Page 36 of Stroked Hard
“Rolodex of dicks. How many men do you think I’ve been with?”
He pauses, as if he’s trying to count in his mind the amount of men who have passed by my bedroom.
“To keep myself sane, I’m going to say two. Any more than that and I might have to crack some fucking skulls.”
“How did you come up with two?” I reach into my bag and pull out a stick of gum that I quickly pop in my mouth. For some reason my mouth is dry. I tell myself it’s not from the third-leg image Hollis has given me. If only I could get his comment out of my mind.This dude has cock.Sigh.
“Easy. I’ve seen you stare at my crotch in interest, which tells me you’re familiar with the male anatomy, crossing off the virgin card. So that’s one suitor. I’m assuming he wasn’t all that great because let’s be honest, we never are when we’re just figuring shit out. We really should all have dolls to fuck before we do the real thing because the poor women who have to suffer through our fumbling should get an award.”How true is that?My first was a fumbling, clumsy mess. A night I’ve tried to forget. “The second guy, well he’s a lucky fuck because I’m assuming he’s been with you at least a few times, but not enough for you to keep him around. After those two idiots, I like to believe you have put your sexual journey on hold until you find the perfect partner.”
“And let me guess, that person is you?”
“Now you’re getting it, baby. Glad you’ve jumped on board.”
Insufferable.
“There is no jumping on board. I just know your bullshit rambling by now. And for the record, there’s been six men.”
Silence.
Maybe I’ve actually stumped him. Maybe I’ve actually bested this quick-witted man.
Even though I enjoy the fact that I’ve been able to bring him down a peg, at least that’s what it seems like, I’m a little nervous he’s not saying anything.
“Uh, are you there?”
“Yeah,” he responds, his voice a little rougher.
“What are you doing?”
“Searching the Internet for ways to get out of jail, I’m going to need it after my murdering spree. I’m ordering lumberjack gear, an axe, and I’m going to start growing a beard. Dicks are going to be chopped off.”
“You’re absurd.”
“Six?” He sounds pained. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Six isn’t bad at all. What’s your number?”
“Four,” he states with zero hesitation.
“How is that even possible?” I ask before I can stop myself. I’m not blind. The man is gorgeous. Stunning actually, with his vivid-blue eyes, his perfectly styled hair, the light scruff always present on his chiseled jaw, and don’t get me started on his body. Ugh, it’s perfect. Every contour and fine sinew of muscle ripples with his movements. It’s erotically mesmerizing, especially when he’s on top of a platform wearing a little scrap of fabric. Seriously, I‘m not kidding when I say I would love a one-night stand with him, but I know that’s not in the cards. He wants way more than that.
“I’m a relationship guy, I told you that. I know it’s hard to believe with my good looks and all, but I don’t fuck around. I find a woman I like and I commit to her. Simple as that.”
Just because I’m curious as hell, I ask, “What happened with the other girls? How come you’re not married yet if you’re such a romantic?”
Why am I on the edge on my seat waiting to hear his answer? There is something seriously wrong with me.
“I might be a romantic but I’m also intelligent enough to know that the connections I’ve had with women, although wonderful at the time, wouldn’t pan out for something in the long run. That’s what I’m looking for, someone to grow old with, something like my parents have.”
Long-term commitment. Something I have no experience with. Something I’ve never seen play out in front of me.
“I guess you’re picky.”
“I am and I know when I see something with lots of potential.”
There’s no denying he’s referring to me. But how could he be so sure? We barely know each other. We’ve only interacted through a few face-to-face conversations and mostly text messages and a few calls, nothing that would solidify future plans. So I ask myself again, how can he be so sure about me?
Clearing my throat and wanting to change the subject, I say, “You were talking about being a conservationist.”
