by Julia Kent
Thank God.
“Why?” Trevor seemed offended.
“We wouldn’t need you. Between sex toys, our own tongues, and sperm banks, buh-bye!”
“Oh, come on! Men are more than just cocks and tongues and sperm,” he protested.
Amy and I started cracking up.
He glowered.
“I thought you were telling us a story about your neighbor’s death.”
We kept laughing.
“I guess,” Amy said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, “we do need spider killers. And someone would have to jerk off in a cup at the sperm donation center.”
“And they come in handy,” I added, “by sleeping on the wet spot.”
“The big wet spot,” Trevor clarified.
“‘Big’ wet spot?” Amy looked confused. “You mean, because of two guys? Your wet spot is bigger?”
“No. We don’t make the big wet spot.” Trevor’s smile got real wide. “We make Darla make the big wet spot.”
How we got from my neighbor choking to death on pubic hair to my squirting is a mystery to me, but there we were. I was surrounded by some strange motherfuckers who talked about the weirdest things. Don’t blame me. I didn’t bring up female ejaculation.
Amy’s eyebrow went up again as she gave me a look that communicated all it needed to.
I grinned.
Hey. When your body can do what only legend says is possible, you grin.
* * *
Trevor
* * *
I KNEW the minute Darla opened her mouth that the story was bullshit. I also knew she was troubled, her text about the sudden change in performance dates making me laugh out loud.
Darla pointed at me. “And that, mister, is a public service announcement for manscaping.”
“The fact that we can make you squirt?” I asked.
“No. The fact that every time I go down on you, I could choke on a pube and die. I should get hazard pay for that.”
Amy covered her ears and walked out of the room.
“GOAL!” Darla said hoarsely, imitating an Italian football announcer, drawing out the word.
I shook my head, grinning. “You’re good at that.”
“Good at what? Pissing off Amy? It’s an art form. I should have earned a bachelor of fine arts in it by now.”
I pulled her to me, needing her body against mine. “Not that. Good at squirting.” Her mouth against mine was like a cold beer on a hot afternoon at the beach, the perfect blend of heat and quench.
“Mmmm,” she vibrated against me, from lips to toes. “Wanna prove it?”
My gut clenched, willing down my erection. “Normally, I’d say yes. Hell, yes. But not right now. You caught me as I’m about to head out.”
She looked at my bowl of chips. My can of soda. The DC Comic television series running quietly in the background. “Busy?”
I reached into my back pocket for my phone. My pants were tighter than they had been minutes before. “Two minutes. I have a doctor’s appointment I can’t miss.”
“Doctor? What’s wrong with you?” More concern than normal flashed through her eyes.
“Nothing. Checkup. My mom suggested I get as much medical stuff done as possible before I turn twenty-seven.”
“What happens when you turn twenty-seven? Does your body suddenly stop working?” She reached for my crotch and stroked up, hardening my semi.
I groaned. “Darla, I don’t want to get a physical with a fucking erection, okay? Stop it.”
“That erection won’t be fucking anyone.”
“Stop!” I hissed again, leaping out of her range.
“Seriously.” She frowned. “Why the doctor? Everyone seems to be going to the doctor these days without telling me.”
“Everyone?”
“Never mind.”
“Mom and Dad can carry me on their health insurance until the day before I turn twenty-seven. Then I need my own. Might as well get everything done that needs to be done now.”
“Oh. Got it.”
“Unless the law changes.”
“Right.”
“Or the band gets its own health insurance.”
“I’m still on my old health insurance from Good Things Come in Threes.” Her frown persisted. “We need to fix this.”
My phone beeped with a reminder of my appointment. “Later.” I reached into my pants to adjust myself, giving her a look that was half lust, half irritation. “Thanks.” I pointed to my dick.
“Welcome. Any time.”
“You could take care of it for me. Right now,” I said, trying to keep the whiny beg out of my voice.
Her grin was almost malevolent. “I could.”
My face fell. “But you won’t.”
“You’re the one in a rush to go to the doctor.”
“I can be a little late.”
She reached up and patted my cheek. “Good things come to those who wait.”
CHAPTER FOUR
DARLA
“J esus,” Amy murmured, looking around the couch for something.
I was sitting at our dining room table with my laptop, ten folders, and a bunch of calendars spread in front of me, trying to reconcile how we would get the band and equipment to Vegas on time and under budget. Sure, Giles said he’d pay, but I knew how that worked, and I didn’t want to get stuck with a huge travel bill floating on the band’s credit cards for six months, like sometimes happened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as Joe stood up from his spot next to me, walked to the refrigerator, and grabbed a beer, all while staring at his phone. He began weaving erratically. Seeing as this was his first beer, I quickly figured out what he was doing.
Damn Pokemon craze. Turned people into zombies.
“I need my reading glasses,” Amy explained, brow scrunched up, as she pulled pillows off the couch.
“You know you’re getting old when you have to find your glasses to watch porn videos on your laptop."
“Darla,” she growled, but there was no bite to her bark. Ever.
“What? You don’t look at porn, of course.” Amy liked to have it both ways: respectable, professional librarian-cum-law-student, and smut reader galore, queen of romance novel gobbling. She spent most of her waking time trying to figure out where that line between the two extremes actually rested.
Personally, I don’t think there needs to be a line. Amy can be both, but she hasn’t quite figured that out for herself yet.
Two seconds of her silence were all I needed. “You do! You do watch porn. Knew it! YouPorn or PornHub?”
“I am not having this conversation with you.”
“They’re kinda like Coke vs. Pepsi. People like one or the other, and they’ll say it’s because they like how it tastes, but it’s really because they just pick a team and stick to it.”
“How do you taste a porn channel – oh, never mind! I can’t believe I let you lure me into another one of your ridiculous conversations.” Her hand paused in the crotch of the couch and she pulled out her glasses case.
“Whatcha reading?”
“Buzzfeed.”
“Close enough to porn.”
“It is not!” Shoving her glasses on, she read something, then shook her head. “It does say what I thought!”
Amy held up her phone screen, the article’s title clear as day: ‘Scrotox is the new anal bleaching.’
“Scrotox? That’s a joke, right?” I asked, hoping for an answer in the affirmative. Plus, did we really need a new version of anal bleaching? I mean collectively, as a society?
That’s not a rhetorical question. Here’s the answer: hell, no.
Definitely nofuckingway.
“It’s very real,” she shot back, giving Joe a weird look. “I heard about it from Joe’s… mother.”
“When did you talk to my mother?” he demanded. Amy was the band’s drummer’s fiancée and had no reason to be talking to my boyfriend’s – ok, one of my boyfriends’– mom.
“She made her monthly call to me, begging me to convince you to go back to law school.”
“How in the hell did scrotox come up?” Trevor asked, turning from the hallway to the kitchen, wearing boxer briefs and a perplexed look.
“Are you kidding?” I turned to him. “We’re talking about Joe’s mom. She talks about her hymen restoration surgery with the mailman. Of course she’d mention freezing a guy’s nuts alongside trying to get Amy to prod Joe back into law school.” Joe had dropped out with one year of law school left when the band got a nationwide tour. His mom wouldn’t shut up about it.
Joe was unfazed, even as Trevor gaped. “Sorry,” he said sarcastically to Amy, suddenly chill about it.
“Your mom calls Amy in an attempt to recruit her to the Dark Side,” I groused. Amy was enrolled in law school. Joe’s mom must view her as an ally.
“Can we get back to scrotox?” Trevor asked, intrigued.
“Can we not?” Joe muttered.
“Why in the hell would anyone take a hypodermic needle and shoot Botox into their balls?” My mind’s eye conjured up a cheap Walmart balloon being inflated. In bed. Attached to a cock.
Attached to a man.
“It smoothes out the wrinkles,” Joe explained, as if that had some meaning.
“I thought getting an erection smoothes out the wrinkles?”
“Not the wrinkles in the shaft. The wrinkles in the ball sac,” he clarified.
“Wait. What? Who gives a goddamned shit about wrinkles in the ball sac? Why would you want to get rid of those? They’re a sexual barometer,” I ventured.
“They’re a what?” Joe and Trevor asked in unison.
“You know. Amy?” I turned to her for solidarity.
“No, I, uh… don’t.”
So much for sisterhood.
She went shifty-eyed, her gaze darting around the room as two expectant male faces were centered on my words. What the fuck are you talking about? she mouthed. I guess that whole XX-chromosome secret communications channel doesn’t work as fluidly as it should with some women. Her antennae must be broken.
I sighed. “Do I have to explain everything? Geez. Between the four of us we have four college degrees and I don’t have one of them. Funny how that works, and yet I’m always the smartest person in the room.”
Joe ignored that comment. “Barometers measure atmospheric pressure, Darla. What do sac wrinkles have to do with meteorology?”
“Sexual meteorology.”
“Now you’re just making shit up again,” Amy accused.
“I am not!” I walked over to Trevor, who was watching all this with a casual look of amusement, so different from Joe’s tight annoyance. Seductively, I reached for the waistband of his boxers and slid my hand in, cupping his balls gently, holding the sac like a robin’s egg.
His spine stretched up like, well, like a penis shaft filling with blood, standing tall, ready for battle in a love cave.
“What the hell?” he said in a low voice that managed also to squeak. How he accomplished that was beyond me, but sure enough – his balls stayed loose.
“See here? Your ball sac skin is nice and loose, even when your body is in freakout mode.”
“You’re touching my penis in public, Darla!”
“This ain’t public. We’re all friends. And I’ve got a point to make.”
Joe’s nostrils flared. “Make it fast,” he ground out.
“And gently. Make your point gently,” Trevor urged as the doorknob to the apartment made a rattling sound and Sam entered, smiling as his eyes landed on Amy and then doing a slo-mo frown as he saw me.
With my hand down Trevor’s pants.
“Are we interrupting something?” Liam asked, his face popping up behind Sam, amusement tickling his features as he, too, caught what I was doing.
Both guys came all the way into our apartment, Sam carrying a case of beer, Liam holding what looked like ice cream and frozen burritos.
Forget low carb diets. Forget paleo. How about we start a Rock Star On the Verge of Breakout Diet? It involves a steady supply of alcohol, carbs, and a quarter teaspoon of bitter tears of disappointment twice a day.
The guys had mastered the empty carb part.
As Sam began putting the groceries on the table, careful to avoid my meandering piles of band paperwork, Liam’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.
Stuck his tongue out.
And started licking the glass, furiously.
Trevor, Amy, Sam, Joe, and I all formed the same exact look on our wildly different faces. If What the fuck? had a singular expression, we were all making it.
“What are you doing?” Sam belted out, loud and horrified.
Liam held up one finger while he licked his phone screen up and down. The phone beeped. He stopped.
“Not bad! Thirty-six light switch flicks!”
All our eyebrows went up.
“It’s a licking app,” he said, as if that explained it all.
“For...?” Trevor drew out the word, his voice somewhere between a purr and a tremor. I could feel the vibration come out through his shaft, my fingers still embracing the hot heaviness of his tight, erect cock.
“Oral sex.” Liam held two fingers to his mouth in a V and waggled his tongue between them.
Then put his phone up to his tongue.
“You need help in that arena?” Joe’s question was pure judgment, raw and untamed.
“Hey, man. I lift weights to keep my body strong.” He winked, replacing the phone screen. “And the tongue is a muscle, after all.” Liam wasn’t taking the bait. He pressed a button (with his tongue) and started rotating in circles. It was hypnotic, his tongue’s frenulum rubbing against his lower teeth, the bulging veins under his tongue a tapestry of shades of pink and purple, like a rag rug.
“Thcore!” he shouted, tip still touching his screen, as a bell dinged from his phone.
Amy pulled out her phone and clearly started downloading the app from the store.
“The last thing you need is another sex app on your phone,” I whispered to her. A few years ago, she’d downloaded a vibrator app that turned her phone into a joystick (if you know what I mean) and managed to overlube and undernavigate, until her cellphone got stuck in her hoo haw.
She kicked my ankle. Hard.
By the time I looked up, everyone in the room but me was installing the licking app.
“Are you people insane? You’re gonna lick your phones… for fun?” I was starting to feel like someone from a Dan Savage sex column letter.
“Go!” Liam shouted, the guys licking furiously.
“Cellphones are covered in germs!” I exclaimed. “Someone needs to make a dental dam for phones.” Given that I knew my men loved to eat pussy like I was an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet, and Liam obviously enjoyed dining at the Y, the germ argument didn’t make them stop. When you think about it, if someone’s willing to stick their face in a woman’s snatch and start licking for the pure sake of giving her pleasure, they’re probably not the type to run around wiping their phones with hand sanitizer.
“You realize you’re the beneficiary of whatever they learn, right?” Amy hissed, nudging her head toward Joe and Trevor, who were in quiet conversation, huddled together over their blue screens. “Don’t discourage this.”
“Then why are you downloading the app on your phone? Unless you muff dive here and there...”
Sam, Joe, Trevor, and Liam all came to a dead halt, then looked up at Amy.
Guess I said that louder than I should.
“No unauthorized muff diving on my part,” Amy ground out, her eyes burning a hole into me like one of them leather branding kits from eighth grade vocational arts class.
Sam combined a look of relief with one of disappointment.
“I’m not judging,” I stressed. She glared.
I caught Joe’s eye, our gazes locked in an ever-deepening look as my breath slowed, my pulse taking off. Trevor’s cock was hard and hot against my wri
st, his balls a treasure I was assigned to guard, my fingers weighing the soft, heavy pressure of him like my only job in the world was to do this.
Touch him.
What had started out as a joke turned serious as the seconds ticked by, stark arousal filling the air among us like an elixir, a potion, like oxygen. We couldn’t breathe without being together, and suddenly I needed to be as close as possible to my men, naked and raw, taken to places only they could make me visit.
With tongues, cocks, hands, and hearts.
“Darla?” Trevor asked, looking down pointedly.
Oh. I was still choking his chicken, minus the choking part. I eased my hand off him. Those bright blue eyes went dark, his hand not holding his phone pinning mine just as it reached his waistband.
Jealousy never looked good on Joe, who was GQ-model hot but also looking pretty pissed right about now. Me, Trevor, and Joe had been together for three years now, and while our arrangement was unorthodox, our emotional bond was pretty damn normal. It wasn’t that Joe didn’t want me touching Trevor’s penis. That was fine.
It was the absence of my hand on Joe’s cock that was the problem. He expected one hundred percent of what Trevor got. I’m only one woman, you know? When I have to give one hundred percent to two different men, you know what that’s called?
Paradise. It’s called paradise.
Trevor started back-walking me down the hallway as I protested, but within three steps I realized where we were going and why. Before I could say a word, his hot mouth covered mine, shutting me up in an instant with a tongue that said my hand had committed my entire body to a very specific experience that we were about to embark on.
Naked.
Joe must have shut the door behind us, because all I know is that Trevor went down on the bed back first, pulling me on top of him, his mouth on my ear, biting hard as he whispered through clenched teeth, “You don’t grab my cock in public and expect to walk away.”
I squeezed him gently, loosening my grip at the just-right moment so his tip got all the friction that made him shiver. “Who said I was plannin’ on walking away?”
“And what about me?” Joe demanded, in a voice that made it tough to tell whether he was joking or truly angry.
