by Lyra Parish
SINGLE
Volume 1
Lyra Parish
Single: Vol. 1 is Copyright © 2014 by Lyra Parish.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Authors’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To those who have been with me since the beginning of this wild and crazy journey, I will never be able to thank you enough.
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Use or search the hashtag #singleserial
Oh. My. God, I thought as Mr. Sex-on-legs leaned in and nibbled on my bottom lip like we were lovers. Though we’ve talked for weeks through a messaging service on an online dating site, tonight was the first time we had met in person, and I was sure it would be the last. Yes, the last. This decision wasn’t made because Alex was boring or bad looking—he was far from either. I decided this because of the rules I’d set in place to ensure that there would be no sort of relationship in my future.
With a raspy voice full of sex appeal, he said all the right things to progress the inevitable, and he was confident about it. Whether what he said was truth or lies, I didn’t care. My intentions were purely physical, not to learn every detail about him or fall in love. That wasn’t possible anyway. Love was an emotion that took time, an investment, and I didn’t believe in love at first sight. It always seemed like a silly concept to me. Love is a complicated emotion within itself. Add the first-sight bullshit to love, and I become completely lost on the subject.
As I sat there listening to Alex talk in depth about architectural design, a thought crossed my mind: I didn’t know if Alex was actually his real name or not, and if it wasn’t, then the playing field was even—because I didn’t give him mine. There were rules to the game of potential one-night stands in the Internet dating world, rules that I followed religiously. I had a reputation to uphold, and there were too many stalkers and psychos around.
First rule: Never give your real name.
Second rule: Use the same fake name, so you won’t forget who you are.
Instead of being Roxane VanBuren, the President of VanBuren Investments, tonight I was Katie, the girl who had one goal in mind. The girl who refused to talk about where she worked, and who also happened to love tequila and dirty martinis. Katie’s favorite place to meet men she chatted with on the Internet was the Hilton Hotel Bar downtown. The location ensured there wouldn’t be far to go if the night progressed into something else.
Third rule: Never bring men home.
It didn’t take long for him to confirm that the night would be full of sex. A few drinks smothered with innuendoes, and we couldn’t keep our hands and lips off of one another. After the last-minute booking of a room and the swipe of his credit card, we were stumbling through the hotel between kisses. Once inside the room, every single piece of clothing on our bodies disappeared from pure desire.
I ran my fingers through his blond hair as he pulled me closer to his strong body. Teeth grazed my neck, then he laid me down on the bed. Gently, his lips moved over my breasts. He flicked and nibbled on my nipple, then licked up my chest. I laughed because no one had ever licked from my belly button to my mouth before. No, definitely not.
We were ravenous for each other, and I wanted him to devour me with his tender touch and generous mouth. Before we went any further, Alex stood long enough for me to admire him. Muscles rippled down his stomach and his ass. Then he caught me staring and lifted an eyebrow as he quickly rolled a condom over his dick. Well, it was the best muscle on his body.
Fourth rule: Always have protection available. Safe sex is important.
Prepared. I love a man who is perpetually ready for his next adventure. Alex pulled me to the edge of the bed, and that was when I really noticed the dimple in his chin. Yes, a fucking dimple, and it was cute.
“That brown hair … are your eyes two different colors?”
I stopped kissing him. “Yeah. Green and brown.”
“You are so fucking sexy, Katie,” he whispered as he guided himself inside of me. Ready didn’t fully describe how my body took him. It had been months since I felt that.
At first, he went slow. He gave me deep thrusts, long and hard. Out of nowhere, as if he switched bodies with a virgin, he was in and out so quickly that I thought it was a drive-by sex session to see how quick he could fuck. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over, again and again.
I felt like I had been pranked. The foreplay was amazing, but the actual act after the warm-up thrusts lacked in several areas. If I were to rate it, I’d say a strong two. I sarcastically moaned as I mentally counted in my head. My body desperately craved the release of an orgasm, but I wasn’t even close. Actually, I was completely turned off.
Before I could even attempt to get myself there, he was bucking and moaning with his mouth wide open. “Oh. Oh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Oooooooooooh,” he said, as he pushed a little deeper into me and finished his powerful orgasm, robbing me of mine.
I looked over at the clock on the table.
Five minutes.
It took him a total of five damn minutes before he came.
I sighed as he climbed off of me, tied the condom in a knot, then threw it in the trash. A huge smile filled the bastard’s face as he laid down completely satisfied. I wasn’t sure if that really just happened or not. It was not supposed to happen like that. Both people were supposed to be satisfied.
“God, that was soooo good. Your pussy is perfection, Katie. That orgasm. Best one I’ve ever had,” he said as I stared at the ceiling, trying to determine what the fuck just happened. Never in my life had someone fucked so fast that it left me speechless.
“Want to go for round two after I catch my breath?” he asked, then turned and looked at me.
I sat up in bed, wondering if he was fucking kidding. When I looked over at him, I realized he wasn’t.
“Wait. Wait a damn second,” I said.
“It was just as good for you, wasn’t it?” He tried to pull me close to him so we could … wait for it— cuddle.
Fifth rule: No cuddling. It gives false hope and triggers emotions.
I pushed away from him and sarcastically laughed. It was almost hard for me to comprehend the absurdity of this situation. Obviously, he had not experienced the same five minutes of horrible sex that I just had, not by the smile on his face and the lingering hardness of his dick.
“No. Just, no. Actually, I think that was the worst five minutes of my life. I didn’t even come. I wasn’t even fucking close.” I stood, exasperated by the fact that he wanted me to experience that again. I shook my head, and searched for every piece of clothing that I had quickly removed ten minutes prior, then grabbed my high heels and slipped them on.
“I thought you had. You were just so tight.”
I wanted him to choke on every word I had said. After another moment, he finally understood what had taken place. “Hey, it was longer than five minutes. Let me make it up to you. Round two,” he pled.
“Not happening. And just a pointer—fucking isn’t a race. Next time, when some other idiot decides to fuck you, which I can guarantee will not be me, try to go for the marathon session and make sure she actually gets off. It makes you look like a selfish
asshole, otherwise. Women don’t like that.”
“And you … well, you’re being a bitch.”
“Not the first time I’ve been called that, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” I glared at him as I zipped my skirt. If looks could kill, he would have disintegrated instantly. Without taking a glance back at him, I slammed the door and walked furiously to the elevator. I stepped inside with hopes of forgetting what just happened, but somehow I couldn’t. The images of him fast-fucking me were already replaying in my mind.
Dammit.
Two weeks ago, when we started chatting online, or even two hours ago, when we first met in person, I never suspected he would be the one to deliver me the most regretful sex of my entire life. He said all the right things, had a little swagger, a nice ass, and a fit body. What a waste of a good-looking man. No wonder he was single.
From that point on, I was convinced that there would always be something wrong with people who searched for love, or even just sex, online. So, I needed to figure out my issue and fix it, otherwise, my future might be doomed to speed racers.
When I got home, I took a shower with hopes of removing the entire situation from my body. After I lay down in bed, I slipped my hands down below and tried to relieve myself … but I couldn’t. Frustrated both physically and mentally, I tried to force myself to sleep, deprived of the stress-relief that sex delivered and that I desperately craved.
Eventually, I would learn that playing with lust was like playing with fire; sometimes one got burned, while other times, one just enjoyed the warmth. Tonight, I was scorched.
Before I fell asleep, I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend, Stacey.
Me: I’m officially giving up on men. I’m done.
There was no reply.
Many people don’t understand the whole Internet dating thing. Hell, I didn’t really understand it either, until I tried it. Now I’m an account hoarder, but god I’m not the only one. The same nasties upload the same pictures across every site, but I can’t blame them. A person’s odds of catching different kinds of fish were better in an ocean than a pond.
A friend once told me that there were ways around having relationships, you know, through masturbation. While those things had their purpose, they didn’t allow me to physically lose myself in the act with someone else. Those toe-curling, heart-pounding, life-changing orgasms were the ones that kept me on the prowl for good sex without strings. Relationships and Roxane did not belong in the same sentence. It always ended up being too complicated, and I didn’t have the time, patience, or desire to make it work. Relationships and I were actually on two opposite ends of the spectrum. I’ve come to terms with the reality.
Internet dating seemed like the perfect alternative to going out on the town. At least online, everyone knew what the intention was without pretending or trying to allude to something else. I wasn’t sure what the current statistics were, but I knew thousands of people threw wads of cash at these sites in hopes of finding that special one. I blamed it all on the stupid commercials and tailored marketing with real-life claims from people who had found love. Maybe I didn’t care too much about all that. Maybe I just wanted to have fun without worrying about the next week, month, year, or even decade. Hoards of people were too busy living in the future, rather than right now.
I opened my laptop and stared at the home page of another online dating site. This one was supposed to be better than the others, and I was willing to give it a chance. It was focused around business professionals. My crowd. After I paid my membership fees, updated my profile, and uploaded a photo, I scrolled through the countless faces. One would think that these love services would be free, since the creators were so into helping couples find their match. Gag.
My phone rang, but instead of answering it, I kept on scrolling. Some of the men on the site were handsome, others not so much, but to each his own. I double clicked a few faces until a little heart appeared over their pictures. Only the attractive ones got clicks. Without attraction, there really wasn’t any point in trying. I already felt like half of the biographies were fake, along with outdated profile pictures. People tended to make themselves seem better than they really were, kind of like resumes, so I didn’t look too much into them.
On the last site I signed up for, I matched with a few men—three exactly. Because I had nothing better to do, I took a weekend to meet up with them. One forgot to mention his picture was taken ten years ago before the beer gut. The other had divorced multiple times and was only thirty. The last one had had a sex change. I couldn’t make that stuff up. Needless to say, I deactivated my profile and moved on.
I had learned to keep things simple and get straight to the point. There was no reason to write a novel in my biography section. The picture was of me at a slight distance, wearing a bright-pink bikini that barely covered my body, and big sunglasses that hid half of my face. My ABOUTS were as honest as they could get. I didn’t go out of my way to impress men anymore. Everyone got Roxie in the raw. They’d have to take me how I was or walk on—that was a motto of mine.
28. Single. No kids. Never married. Non-smoker. Athletic build. Not looking for love. Must have your shit together.
I thought about erasing the last part, but listing anything else would be a lie. The section that says occupation or place of employment was left blank, no need to even hint about my profession. The last thing I wanted was anyone to recognize me. President of VanBuren Investments, ha, that would never work on these sites, unless I wanted to become a sugar momma. I much preferred being known as a woman who knew what she wanted, determined even, and a business professional. At work, I was a closed book. In my online dating life, I gave enough personal information to get by.
My inbox flashed with multiple messages. It could have been a world record. At first, I hesitated to click on the envelope in the top right corner, but I had to know who was captivated by my raw profile. Three messages in my inbox blinked from screen names: Bigd1ck, RealMan69, and Allyouneed.
Interesting.
Out of curiosity alone, I clicked on Bigd1ck’s message.
Bigd1ck: I’ve got what you need baby. A real big dick to fill you up. Let’s meet up. Tonight?
I contemplated replying, but knew it was best to ignore jackasses like that, though I couldn’t blame him for trying. I was sure someone would go for that. Delete.
RealMan69: Hi beautiful. Looking for a real man? One to fill you up?
No, no, no. Hell no! What was the deal with them wanting to fill me up? Disgusting.
Allyouneed: Hello, FoxyFox. You’re very pretty. I’m sure you’ve received tons of creepy messages by now, but I can assure you that I’m relatively normal. 29. No kids. Never married. Can’t say I’m not looking for love, and I don’t want to rush into anything too serious, but my options are open. Looking forward to your reply.
Well, that message was cordial. I carried my laptop to the bed, crossed my legs, and stared out the window. Cars zoomed by on I-10. How fucking lame was I to be home on a Friday night in Houston?
Instead of continuing the conversation, I placed the laptop beside me and minimized the screen. I heard the messenger tone, but instead of answering it, I closed my eyes and wondered what the fuck I was doing. I was done with this. Another bling on the computer and then my phone dinged with a text message. I didn’t answer that one, either.
All I wanted to do was let loose, enjoy myself, and be free sexually. I didn’t want to have to worry about a relationship, where things were headed, or even getting married. Those things were lost six years ago when I received the call that my fiancé had died in a motorcycle accident. I just needed someone to temporarily fill that void in my life, not replace it. My phone rang, and I closed the laptop and scooted it away.
“Oh, so you can finally answer my call. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night about giving up. It’s not fucking happening, sweetheart. I want to show you the perks of being single. I’ve thought it over. Get dressed
. I’m picking you up in an hour. You’re not sitting at the top of that big-ass building all weekend. I’ve found something right up your alley, and I’ve just been handed VIP passes to one of the hottest places in town,” Stacey said.
“Where? And when you say get dressed, you mean?”
“It’s a surprise. Dress sexy. Be there soon,” she said and hung up.
I threw my phone down on the bed and forced myself to get up. Since it was close to nine, I knew it wouldn’t be a family affair or quiet dinner. No, those types of things didn’t happen for Stacey. I was sure it would be somewhere fast paced with hot men. A male strip club, maybe? Every scenario fell flat. Sometimes I really hated surprises. My closet was full of dresses, suit jackets, and skirts, but tucked away in the back I had a section of sexy clothes. If I knew Stacey, I would need to wear one of my more scandalous outfits.
I laid several items on the bed: red temptress, midnight vixen, and sexy heaven. I chose midnight vixen, a black backless lace party romper that showed just enough cleavage to be dangerous. When I put it on, I instantly felt fierce. After I applied red lipstick and smoky eye shadow, I placed a squeeze of mousse in my hair. The buzzer pulled me from my thoughts, and I heard Stacey demand for me to ring her up. I did without hesitation. Minutes later, she was knocking at the door. I opened it and checked out her outfit: a jade Meital dress with golden glitter accents. She looked amazing, but that was Stacey, with her long legs, blond hair, and chestnut-colored eyes. Stacey had been modeling since she was sixteen. Instead of going to college, she traveled around the world and was featured in spreads in all the top magazines. Cosmo, Glamour, Redbook—she made them her bitch, and because of her connections, we often got the VIP treatment.
“Where the hell are we going?” I asked, giving her the eye.
“You look amazing, babe. Look at that fucking outfit. You could easily be a damn Kardashian with that ass.” She grabbed my arm and whirled me around. “Loving the cut in the back. You are going to pull so many hoes tonight.” She winked at me, and I ran my tongue across my teeth.
