthetically pleasing, one girl told me. Some women are afraid of it. But as a visual treat, I knew it couldn’t be beat. Or, ha ha, I could beat it. I was an expert.
But I was still pissed. Women did not slap me in the face like that, especially not after a ginormous orgasm. She was the first and only girl I’ve ever given a skull job, and her rebuff was a major slap in the face.
The end of school came and went. I just barely squeaked by. Funny thing was, I was killer at math, even when distracted by April’s curves, her pouty lips, her ice queen ways. But I pretty much always cut PE, not wanting to subject myself to the taunts of the jocks, the Willards, the Hemps, the assholes who bullied Sequoia. For instance, someone had posted a photo of me on Facebook with my mouth open when I was eating potato chips with a witty comment along the lines of “what a moron.” Lately Willard and his crowd had been making gay cracks about me and Sequoia, too. Sequoia showed me a Facebook posting where he’d tied his sweatshirt around his waist by the sleeves. The comment declared it was a skirt. It was all so fucking infantile.
Now that it was summer, I could spend more hours bronc riding. I always tried to show up promptly at the dinner table, no matter how much I hated seeing April. We sat at opposite ends and tried not to look at each other—as if Sadie would know her son had just eaten her stepdaughter’s tuna taco. April was in an even fouler mood since she now had to work fulltime for Cliff and couldn’t party with her trivial little friends as much. She really was a shallow, vain girl—and I only hated her so much because I liked her.
One night she came barreling to the dinner table like a house on fire. I knew instantly her conniption fit was due to one of the practical jokes I was so famous for. I wondered which one had made her flip her lid.
She pointed a stiff arm at me and trilled at her father. “ Someone has been sending dozens of boxes of bovine colostrum to my office.”
Cliff just laughed! I think I had won him over in recent weeks. My scores at the arena had been superb. “No big deal. It’ll stay good for a while. We can use
I was an option for her, not a priority—and maybe not even an option on account of how lowdown I was. She was going to ride with that Lawson Willard buttfuck until he went away to his snob school, then she’d latch onto some other rancher’s son.
She was the first girl I’d ever tongue-fucked, and it was a fresh, hot treat. She tasted like sweet cream with a slight tang. Had I done it wrong? Had I injured her? I was pretty sure I knew how juicy a woman flowed when she came. How she squirted into my mouth, how her toes curled up, how she stiffened and shuddered and acted like a maniac undergoing a lobotomy.
Most women—all?—purred like kittens afterward. Not this one. She was so feisty, so full of piss and vinegar, she couldn’t just say thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm. No, she got all up in my face about it like it was a giant mistake, although later that night she snuck into my bathroom and spied on me draining the monster in the shower. Yep, she stood there for a whole five minutes with her mouth half-open while I gave her a one-man show. I even played it up, acted all lust-filled and theatrical like a porn star, to give her a little extra for her effort.
I figured I’d show her what she missed out on, having her little conniption fit, pushing me away like that. I’d been named Dynomite by a former girlfriend in Paducah due to my penchant for hitting the ceiling with my jet of jizz. Believe me, it wasn’t hard to spout off like that with April Pleasure sliding down the wall eight feet away. I tried not to let her know that I saw her. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be getting any fucking sleep that night. I’m hung like a bull moose and women go crazy for my dick. It’s aesthetically pleasing, one girl told me. Some women are afraid of it. But as a visual treat, I knew it couldn’t be beat. Or, ha ha, I could beat it. I was an expert.
But I was still pissed. Women did not slap me in the face like that, especially not after a ginormous orgasm. She was the first and only girl I’ve ever given a skull job, and her rebuff was a major slap in the face.
The end of school came and went. I just barely squeaked by. Funny thing was, I was killer at math, even when distracted by April’s curves, her pouty lips, her ice queen ways. But I pretty much always cut PE, not wanting to subject myself to the taunts of the jocks, the Willards, the Hemps, the assholes who bullied Sequoia. For instance, someone had posted a photo of me on Facebook with my mouth open when I was eating potato chips with a witty comment along the lines of “what a moron.” Lately Willard and his crowd had been making gay cracks about me and Sequoia, too. Sequoia showed me a Facebook posting where he’d tied his sweatshirt around his waist by the sleeves. The comment declared it was a skirt. It was all so fucking infantile.
Now that it was summer, I could spend more hours bronc riding. I always tried to show up promptly at the dinner table, no matter how much I hated seeing April. We sat at opposite ends and tried not to look at each other—as if Sadie would know her son had just eaten her stepdaughter’s tuna taco. April was in an even fouler mood since she now had to work fulltime for Cliff and couldn’t party with her trivial little friends as much. She really was a shallow, vain girl—and I only hated her so much because I liked her.
One night she came barreling to the dinner table like a house on fire. I knew instantly her conniption fit was due to one of the practical jokes I was so famous for. I wondered which one had made her flip her lid.
She pointed a stiff arm at me and trilled at her father. “ Someone has been sending dozens of boxes of bovine colostrum to my office.”
Cliff just laughed! I think I had won him over in recent weeks. My scores at the arena had been superb. “No big deal. It’ll stay good for a while. We can use
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