by Tania Cooper
That was until Mr. Confidence Smasher ruined my girl. Boy, did he do a number on her. He was charming, too charming for my and her besties’ liking, but my girl was swept away for months. He praised her constantly and told her how beautiful she was and how wonderful she was at her job. For a girl that struggled for years with low self-esteem mainly due to her shyness, he built her up in a way nothing had been able to do before. She felt more powerful and she even felt sexy for the first time in her life when she was with him.
Until, six months into the relationship, she decided to surprise him after telling him she couldn’t come over for dinner because she had to work late. She had been to a lingerie store during her lunch break that day and bought, not just pretty lingerie, but really pretty and kinky lingerie and a black trench coat. After working until seven, she went into the ladies room and changed into her new purchases, excited to see the look on his face when she rocked up to his home where he claimed to be working from.
When she knocked on his door and there was no answer, she decided to use the key he’d given her for emergencies and let herself in, thinking he must be too engrossed in work to have heard her knock. The noises she heard after a few steps in should have had her running out of there, but for some reason she still kept walking towards his bedroom. If I had a voice, I would have screamed at her not to open the door, but as the tears started to stream down her face, she opened that damn door.
And her heart fell to the ground and shattered into a million pieces.
He and his companion both looked up in surprise to see my girl standing there, and to add insult to injury, the extra-large-busted young thing straddling his lap said, “Oops, maybe I should have stuck to Tuesdays.” Tuesday was the night he said he played poker with his brother every week. But wait, it gets worse. As my girl, on shaky legs, turned around and made her way to the door, Mr. Confidence Smasher, who we’d been beginning to think could be our Mr. Long Term Guy, ran after her, grabbing her arm to turn her around, and said, “I’m so sorry, but seriously, your niceness was just getting to be a bit much, princess. We can still make this work though.”
Thank God she slapped him hard across the face before leaving and never hearing exactly how he thought they could work it out. Knowing that scum, he probably wanted to put her on a roster system with Miss Not Looking Quite Legal. But even though she walked away, the damage was already done. Which led to many nights with our head buried in a bottle of wine or too many cocktails with Zali and Mel, which also led to the plan we currently live by. That they all would seek out guys for pleasure only. Give the male species a good dose of their own medicine, hook them in and let them go when we have had our sexual fill of them.
Well, my girl and I have tried to live by that plan, but our pesky emotions seem to get in the way no matter how much we try to push them down. Pesky feelings and pesky body chemicals, always causing pesky trouble.
So even though we don’t do the one-night-stand thing too often, we do go out and enjoy ourselves with our girls, and if a specimen of the male species so happens to turn our head, then we just play along and see how the night turns out. And to be honest, no matter how much of a nympho I would be if she let me, sometimes a long dry spell is better than the feeling of rejection when our plan backfires and the guy is quicker at hitting and quitting than we are. To not be the first one to get up and leave hurts sometimes.
This is our end of Friday ritual. Shut our computer down; check. Take our little garbage bin to the door of our office for the cleaning staff; check. Duck into the ladies for a quick pee and re-apply of our lipstick, ahh that feels better; check. Give ourselves a quick pep talk: You’re an accomplished woman who is smart and caring and has a lot of love to give the right man who deserves it, and is also great at giving mind blowing, body shattering, raw throat screaming orgasms, who will come along when the time is right; check. Okay, we are ready for take-off.
As we hop off the lift and walk towards the exit, we smell his aftershave before she even sights him. And it’s not just Mr. Uptight’s sexy as fuck aftershave, it’s also him. He has a unique smell that I swear we would smell from another state if he was to move. And as luck would have it, he’s talking to our boss so there’s no avoiding the close proximity to his male hotness. Stupid testosterone, causing stupid oestrogen to think this stupid male is hotness.
We speed our steps in hopes of our boss just saying a quick goodbye and not asking us to stop so he can introduce us to Mr. Stupid who knocks woman on their arses. As we get close we take one quick glance their way, and as quickly as Mr. Uptight catches our eye, he turns his head to avoid us, which results in anger rising in us again, which also results in our snappy “Goodbye” to our boss. Damn, that was a bit rude. I hope Mr. Black takes it as if she’s just busy or running late for something other than we’re shitty at him, when it’s Mr. Uptight’s coldness that has our feelings hurt again. Fuck him. It’s Friday night and we will not let him bring us down again.
Well, that doesn’t really work, because the moment we arrive at the pub, sit down in the booth next to Zali, and wince in pain, memories of how that pain in the arse got there and who was responsible for it come rushing back to the forefront of our mind.
“Oooooo, someone has been having some naughty fun,” Zali tells my girl, while Mel starts cheering loudly. I can feel my girl’s deep blush all the way to my core. God, I love our besties. My girl goes into the details of why and how she has a pain in the arse. And wait for it, here it comes, the holy and sacred best friend advice we all can’t live without.
“The hold Mr. Uptight has over you is ridiculous. You need to screw him out of your brain, then he won’t affect you so much or at all.”
Yep, money can’t buy that shit. Mel has always been my favourite. Such a clever woman.
“I don’t agree with your plan, but even if I did, he won’t even acknowledge that I exist. So how would I possibly get him in a situation where I can screw him out of my brain?”
Good point. Every time our eyes meet he turns away, so it would be impossible to start a conversation that could possibly lead to anything more than just passing in the lobby of our building.
“Men are simple creatures and that’s because it’s a fact that half their brain resides below their belts. So, you know what office he works in, pay him a surprise visit. Just walk in unannounced, say ‘Oops, wrong office’ when he looks up in surprise to see you there, then quietly lock the door, walk over to him silently and slowly, with extra sway in those sexy hips of yours, turn his chair around, fall to your knees and give him the best damn blow job of your life. But just before he comes, pop that mouth of yours off, lift your skirt, push your panties to the side and ride him all the way to O town. Then hop off just as silently, fix your skirt, and walk out of there. Then, next time you see him in the lobby and he is desperate to get your attention, begging you to pay him another visit in his office, say ‘No thank you, I really do not want a repeat of “that” performance’ and walk away with your head held high.”
Wooohooo! I like that plan, but going by the emotions swirling through my girl, she is way overthinking Mel’s plan.
“But what if he’s amazing, what if that one moment is epic and life changing, then what? How would that possible help me to get him out of my system?”
Damn. I feel this plan falling apart before we even have a chance to try it out.
“Um, yeah. I think I need a few more drinks before I dole out any more freaking awesome advice. I’ll get back to you after drink number five.”
I really liked that one. Maybe the next will be even more rewarding. The night continues as usual. Booze, laughter, and guy fishing. It seems tonight all the good ones are already caught, but I’m happy just to get to talk to my girls. Zali’s and Mel’s vaginas live a much more adventurous life than I have, so I can live through them vicariously.
“Did you seriously say that you had some nookie for lunch today?” I just have to ask Mel’s vag so I can live precario
usly through her.
“Yep! And it was a mighty tasty lunch indeed. This time he surprised us. He came in, shut the door, kissed the hell out of us before lifting my girl up onto the desk, spreading her thighs and feasting on us with that talented tongue of his. It was the best damn lunch break we have ever had.”
Okay, rules are being broken here and it’s usually Mel who enforces them. “What happened to the rule, never at work, well, unless it was in the stairwells?”
“They’ve both been so busy lately that the only time they can hook up is during work hours, and there are more options in their offices than the bloody cold stairwells so the risk is worth it. This fuck buddy business is hard work sometimes. As much as I’m not complaining, because seriously, that mouth of his is worth it, but I sometimes think I’d like a regular guy, who is devoted solely to servicing me on a nightly basis, in our own bed. And one that preferably doesn’t confuse our name with his other fuck buddy, because that little slip has me drying up faster than smelling some other skank’s perfume on him.”
“At least you’re getting some attention. Our last two were the ‘wham bam thank you mam so sorry forgot to please you too’ kind of men. How did we not pick up on that before we got to the bedroom? We’re seriously losing our radar if that has happened twice in a row. There will not be a third time. If I sense that’s about to happen, I will clamp up so hard nothing will get through my tight muscles.”
That’s true. Guys have been jealous of how strong Zali’s internal muscles are; they wish they had the strength in their arms. If she shuts up camp, nothing will get through that barrier. At least repeat fuck buddies are better than one nighters, but I would still prefer something a little more substantial than both those options.
“Are we ever going to find our Mr. Long Term Guy? I mean, I thought the plan of seeking pleasure only was fun for a while, but it’s not really suiting my girl. She needs a bit more nurturing than a one night stand can offer.”
“It won’t happen overnight, but it will happen, if that’s what she really wants. Her Mr. Long Term Guy is just having trouble finding her. For my girl, she’s not ready for long term yet, so I will just hang on tight and enjoy the ride.”
Zali might like the constant ride, where I would like to at least add a constant cuddle to the mix, preferably with the same guy and for more than a few nights here and there.
Tonight’s a bust, well almost. Just as the girls all get up, ready to leave, two handsome men walk in the door, one we actually recognise.
“Oh no, don’t look. That’s Mr. Oh la la I was telling you about, and by the way he was looking at me today. I really do not need him trying to pick me up right now. I am so not messing up the deal my boss is trying to get him to sign. Let’s go through the crowd and hope he doesn’t spot me.”
“Just because you can’t go there doesn’t mean I can’t. I feel like some ‘Crème Brule’ for desert. Night, ladies.”
Yep, she went there. And as my girl and Mel sneak out through the crowd they look back and can see Mr. Oh la la ready to feed Zali whatever she wants.
Ugh, what a bloody night, I’ve gotta get that taste out my mouth, we have really got to get you some better toys, mate. What the fuck were you thinking? She may have had a plump arse and huge cans, but fuck, have you never heard of coyote ugly? Come on, wake up, I need a stretch. My balls are turning blue from how much I need to drop one. Wake the hell up, you gotta wash this crap off me, I’m starting to stink! The bathroom is right there, how hard is it to get up and go wash me off before falling asleep?
She wasn’t that good. You do know she never made us pop last night. You fucking owe me, sleeping beauty, I mean come on, she looked like a ten when you picked her up, I’ll give you that, but bugger me bro, she ended up looking like a minus ten when I woke up. Seriously, what were you drinking last night to make you go home with that? Oh right, I forgot, tequila and vodka, who the hell mixes tequila and vodka? All you’re doing is ruining the tequila and doubling on an easy way to get smashed. I mean, come on mate, they’re both forty per cent proof!
Finally, the drama queen is up. Come on, let’s have a stretch, lover boy, that piece of fluff from last night is long gone and no way in hell was I going to drop a wad into that. So come on, get a grip and let’s have a stretch.
Oh yeah, that’s good, get a good grip, ow fuck, not that tight, Jesus. Okay good, slowly now, that’s right, find the rhythm. Oh yeah, good one, right there, nice and easy. We need this, last night was not a good night. Seriously mate, all she did was bounce up and down and make a dent in the bloody mattress, you need, no, you deserve better than that.
Hey, what did I say, slow down, for fuck sakes, this ain’t a race. Besides, you’re gonna give me a sore head if you keep yanking on me like that. Work ain’t for another three hours, we’ve got time. Somebody’s feeling the letdown, ain't they. Well, dumb arse, that’s what you get for beer goggling your pick up. I always tell you to go on the hunt sober then get smashed with the piece of candy you snag, but nooooo, do you ever bloody listen to me, do you hey? All you seem to be doing lately is getting plastered and going from one train wreck to the next.
I swear, ever since Miss Queen Bitch ripped our heart out through your arsehole, it’s one dumb floozy to the next. None of which ever give me or you a proper release. Take last night for example. I swear she was going to break me off at the bloody root rather than make us pop our cork. Great, now I'm pissed off, back to the stretch. Oh yeah, that's my boy, slower, good, you're getting there, a little slower. Damn, that's it, keep it there, oh good one.
Okay, a little faster mate, that's it, keep the pressure, rub my head, oh yeah, just like that. Okay, nearly there, just a little more. Oh, oh, oh, there we go, fuck me was that good, nice big load, oh yeah now we feel better, all nice and empty.
Would have preferred a nice, tight, wet pussy, but hey, we make do. Right, up ya get sleepy, to the shower!
Okay, that feels a hell of a lot better, no nasty tramp gunge on me and no more blue balls. Right, what am I going to wear today? How about that silk Armani pair Miss Queen Bitch left behind? Those always make me feel good and ready for anything, that, with the DG suit and those Italian loafers your mum bought you. Oi dipshit, you paying attention here? Hurry up or we're going to get caught in the rush again, which makes us late, which means we miss the nice bits of T and A walking into the office first thing, which makes me grumpy and you don't like me when I’m grumpy, so bloody move it!
Oh yeah, those feel nice, I like these, only thing she left behind that I do like. Yet you, you dopey bastard, you still insist on keeping that bloody banana hammock of a set of briefs, all because they were one of the last things she bought you. Man the fuck up and toss ‘em out, they feel like crap, look like a set of tighty whities, and squash me up so much I end up sniffing your butt crack for half the day. So are we getting rid of them? Yes or no? Oh for crying out loud, you're seriously putting them back … again! I'd tell you to sack up and act like you've got a pair, but right now I’m seriously wondering why I still hang around.
Okay, enough of this crap, suit up and ship out, we've got some T and A waiting in the office and I have some pussies to chat up. Not that you really pay attention to any of them, too busy playing Mr. Executive and while ignoring all the good ones. You know, that tight little thing that acts like a door mouse but I know will be a demon if you ever got her in the sack. But do you notice her, do you, fucker? All you see are those plastic bimbos that wander around with their jugs hanging out. Hell, even the mail room clerk has seen more of those than their own mothers.
Okay, okay, I took that a little too far; don't go all pissy on me. I know why you ignore her, I think you're being a pansy, but I know why. It's Miss Warm Sunshine, the one that smells like Miss Queen Bitch but looks like a blonde Scarlett Johansson. I mean come on; you must be blind if you haven't noticed the goo goo eyes she fires your way every time she sees you. And yet, there you are being
the biggest arsehole you can be to her, ignoring her like you would the creepy kid in science class, you know, the one that always turned the frog into a puppet.
Right, you ready now? Done moping around again? Good, off we go, don't forget your keys this time. I’m not sitting on the marble steps again getting numb nuts because your dumb arse locked us out.
Here we go, take a deep breath, dude, its wild country now. God do they smell great today, all pheromones, shampoo, and Chanel No. 5, you've gotta love this. Oh hell yeah, you smell that, come on, you have to smell that.
“Hey sexy, why don't you swing this way and we can play soldier.”
Oh shit, wrong one, damn it, this is that prissy muff from the office down the hall. Abort, abort, no, don't get closer to her, ahh fuck.
“Seriously, what else you gonna ask, if I want to get a taste of a salty salami?”
He just had to walk closer to this uptight kitten.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever love, just keep moving, I wasn't talking to you. I wouldn't offer friendly fire your way let alone anything else.”
Come on, move on, we need something else. Okay we're moving into the good stuff now.
“Hey girly, why don’t you send your spicy self this way, we love a little oriental flavour. No, okay then, that’s alright, we’ll catch you later.”
Okay what's next, what's next? I know we've got to get upstairs and the elevator is right over there, but really dude, do we have to leave all these gorgeous girls. I mean that Chinese girl was damned hot and has got to be worth a hit. I don't think we've had a Chinese girl yet … have we … no I'd remember that … I think.
