F*ck Worthy, Volume 1

by Harmon, AJ

  F*ck Worthy

  An Erotic Serial

  Volume One

  by AJ Harmon

  www.ajharmon.com

  First eBook Edition, January 2018

  Copyright 2018 by ABCs Legacy, LLC

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  Have you ever walked into a bar, scanned the crowd for a man who looked fuck-worthy and then went for it? Me either, but there’s a first time for everything... and everyone.

  Let’s face it. Men can be royal douches, and I say that with genuine affection. I love men. I love almost everything about them. But the fact is, men can be real jerks. Let me give you a couple of examples.

  Logan was the guy I met the first day of my junior year at college. He was moving into the apartment opposite me and I literally ran into him as he stepped off the elevator. He was juggling a mountain of boxes and didn’t see me. As I stumbled backwards after being rammed with said boxes, I watched as the contents of his load came crashing to the floor, some plates breaking, and a cupcake teetering dangerously close to the edge of the cardboard lid finally falling, frosting side down, into a mushy mess on the stained grey carpet.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled.

  “Me?” I exclaimed and leapt to my feet ready to beat the shit out of him. “You’re the asshole that’s walking around with boxes in front of your head so you can’t see where you’re going!” I was shrieking… making a scene.

  “Because you can’t tell that I’m moving,” he snapped as he put the one box still in his arms down on the floor so he could begin collecting his possessions.

  “Dammit,” I muttered as I beheld his sky-blue eyes and dimpled cheeks.

  Our eyes met and that afternoon was the very first time I’d come twice in one hour. Logan could fuck like no one I’d had before. His attention to detail was extraordinary and I have no idea who he’d been practicing his tongue on, but I was grateful, nevertheless. Pretty much that entire year we were fuck buddies. Actually, buddies is too strong of a word. We didn’t like each other much, or at all. But our bodies moved in sync like nothing I’d ever experienced, so I put up with his shit, or tried to avoid it completely, and then a couple of times a week we fucked each other’s brains out. It’s pretty much been my most successful relationship to date. Doesn’t say much, does it?

  Then there was Reece at a restaurant I worked at right after I graduated from college. We waited tables together and I fell for him pretty damn quickly. He was kind and funny and tall and gorgeous – all the things I was sure I wanted. But then it came time to consummate our relationship and his dick was so tiny I barely felt him inside me, and after Logan, it was a major letdown. Plus, he only like to receive oral sex, not give it, so I tossed him aside and began flirting with the bartenders to make sure he knew we were done!

  And because I have soooo many, I’ll give you one more example, just to make sure you understand my frame of mind.

  Jessie was my cousin’s best friend. We’d been around each other as kids at times, but when I saw him again a couple of years ago at my cousins wedding, well, let’s just say that my panties were dripping by the time we were done with our first dance together. We made it another two songs before we went looking for a bathroom or nook, and ended up in a janitor’s closet. I know it’s cliché but it was private and we could lock the door from the inside. Within seconds we were naked and I was rocking on his cock with my head thrown back and moaning like a wolf on a full moon. I wondered if anyone would ever measure up to my memories of Logan, but Jessie made me forget all about that little college boy as I rode him like the stallion he was. I came so hard I thought I might cry. I bit down on his shoulder and rubbed my clit against him to the point I may have drawn blood, but the exquisite pain was worth every second.

  As we were getting dressed, he asked me not to tell my cousin about our little tryst, as she might tell his wife, and that wouldn’t be good!

  Jerks, I tell you. Total bastards! And that, my friends, brings me to standing in the doorway of the bar, perusing the living menu that sat before me at the bar and in dark booths. There had to be one man in the crowded room that was fuck worthy. Had to be!

  ONE

  “Cranberry Vodka,” I told the bartender. He smiled and nodded and then turned away to make my drink. I slid onto the bar stool as I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, placing it on the freshly-wiped granite-like bar top. There was a steady hum of voices and I could hear some 80’s pop playing through the overhead speakers.

  There seemed to be a lot of suits, businessmen continuing their work day with a drink to soften up their client, or letting off steam after the business for the day had been concluded. Either way, a lot of suits and ties. I turned back to the bartender as he placed my drink on a napkin in front of me.

  “Can I getcha anything else? A menu?”

  I shook my head as I swallowed. “Another one of these?” I asked, knowing it wouldn’t take much more before I was left with just ice.

  “You got it,” and he glided away to take another order.

  Now, it should be noted up front that I was not at the bar to meet my future husband. I wasn’t interested in a committed relationship, well, any relationship, really. I wanted to get my needs met and nothing more. My assumption had always been that I was the dream girl for most men – a one-night stand and then the welcomed brush-off and we both walked away happy. And, I have a vibrator – a heavy-duty, commercial-grade, top-of-the-line silicon dick that has been well worth the money I spent on it. Mr. Dick and I have spent many happy hours together but sometimes, you just a need the real thing.

  There is a need for physical contact no matter how much I don’t want to admit that. I hate needing anything or anyone. I am fiercely independent and crave peace and solitude. When I’m at work, I try to keep my door closed. Not only is that a physical barrier between me and the peasants, but a psychological one, too. They have to think if disturbing me is the best decision they are going to make that day. Now, again, it should be noted that I am not a horrible boss. I’m not. I don’t micro-manage and expect my crew to do their jobs with little, or preferably no, interference from me. I think that makes me a fabulous boss, actually. But I digress.

  With two drinks down, I’m loose enough to start looking for prey. I place a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and swivel around so I am facing the room of potentials. I have a type. All women do, and mine is blonde and blue-eyed. I don’t care about height or IQ. He needs to be strong enough to hold me over his hips so I can impale myself on his cock. Everything else is meaningless when all I want is a good fuck.

  There are several contenders. The room is full of my desired type, even after I dispose of those with rings on the fourth finger of either hand. Yeah, I’ve learned that some assholes just move their wedding ring from one hand to another, thinking that us airhead women never have a clue. Well, sorry to break it to the dipshits out there, but I’ve figured out your less-than-brilliant trick. I’m on to you. A pinky ring is fine, although I have found that men who wear pinky rings are usually a little more maintenance. They want foreplay and cuddling. They want me to do the work myself while they watch, or even take a soapy shower the next morning. Good God! So clingy! Yuk. Give me some coffee and wet cloth and I’m good to go.

  As I’m still perusing, picking my final five candidates, the bartender taps me on the shoulder to get my attention.

  “From the guy at the end of the bar,” he nods in the general direction as he places a cranberry vodka in front of me.

  I look through the crowd at the man I assume is my admirer. I can only see his profile. He’s not even lookin
g at me. What the fuck? Usually when a man buys a woman a drink, he makes eye contact, but not this guy. He’s playing hard to get? I grab my phone in one hand and I have my drink in the other and I hop off the stool and slowly saunter in his direction. Yes, I said saunter. I’m going to make my presence known as I walk past all the blood-pumping heterosexual men that are watching me.

  “Thank you for my drink.”

  He slowly turned his head to face me. “Uh, that’s not from me,” he replies with a blank expression.

  I looked at where I had been sitting and this is definitely the guy the bartender nodded at when he gave me my drink.

  “Huh,” I smirked. “Then I guess you won’t be the one who gets my gratitude tonight.”

  “Guess not,” he shrugged uninterested.

  Well, fuck! I swallowed the drink in three gulps, slammed the glass down beside his elbow and swung my ass around and walked back the way I came. “Obviously gay,” I muttered under my breath as I walked out of the bar into the cool spring evening air. I hadn’t been shut down like that in a very long time. Like I said, I’m every man’s dream one-night stand, except for this guy, I guess.

  After a couple of deep cleansing breaths, I started walking towards the bus stop. I have never been able to justify driving to work when there is a bus stop fifty yards from the front door of my condo building. The bus takes me straight into downtown and I walk one and a half blocks to my office. It sucks in the winter, but I’d have to walk anyway from the parking garage, so it makes sense. Plus, my brother says I am doing my small part for the environment, so I get to pat myself on the back every time I step on and off the bus.

  The ride home seemed longer than usual. I should have stayed at the bar and regrouped, looking for another giant dick to sit on, but I just couldn’t after that metaphoric slap in the face. Why would he buy me a drink and then pretend he didn’t? I need a dick to ride not the train to crazy town.

  My plan was to try again the following evening.

  ~~~

  The following evening, I walked into the same bar as the night before and found an empty seat, claiming it quickly. I was a bit later than I’d planned. I took a little longer reapplying my makeup in the women’s restroom at work before I left. The sexual frustration I was feeling needed to be taken care of, and I was not going home alone… again!

  “Hey,” the bartender smiled. “What can I getcha?”

  “Dirty martini,” I replied.

  “You got it.”

  I began my initial scan of the room, noting several women scattered around doing either the same thing as me, or they were high-priced escorts looking for a paycheck. I sat a little straighter and pushed my boobs forward, while opening up one more button, exposing creamy white flesh. I crossed my legs and gently swung my foot that was elegantly enclosed in expensive silver pumps, my fake tan making my calves look stunning.

  I found him relatively quickly. My first drink was only half gone. He sat alone at a small round table drinking amber liquid from a glass. Whiskey? Scotch? Didn’t matter to me as long as he wasn’t wearing a ring. With unadorned fingers, I swallowed the last of my drink in one gulp and hopped off the barstool.

  I made my way through crowded bar and slipped onto the stool opposite him with an unabashed sense of purpose.

  “Hi,” I smiled. “Mind if I join you? You’re not waiting for anyone, are you?”

  He looked up at me with dark brown eyes, long thick lashes and a furrowed brow. “Uh, no.”

  “Great. I’m Jill,” I purred, and stretched my hand across the table.

  “Brett,” he replied and took my hand in his.

  It was like a wet fish. Shit! Hopefully that wouldn’t relate to his fucking ability.

  “Whatcha drinking?” I asked.

  “Scotch.”

  “You know, I have a fabulous bottle of Merlot at my place and I’ve been waiting for someone to share it with.” I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. I needed to be fucked. “We could head over now… get away from all this noise,” I suggested.

  I can’t describe the expression that came over his face. It was a little surprise mixed with excitement and a little fear thrown in for good measure.

  “I promise,” I grinned, “I’m not a murdered or a psycho. Just a woman looking for some… company for the evening.

  “Let’s go then,” he said with a smirk. “One night of company sounds good to me.”

  Now, some of my girlfriends think I am crazy for bringing a man back to my condo. They tell me it’s unsafe. But you need a code to get into the building and I have three locks on my door. I figure I’m pretty safe. So, when Brett and I were walking up the steps to the door, I made sure he couldn’t see the code I punched into the keypad. Besides, he’s not looking at the door. He’s looking at my ass. He knows what’s coming.

  Once inside my condo. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my purse on the foyer table.

  “I don’t really have any Merlot,” I admitted with a grin. “But you didn’t come for wine, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said as he pulled off his tie and slipped out of his suit jacket. “I think we both know the deal,” and he walked towards me, slid his hands behind my neck and pulled me to his lips. He tasted like Scotch and his tongue quickly entered my mouth and sought out mine.

  In my opinion, and experience, you can tell from a man’s kiss what he will be like in the bedroom. Some men wait for an invitation to stick his tongue down your throat and that usually means he is a little cautious and hesitant when it comes to having sex. Oh, and oral sex is not usually on the table.

  If a man goes straight for the boobs and grabs wildly before kissing, he’s a selfish lover. I can pretty much guarantee he will come before me and will leave me completely unsatisfied. When this happens, I make sure to pull out Mr. Dick from the nightstand drawer and finish right there in front of him. I want him to know that he couldn’t do it for me. Stomp on his ego a little… or a lot.

  Then there is the guy who goes slow. This is often a fabulous sign of great things to come. Attention to detail and timing is always a plus. A lingering kiss, a gentle embrace, a smoldering glance as he leans in, desire pouring from every pore. This is the man that you want to spend the night.

  Brett is somewhere in between smoldering and boob-grabbing, and I’m okay with it. I immediately went for his belt buckle, letting him know what he was here for, and that I wasn’t very interested in that foreplay stuff. Let’s just move to the main event.

  I kick my shoes off and shrink four inches and as our lips break apart he reaches for my blouse and rips, yes, I said rips, it from my shoulders leaving my heaving boobs desperately wanting to be freed from their lace restraints. Just the idea of his hands on my skin has my nipples hardening and aching to be teased. Sitting in the bar, I wouldn’t have guessed that Brett is the take-command kind of guy, but take command he does.

  “Just take everything off,” he grunts at me as he begins working on the zipper of his trousers.

  He didn’t have to ask twice. My skirt and matching underwear set was off in mere seconds and I attempted to reciprocate by grabbing the fabric of his shirt and yanking as hard as I could. With slight humiliation, I turned to opening each button as he kicked of his socks and briefs.

  “Ready?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. We both wanted the same thing and that was sex with not a commitment string in sight – a one-night stand without ever exchanging even last names, let alone telephone numbers or email addresses.

  Now, my girlfriends and I have chatted often about length versus girth and there is never a consensus. It seems that most women don’t really have a preference, as long as the man knows what to do with he’s got. So, of course, I take a look at what Brett will be working with and I’m not overly excited, but it’s not disappointing either.

  “Bed or floor?” he questions as he scooped me up and I wrapped my legs around his hips.

  “Bed. And condom,” I said with convict
ion. I might be considered a slut, but I am definitely not a stupid slut. “Down the hall,” I nod in the right direction. “Last door on the right.”

  Once inside my room, he throws me on the bed and then jumps on top of me, catching his weight on his hands planted on either side of my head.

  “Condom,” I repeat, and roll over him as he continued to straddle me. I reach for the drawer of the nightstand, shove Mr. Dick aside and pull out a foil-wrapped rubber from the pile. “Shall I do the honors?” I offer as I rip the package open and remove the sheath from inside.

  “Go for it,” he grins and lifts himself up and onto his knees, sitting on my thighs.

  I have a better angle to inspect the goods, so I do. Length and girth, in my estimation, would be considered average, but as I took him in my hand and placed the condom at the head of his dick, I felt the deep pumping of blood in preparation. I squeezed, just a little, and his hips bucked and his spine straightened. Yes, this could be extremely enjoyable.

  Once he was covered, Brett jolted forward and kissed me with urgency, a primal itch needing to be scratched. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling myself up to meet him, the desire to be fucked growing exponentially with each second that passed. With all the effort I could muster, I rolled him over, needing to take control and ride him until I got what I wanted from him. Whether he allowed me to or just didn’t care, Brett held still as guided myself to his tip and then impaled myself upon him. He grabbed my boobs and kneaded my flesh as I steadied myself by placing my hands on his flat taut stomach and lifted myself up and then slid down him repeatedly.

  My eyes were closed, and I concentrated on feeling every inch of him inside me. I bit my bottom lip, my muscles tensed and then I ground down on him until my clit was throbbing and release was in sight. I didn’t care if he was enjoying himself. I didn’t care if he was close to coming. I didn’t care about him at all, just about that orgasm that would allow me to sleep soundly as soon as he left. I rocked back and forth until my body shuddered wildly and the spasm between my legs took hold of me and sent me tumbling over the edge. I relaxed for a split second and Brett grabbed my hips and pumped into me twice. I felt him pulsing inside me and knew he was there.