I could do but sit back on my ample behind and hate life. How did I end up working for pennies at a run down bookstore in the middle of the city? This isn’t what I imagined what my life would be. Maybe my parents had been right to tell me I was a waste of potential in a mediocre body. My life was boring. It was plain and it was monotonous, but it was mine. I created it, I lived it and I was sure as hell going to wallow in the pity of realizing just how pathetic it had become.
When I was little, I imagined my life would be something – more . I had grandiose ideas of becoming the next Supreme Court justice, or curing some awful disease, or even traveling the world advocating for the hungry or sick. However, life in the inner city left me too poor to go to college and my parents both passed away when I was nineteen and before I proved the potential they swore I didn’t have.
As it turned out, they were correct. I didn’t have potential.
My mother was a seamstress and my father spent the majority of his life working odd jobs just to make sure we had food to eat and a roof over our head. A car accident finally took their lives and left me at the mercy of the world.
If it wasn’t for my best friend, Rich, I’d probably be panhandling for spare change on the side of the road on the days I didn’t work. It would have been the only way I could afford the ridiculous amount of rent charged for the shitty two bedroom apartment we lived in on the bad side of town. It wasn’t even a real two bedrooms. The layout was more of a loft or efficiency type structure with paper-thin sliding walls that created the illusion of privacy.
Five minutes passed as I indulged in suffering through my one-man pity party. Finally having completed my panic attack, I turned to gather the books that were scattered across the floor in order to restock them and get back to the front counter. Picking up the small paperbacks, I glanced at the titles and chuckled:
Doing the Duke.
Boinking the Billionaire.
Riding the Rock Star.
Plundered by the Pirate.
Corralling the Cowboy…
Giggles erupted in my chest and spilled out over my thin lips. In need of a good laugh, I opened up the Billionaire book to a random page.
“He set his rock hard cock against my fleshy petals and pushed against me forcing a guttural moan from my throat. His thick width drove itself between my swollen, slick…”
Ok, wait – that was actually kind of hot. I glanced around to make sure nobody was looking and opened the book again.
“…pounding into me, twisting me tight and ready to snap. I could feel the hot, liquid surge of my orgasm spread itself over the hard, veined surface of his…”
Holy shit!
“…take me harder! He pounded into me, the hard thrusts pushing me up the bed, my breasts bouncing freely – taunting and teasing his hot, wet mouth.”
I don’t know what happened. Within seconds, I was sweating buckets and ready to grind myself up against any available person or surface just to finish off what the book had started. In fact, I hadn’t felt this way since the few moments before I decided to kick it with Billy Jenkins in the back of his Ford. Billy walked away with a good time. I walked away disappointed and no longer holding onto the holy grail of female romance characters: My virginity and the ill-seated belief that sex would ever be any good.
Since that disaster, I’d tried having sex with other men only to find them putzing out after ten minutes, lighting a cigarette and asking me if I’d had a good time. I thought that was how it was supposed to go.
According to what I was now holding in my hand, I’d been wrong.
“Jane! There are customers ready to make their purchases! Get your butt back to the counter…”
Ever the professional, Brad rounded the corner, his beady eyes blinking in anger. I was a suddenly a kid with her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar – except this time it contained slick folds and hard
When I was little, I imagined my life would be something – more . I had grandiose ideas of becoming the next Supreme Court justice, or curing some awful disease, or even traveling the world advocating for the hungry or sick. However, life in the inner city left me too poor to go to college and my parents both passed away when I was nineteen and before I proved the potential they swore I didn’t have.
As it turned out, they were correct. I didn’t have potential.
My mother was a seamstress and my father spent the majority of his life working odd jobs just to make sure we had food to eat and a roof over our head. A car accident finally took their lives and left me at the mercy of the world.
If it wasn’t for my best friend, Rich, I’d probably be panhandling for spare change on the side of the road on the days I didn’t work. It would have been the only way I could afford the ridiculous amount of rent charged for the shitty two bedroom apartment we lived in on the bad side of town. It wasn’t even a real two bedrooms. The layout was more of a loft or efficiency type structure with paper-thin sliding walls that created the illusion of privacy.
Five minutes passed as I indulged in suffering through my one-man pity party. Finally having completed my panic attack, I turned to gather the books that were scattered across the floor in order to restock them and get back to the front counter. Picking up the small paperbacks, I glanced at the titles and chuckled:
Doing the Duke.
Boinking the Billionaire.
Riding the Rock Star.
Plundered by the Pirate.
Corralling the Cowboy…
Giggles erupted in my chest and spilled out over my thin lips. In need of a good laugh, I opened up the Billionaire book to a random page.
“He set his rock hard cock against my fleshy petals and pushed against me forcing a guttural moan from my throat. His thick width drove itself between my swollen, slick…”
Ok, wait – that was actually kind of hot. I glanced around to make sure nobody was looking and opened the book again.
“…pounding into me, twisting me tight and ready to snap. I could feel the hot, liquid surge of my orgasm spread itself over the hard, veined surface of his…”
Holy shit!
“…take me harder! He pounded into me, the hard thrusts pushing me up the bed, my breasts bouncing freely – taunting and teasing his hot, wet mouth.”
I don’t know what happened. Within seconds, I was sweating buckets and ready to grind myself up against any available person or surface just to finish off what the book had started. In fact, I hadn’t felt this way since the few moments before I decided to kick it with Billy Jenkins in the back of his Ford. Billy walked away with a good time. I walked away disappointed and no longer holding onto the holy grail of female romance characters: My virginity and the ill-seated belief that sex would ever be any good.
Since that disaster, I’d tried having sex with other men only to find them putzing out after ten minutes, lighting a cigarette and asking me if I’d had a good time. I thought that was how it was supposed to go.
According to what I was now holding in my hand, I’d been wrong.
“Jane! There are customers ready to make their purchases! Get your butt back to the counter…”
Ever the professional, Brad rounded the corner, his beady eyes blinking in anger. I was a suddenly a kid with her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar – except this time it contained slick folds and hard
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