Margaritas by Moonlight (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 2

by Chris Genovese

  Maybe Mandy

  Margaritas by Moonlight

  By: Chris Genovese

  Maybe Mandy: Margaritas by Moonlight

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by ChrisGenovese

  Published by Erotic Mayberry Publishing

  Written by Chris Genovese

  Cover created by Chris Genovese

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Act 1 – The Plot

  Act 2 – The Setting

  Act 3 – The Blue Balls

  *Mandy is a fictional character who fully understands the need to use protection during sex. She ALWAYS uses contraceptives. If it is not mentioned in the story it is only to prevent the slowing down of the story or interruption to the fantasy element. Have fun and be safe!*

  Act 1 – The Plot

  I’m still not a whore. Okay, I did some pretty whorish things recently and I’ve decided that I completely deserve my forgiveness. Braden was a stud, plain and simple, and I was a young and fabulous woman who had been denied sex for over five months. And I’d been cheated on by my previous boyfriend.

  If that doesn’t give me a free “fuck the next hot guy you meet” pass, then I don’t know what does.

  So what happened to Braden? That’s the thought on your mind, right? What happened to the guy who fucked me in nearly every square foot of the carnival?

  He’s gone. That’s where he is.

  Typical guy, right? Well, I should go a little easier on him, I suppose, since he does live in Staten Island, New York, and I’m all the way down here in Charlotte, North Carolina. We haven’t completely lost contact.

  We’ve done the, “so whatcha wearin’” telephone nonsense and we’ve done the “it’s so hard to type with one hand” thing while we masturbate via Internet chat.

  Video chatting is a no go for me. I know it works for some people, but I can never figure out where to stare. The camera has that little lens and I know I end up looking cross eyed on the other end as I try to make sure my face stays focused on the camera. Either that or my eyes are open wide and my mouth is agape as I try to figure the camera thing out.

  How sexy is that, huh?

  Braden’s beating off with one hand while I’m leaned forward, cleavage revealed and all, snooping around the lens saying stupid shit like, “Is this thing even on? Can you see me?”

  One time there was even that strange several-second delay. Our conversation started out good as Braden was doing most of the talking, telling me all the hot stuff he was going to do to me the next time he saw me. But then, the walkie talkie effect kicked in and I guess I started talking at the same time he was talking so the conversation sounded a little like this.

  Braden: “…nd my balls…”

  Me: “What? Braden, can you repeat that cause I didn’t hear…”

  Braden: “…your hot tits all over my…”

  Me: “What? You want your balls on my hot tits?”

  Braden: “…while you ride my…”

  Me: “That’s physically impossible, Braden!”

  That was the last time we tried the video chat thing. And I haven’t seen Braden since. He’s been busy with work and I decided that I don’t need to hang around and wait to fucking video chat or email chat or whatever.

  It’s not me. I’m Amanda Young and I decided I was putting myself fully on the market. Not that I was ever off the market, but you know…

  So this is where the story gets interesting. Before Braden, I was a relatively level-headed professional. I fingered myself to anything with Channing Tatum or Ryan Reynolds, but I was pretty inactive when it came to actual pussy pounding sex.

  Susie, my roommate, was getting her daily fix from Vince “Megatron” Adams over there. What? I started calling him Optimus Prime at one point but that’s a hell of a long nickname. Megatron serves the same purpose. He’s a fucking robot, giving her sexual pleasure every damned day. And he still wants to hook up that threesome. Ain’t gonna happen.

  Braden changed me a little bit. He taught me that I deserve to be sexually pleased. Why should I wait for several months, meet what I think is the right guy, date for another several months, have some good sex and some bad, and then break up in a whirlwind of foul words slung at each other and lots of awkward times trying to get our shit back from each other’s houses?

  Why? Why deal with all that hoopla?

  The truth is, I can get the emotional attention I need from a pumpkin spice latte and fresh glazed, hot off the conveyor Krispy Kreme. I can get the humor from SNL and I can get hot sex from whatever guy is willing to give in.

  Okay, I won’t just jump into the sack with anyone but you know what I mean. I’m not going to be that cold fish, nose in the air bitch I was at one point.

  I’m the new and improved Mandy. Maybe I’ll hook up tonight, maybe I won’t. Life’s full of maybes.

  Ben, my gay bestie, seems to like the new me too, especially when I fill our boring silences with stories about how I hung from a tree branch with my legs over Braden’s shoulders as he tongued my pussy.

  Ben loves those stories. To him, they’re kind of like Chicken Soup for the Gay Horn Ball’s Soul. And since he too had recently decided to play the field, it was he who proposed one of the best ideas I’d heard in a while.

  We were driving in my car, belting out the lyrics to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, don’t ask, when Ben suddenly reached out and smacked the pause button.

  It wouldn’t have been a big deal if I’d realized he was gonna do it instead of continuing to screech at the top of my lungs, “That’s all I ask of youuuuuuuuuu!”

  I opened my eyes, stopped singing, and just glared at him. He knew he was in trouble. He’d done this in the past and knew how I hated singing acapella in the middle of an orchestra-filled duet.

  “Seriously? Dude, that was my jam.”

  “Baby girl, I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “Benjamin,” I replied. “You hurt me. You hurt me bad. Please do explain yourself.”

  We both laughed and the mood went back to fabulous. Ben threw his hands up and excitedly announced:

  “So I was at work today, right? And I was trying to sell this high school senior coordinator on how badass a trip to Cancun is for a grad trip. He was trying to purchase tickets for Universal Studios in Orlando. How lame is that? Right? I mean imagine your friends are wanting to party and you’re taking them through…”

  Argh, what, Ben? Why did you pause the song?! I thought.

  I love Ben, but he can go off on tangents that will make you want to put a pistol in your mouth, shake it around to knock out a few teeth, and then pull the trigger. This was going to be one of those times. And that just wouldn’t do.

  “Ben, where’s this story going because we’ll reach the mall in about two minutes and something tells me you won’t reach the punch line or important info or climax to this story by then. What is it, babe?”

  “So true,” he admitted. “Mmm kay. So this dork wasn’t buying it and as I continued to sell him on this completely phenomenal package, I thought…wait a minute…why don’t I go on this trip? Why don’t I see if Mandy and Jill and Susie and Vince and…”

  “I get the point,” I jokingly interrupted him.

  Okay, I just p
lain interrupted him but he was on to something. It was a great idea. My high school class actually did go to Cancun but I didn’t have the money to go. I didn’t come from an affluent family and I didn’t have a job and I didn’t have a body worth selling so my high school funds were quite lackluster.

  Now, however, older and single me had a savings account set up specifically for unplanned illnesses, unexpected car wrecks, or uninhibited sexual extravaganzas south of the border.

  Hey, I’d gone many months without any nookie and I’d seen the videos of what happens to naïve white chicks in Mexico. No, not the scary “what happened to Sally” kind of videos, but the YouTube “oops I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk” kind of videos.

  Sign me up please and make mine a double! Holla!

  “Ben, you’re a genius,” I said as I pulled into the parking lot and parked super far from the doors.

  Ben just looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Can I ask what you’re doing?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” I replied.

  “I mean why are you parked in fucking Bosnia when there are plenty of parking spots right up there next to the mall?”

  “Because we, my love, are going to Cancun and WE both need to walk off a few pounds first.”

  Ben, who had jet black hair combed very nicely to the side and had just a slight second chin, leaned back in his seat, putting extra emphasis on the doppelganger pudge. He was a super cute guy with an award-winning attitude.

  I’m talking Golden Globes, not an Oscar, as he does get quite bitchy from time to time.

  “Touché,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  I’d planned the trip to the mall to pick up a few fruity lotions and a cell phone charger. Suddenly I was on the lookout for a new bathing suit, something that would hide the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream I’d grown so fond of lately but would still allow for some serious cleavage.

  I had to make a quick pit stop at Spencer’s Gifts to see what my fellow had been up to lately. I hadn’t entered the store since my crazy carnival adventure with Braden. Visiting the place hadn’t even dawned on me until one night when Susie mentioned stopping by the store to pick up some sex game dice. Then I remembered my guy, not sure why I keep referring to him as mine, wrote some of the questions in the store’s sex games.

  Ben didn’t mind the interruption. He said he needed to pick up something for a play date he had with an ex-boyfriend. I couldn’t wait to see what kind of toys he had in mind. Turns out, he had a vibrating cock ring, furry purple handcuffs, and a rather large string of fluorescent anal beads in mind.

  I was busy reading the back of one of the sex games boxes while he filled his arms with knickknacks. Why the back of the box? For the sample questions of course.

  “What’s your favorite position?” the box asked.

  Easy…riding, or do they call that cowgirl now? I’ve heard the term reverse cowgirl so does that mean spun around in the correct direction means regular ol’ cowgirl?

  I had to wonder if the term upset real “honest to God” cowgirls. Here they were, trying to hang with the guys: roping cattle, riding broncs, throwing hay, and whatever else cow folk do, and people went and named a sexual position after them. That’s kind of messed up.

  As I really contemplated the question, I had to rethink my favorite position too. I’d never been a big fan of doggy style but when Braden had me bent over in the Ferris wheel at the ride’s highest point…that was hot.

  Can I be as specific as to say that my favorite position, at this point in time, is being bent over doggy style on a Ferris wheel? I wonder how many others would say that!

  “Would you rather give oral sex or receive oral sex?”

  Duh, do I really need to answer that? Receive of course.

  “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”

  Yes, I have.

  That’s when I realized I was looking at Braden’s work. He’d said that was one of his favorite questions in the game. And because of him I could now say yes to that question.

  I considered buying the game just to see what other creative shit the guy was able to come up with, but what would be the point? I’d just waste money and wouldn’t have anyone to play with anyway.

  I turned to see Ben with all his trinkets. I picked up the box with the anal beads and shook it, hearing the beads rattle against the cardboard. I wondered who made this stuff and of what quality it was.

  What if the string breaks off in your butt? And you have to dig on up in there and…eww. Or even worse if you can’t get it out and you have to go to the emergency room…that would suck.

  “Damn, babe, who are you meeting later? Jigsaw?”

  I put the box back on top of the pile in his arms. Ben furled his eyebrows and just stared at me. He clearly didn’t get it.

  “From the Saw movies?” I said, pushing past him and heading toward the exit. “You know, ‘let’s play a game.’ Forget it, forgot you don’t like scary movies.”

  Next up, bathing suit shopping. I’d never been to the beach with Ben. That was my morning routine with Susie and Vince and as we hit the ladies suits I wondered whether he wore a Speedo or board shorts. Or did Ben freeball it like he once suggested I do (his way of telling me to stay single)?

  “Tightie whities or boxers?” Braden had asked me that night in his car.

  Argh. Braden again. This guy really did a number on me. Why can’t I get him out of my head?

  I knew why I couldn’t get him out of my head. Because he’d done things to me I’d never experienced. He fucked me better than I’d ever been fucked in my life. And during all that, he still pulled off the ultimate magic trick. While making me his personal slut for the night, he still managed to treat me special. He was the sweetest boyfriend I’d ever had even if it only lasted a night.

  And he fucked me sooo good.

  I’d masturbated many times since that night with Braden. My pussy was raw many nights just thinking about our time in all the different places of the carnival, and when those thoughts didn’t help me get off, I imagined rides we didn’t even try.

  In my mind he fingered me in that spinning ride that sucks you against the wall, he ate me out as I leaned back on one of the carousel horses, I sucked his cock in the haunted house, and the oddest fantasy was me riding his dick in one of those swings that flies around high up in the air.

  In my mind, I’d run away from home and joined Braden’s sexual circus.

  As I shopped, I could hear Ben rambling on about his date plans, but all I heard was mumbled speech as I once again drifted off to thoughts of Braden eating me out as I held onto the tree branch for dear life.

  My knees suddenly felt weak and I did my best to concentrate on the beach gear. I felt my pussy getting wet. And a familiar ache seeped into my gut. I needed to get fucked. It was time again. I hoped I could wait and find someone in Cancun.

  I am so going to find a Mexican Braden and get this out of my system. Hmm, I wonder what would be the equivalent of Braden in Spanish? Bradien? El Braden? I’m such a dork.

  Ben announced that he was headed to the dude section of the store so I stayed alone, free from hiding my horny thoughts while thumbing through the many overpriced bathing suits in the department store. Most were super tight, itty-bitty bikinis.

  Size zero girls had so much to choose from. I wondered what it would be like to walk into a store, close my eyes, spin around in a circle, and just point, knowing that whatever my finger landed on would fit me just fine.

  I decided to try it, just for fun. I spun around, got dizzy way too quickly, and opened my eyes to stumble a step and see my finger land on a pair of dental floss bottoms and a top that looked like one of those elastic workout bands. I imagined my ass hanging out of the ridiculous bottoms and my tits mashed against my chest beneath the band.

  I think you have to be from the Jersey Shore to make that work.

  I wasn’t plus size, but I wasn’t too far away either. Hence the rea
son for my morning beach jogs. I’d missed quite a few lately in pursuit of a little extra sleep and those damned McGriddle sandwiches.

  Hmm, I kinda want one right now. Whoever thought of putting sausage, egg, and cheese between two maple filled pancakes is a genius.

  In a store that was filled with bikinis and the latest fashion, teeny tiny board shorts, I finally located the only rack with one-piece bathing suits. I could pull off a bikini, I was pretty sure, but I wanted to be comfortable on this trip not sucking in my gut all day long.

  I grabbed three suits I thought might fit. One was plain black, can’t go wrong with black, one was a very pretty blue, and one was leopard spotted. I don’t know when animal prints came back into style, but I was kind of leaning toward the leopard spotted.