Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  “What’s so funny, sweets?” Schade asks me and I realize I’m laughing again.

  “My panties played hide and seek when I got out of the car just for you to bring me to a shack to play hide and freak.”

  “Hide and freak, huh?” he asks before kissing me making me forget my name, his name, and what I was joking about.

  Clothes fly and hands roam. I’m floating as my back hits the bed. Schade is naked over me. Holding his weight on one leg and forearm, his hand is over my naked flesh with his fingers sliding between the lips of my pussy in a delicious torture.

  When he inserts his finger, I bite his lip from the sensations. Shameless, I fuck his finger in wild abandon.

  “Schade!” I scream his name. “Fuck me, Schade!” I yell out as I reach down and grip his dick in my hand.

  “No!” he says, jerking out of my hand.

  “I fucking hate you!” I roar to which he immediately removes his fingers just as I find myself on the edge about to topple over.

  “Aryn, if you take me in hand, I’m gonna come all over you. If I put on the condom right now, I’m gonna come all over my hand. If either of us touch my cock in the next two minutes, shit’s gonna be over and, baby, I’m just gettin’ started. I don’t want you to hate me, Aryn. I want you to love me.” He smirks.

  “Then fucking love me! But dammit, Schade do something!”

  Do something his does, his head drops, his body moves and he’s on the floor on his knees. Before I can sort out my next move, two hands grip my ankles and he pulls me to the edge of the bed. Spreading me wide, his mouth comes to my pussy. With a flick of his tongue I’m ready to soar.

  Schade may make his living doing obstacle courses but the way he’s navigating my pussy with his tongue, he could be a billionaire if he got paid to eat pussy.

  I thrash as my orgasm builds and builds. He works two fingers in and out of me while his tongue laps over my clit. On a pause, he sucks and I soar.

  “Schade, oh my fucking God, Schade!”

  Schade

  My name on her lips is enough to cause me to leak pre-come. I lick her lapping up her juices as she rides out the aftershocks of her orgasm.

  Calming myself, I grab a condom from the drawer as Aryn slides up on the bed and onto the pillows. Rolling it on, I have to keep from losing it looking at her gorgeous naked body on display for me.

  “Show me your hidden freak, Aryn,” I say, as my buzz is still strong. She wants to play hide and freak, sure thing.

  I don’t have expectations. Hell, the last person I thought would be on this date is Aryn much less that I would have her taste on my lips as I sink my cock deep inside her.

  My shock is apparent as she turns over to rest on all fours with her ass in the air. I step up with my cock jutting straight out. Aryn drops her head and shoulders down onto the bed reaching back and spreading her ass cheeks wide.

  “Sweets, you’re determined to embarrass me tonight,” I mutter as I slip inside her pussy all the way. She rocks against me and I fight not to come quickly.

  With my hand against her back, I hold her down as I slide in and out fucking Aryn as she moans in her climax building.

  Fuck yeah.

  Oh fuck yeah. Best night of my college life so far. She pushes back as much as I surge forward. Aryn Cole has a seductress inside her making her a perfect match for me.

  I just wonder if we both will feel this way when morning comes.

  Chapter Six

  Shenanigans

  Aryn

  Cotton balls taste like ass.

  It’s my first thought waking up this morning. Opening my eyes, I look around the room.

  The feeling of the cool air on my body has me coming to alert in a split second.

  I’m naked.

  I have a man beside me.

  My head hurts but I turn my neck to gasp as I realize I’m in bed with Schade Britton.

  Then the memories come. The shameless way I got off on his fingers, his face, and my God the way he took me on the floor, the bed, and in every position we could contort ourselves into.

  I like sex. I’m not a virgin, but I’m not a slut. This is my first one-night stand and what a stand it is.

  My body aches and I look to my breasts to see hickies covering them.

  One night. Look at it as a joke, Monica said. Rachel called it shenanigans.

  Well, my body finds none of this funny as everything is sore.

  My head throbs as I slide out of the bed to stand.

  Please stay asleep, please stay asleep, I think to myself as I watch Schade laid out naked on the bed. The man’s body could be on a health magazine cover. And last night, in his button up, he was sexy as hell and could grace the cover of any fashion magazine. His spikey dark hair and green eyes. I lick my lips in appreciation for the male specimen he is.

  And the things he can do with every inch of his glorious body.

  No! I shake my head and look around for my clothes.

  Quickly slipping my dress on, I find the belt and use that to hold my boobs up as I grab my purse. With one last look over my shoulder at the man who rocked my world, I sneak out.

  Once I cross the threshold, I slide on my heels and dig in my purse for my phone.

  Walk of shame—I don’t give a shit. I have to get out of here. The joke is on me this time.

  Schade

  My phone ringing wakes me up. It takes me a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I’m hung-over, naked, and in the smash shed.

  Blind date.

  Aryn Cole.

  Oh shit.

  I jump up with the realization my bedmate is long gone. Ignoring my ringing phone, the ringing in my ears, and my churning stomach, I grab my pants off the floor and toss on my shirt not bothering to button it up.

  Rushing out the door I jog back to the dorms. Bypassing my door, I go right to hers.

  After two knocks, she answers in a t-shirt and shorts with her hair in a messy bun on top of her head.

  The look on her face shows her surprise in seeing me here.

  “You left!”

  “It was shenanigans, Schade. Your fraternity has the fake profile. My sorority makes the single women have profiles. It was fun. Good times, nothing needs to change.” She looks at me, studies me. “Well, except maybe your clothes, you should change your clothes.

  Stepping into the doorway, I reach out and grip her neck pulling her to me. Kissing her, it’s me who devours her mouth this time. When she’s kissing me back as much as I’m giving to her I pull away leaving us both breathless.

  “Nothing about us and nothing about last night is shenanigans.”

  ~The End~

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small-town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She’s a wife and mom, chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write about blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

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  www.facebook.com/authorchelseacamaron

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  @chelseacamaron

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  www.authorchelseacamaron.com

  Email:

  chelseacamaron@gmail.com

  Strike Out

  By Jennifer Miller

  Inning One

  The longest relationship I’ve had with a woman lasted about seven months. Long blonde hair, legs for days, beautiful blue eyes—she was gorgeous, fun and exciting. Not to mention, we had amazing sex. I thought I was in love. That is, until baseball season started. Excited to take her to a game, I waved my tickets under her nose like an expensive bottle of wine, boasted about the great seats, and told her I wanted to show her around the park. That’s when it happened—she said something that broke my heart in an inst
ant. “I don’t really like baseball.” Five words and we were over. It hurt like hell too. Not our break up, but the fact that she’d insult my first love, and now my only love, the Chicago Cubs.

  Sitting in my preferred seat along the third base line where the players enter the dugout, the first inning is about to begin. I look at the lush green, meticulously manicured infield, the perfectly drawn white baselines, the precision grating on the dirt, and the Japanese bittersweet and Boston ivies covering the outfield walls, and feel a little boy grin engulf my entire face. I close my eyes, inhale the scent of hot dogs and popcorn, and gulp down the first of a few beers, while relishing the excited conversation and energy around me. I know without a doubt that ending that relationship was the right decision. What kind of girl doesn’t like baseball? Not one for me, that’s for damn sure.

  It’s opening day here at Wrigley Field–the start of a new season and the Cubs’ first game since winning the World Series. The thrill of that victory can still be felt as the Cubs walk onto the field, and the crowd goes crazy. I join in; absolutely not shy about adding my own cheers and expressions to the frenzy. I’ve been counting down the days until the season started. Truth is, I’ve replayed game seven when we clinched the Championship in my mind over and over so many times now that I’m ready for some new material. Which means, I’m ready for a repeat. And this could be the year! I settle in my seat and allow that year to begin.

  My love of baseball and moreover, the Cubs comes naturally. My dad and grandfather are the people to thank, or curse, depending on one’s viewpoint. They’re also the reason this ballpark has become my second home. My grandfather, Ken, developed a lifetime friendship—best friends, in fact—with a man he met in the military, Marty. They were drawn to each other during combat, but really bonded over their mutual love for the Cubs. There’s a story I’ve heard a million times about how their deep friendship was cemented. Apparently, my grandfather saved Marty when he took a bullet to the ass. Pops drug him away from the enemy when he couldn’t walk and was screaming in pain. The veracity of the tale was always in question, though they clung to the story. All I know is there was a running joke about never finding the bullet hole.

  After the military they were inseparable, lived in the same town, even married women who were close friends. Marty made billions during the Internet boom and his initial investment was to purchase the Chicago Cubs. The rest of the story, as they say, is history. My grandfather, though not a financial investor, worked alongside Marty and was consulted with every strategic and operational decision, and inevitably held an official consulting job for the team. They decided on everything together—coaches, managers, players, vendors, even the brand of hot dogs served at the snack bar. When the two of them had sons around the same time, it was destined that they would be best friends too—and they were. Of course they were also indoctrinated into the baseball world as well.

  Everything was perfect for years, until my grandfather became sick. He passed away only five months ago. The start of this new season feels strange without him. Marty, devastated by the loss of his best friend, didn’t want to continue running the team any longer and chose to pass everything onto his son, Mike. Marty repeatedly tried to make my grandfather part owner of the team but my grandfather continually refused. He said that he didn’t earn it, it wouldn’t be right, and he wasn’t taking charity. The man was stubborn. During those times, Marty would get angry at Ken and they would ignore each other for a day or so, then spend another huffing and puffing around each other, grumbling under their breath, until they moved on like nothing ever happened. The cycle was recurrent, though had slowed down a bit more in recent years. Marty told me he regrets never drawing up the papers and having it done anyway, Ken’s opinion be damned, so when he passed the ownership of the team onto his son, Mike, he also made my father, Jim, part owner as well. I don’t understand any of the legal crap, but I know it was a pretty big deal, and now Mike and my father are repeating their father’s history as best friends, and running the team together—but this time, as joint owners.

  When my grandfather passed away, he left the claim to my chosen seats in perpetuity to his only grandson—me. He had acquired the original seats and tickets before Marty owned the team and the two of them would come and sit in these exact seats and watch the game for years. He refused to get rid of them—and insisted on paying the season fee—even when holding onto them was no longer necessary, and I for one am glad he did. Inheriting them was a sad yet proud moment in my life. Especially when Marty told me that they have been paid for indefinitely. I can use them, rent them, whatever I’d like, his only request that they always remain in my family.

  This field is everything to me. The fact is, I can’t even count how many hours I’ve spent in the Friendly Confines, running through the bleachers, helping the staff clean the field after a game, watching the team practice year after year. I spent hours listening to my grandfather talk business here, heard about the five-year renovation plan before the media did, ate lunch with him here, and when young, and even a few times since, have run the bases more times than I can count. One time, I even helped an old janitor Frank scrape gum off the bottoms of chairs during clean up. It didn’t matter the task, I was game to help any way I could—I love this place. I love this team. I guess I’ve always felt like it’s my pride and joy too, maybe even my legacy. I suppose that’s another gift my grandfather left me.

  Before I inherited the tickets, I was allowed to come to any game I wanted. The owner’s suite was and, in fact still is, available to me. But, what no one expected, at least those who know my connection to the past and current owners, was that I would request and obtain a job here. I really enjoy working during the season. Plus, I’m using the money to help put myself through college. My dad pays for the classes, books, and my place, but I like to go out, drink beer and eat a lot—I’m a growing man after all—which means I need money to pay for it. My dad had told me to get a job anyway, said I’d have to pay for my own shit because he’d be damned if he was going to “spoil my ass.” The next day, I got a job at the park. This place is now the source of my living as well. I can sell any unused tickets that I’m not going to use and have already done so for a few games, so I’ll be sitting just fine for a while financially. There’s always college pals willing to pay for some seats, and if not, online outlets help me get money for them.

  Today, I’m using one of the seats, sold the other three, and am not working. Opening day is my favorite and I guess one of the perks of being the owner’s son is that my boss pretty much lets me make my own schedule. Hearing the increasing roar of the crowd, I snap out of my revelry and join the cheering as the first inning comes to a close with the catch of an infield fly ball. I look at the empty seats next to me and wonder when my friend TJ is going to show up. TJ is a good guy, one of my fraternity brothers, but arrogant as hell. His dad is a doctor or some shit and gives him cash like it’s going to expire, so he bought all three tickets for himself and if I had to guess, I’d say he’ll show up with two chicks on his arms for the other seats. But how do you miss the first inning?

  “Hey, Jensen. Why the hell isn’t your butt working today?” a loud voice scolds, interrupting my thoughts. Looking to my right, I see Wanda standing in the aisle glaring at me and I smile. Wanda has worked here since I can remember. She’s got to be in her sixties—she won’t tell me her age, or how many years she’s worked here. Said it’s impolite to ask a lady her age and furthermore, none of my business. She’s awesome.

  “Well hello, gorgeous,” I reply, giving her a killer smile while I stand and move toward her.

  “Don’t look at me like that, young man. My Harold would be insulted,” she says continuing to scold me. Harold, her husband of thirty-five years, passed away a few years ago. She talks about him all the time and from the sound of it, he was a good man. I wish I could have met him.

  “Come on now, Wanda. You know that Harold would understand that I can’t help myself arou
nd such a beautiful woman.” I give her a hug just to annoy her even more and laugh when she pushes me away.

  “Why are you dressed up like such a pretty boy today?” she asks, looking at my jeans, red Cubs t-shirt, and ball cap.

  “These clothes mean I’m being a ‘pretty boy?’ Wow, Wanda, I’m flattered, but, darlin’, you’ve seen nothing yet. One of these days I’m going to dress up in a suit just for you. I’ll look so fine, you’ll pass out from shock.”

  She waves her hand at me as if doing so swats away my words and rolls her eyes. “You wish. And you know what I mean. You’re not in uniform—you aren’t working today, slacker?”

  “On opening day? Are you nuts? How can I truly appreciate the start of a new season if I’m busy ushering, keeping the peace, or slinging beers and hot dogs?”

  “The same way the rest of us do. You’re so spoilt. I’m going to have to have a talk with that father of yours.”

  “Aw, you know you can’t fool me. You love me.”

  “Go sit down, pretty boy. Your friends are here.”

  Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and laughing again when she smacks me on the arm, I turn to see TJ has arrived and is moving toward his seat. I should totally be a betting man because he’s got two chicks with him, just like I knew he would. He gestures to their seats and one girl sits down. TJ points at me and I wave as I work my way back down the aisle to my seat. The other girl he’s with turns to look at me and when her eyes meet mine, I come to a stop. She’s one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen.

  Inning Two