F*cking Awkward

by Anthology

  He breathes out a labored grunt. “When I flipped you over, my shit got caught in the strings of your outfit.” His breaths sound like he’s been taking a Lamaze class.

  As soon as his words register, my eyes widen, and I clamp down the urge to laugh. “How in the fuck did your dick get wrapped in the strings?”

  “It’s not wrapped. It’s knotted up,” he growls out.

  “What do you want me to do?” I whisper.

  “Just hold still and let me figure this out.”

  The strings and his fingers move against my skin, and a thought hits me.

  “You know if you tore the straps over my shoulders, I could slip out from underneath you and then help release you.”

  “Babe,” he huffs. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Between the momentum that I used to thrust forward, slipping underneath your body, the friction against the bed, and flipping you over, my dick is literally knotted up in the material. My hands are fucking shaking while I try to undo what I’ve done.”

  “What does it look like?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

  “Are you serious?”

  “You didn’t break it did you?” Fighting not to giggle is hard.

  “Fuck no, I didn’t break my dick?” He groans.

  My body vibrates with pent up amusement as I try to hold as still as possible.

  “Are you laughing right now?” he growls.

  “I was just thinking you can check ‘rope play’ off your list now.” My laugh grows louder and harder. A loud thwack echoes throughout our room. Stinging pain bites my ass cheek. The sensation causes me to lurch forward, and Riley groans and gasps.

  “Baby,” he pleads.

  “Then don’t smack my ass,” I retort.

  “Baby, please don’t move.” He sounds like he’s going to hyperventilate.

  “Do you need a paper bag?” I joke.

  “Baaaabbbbyyyy, pleeeaaase. Don’t be a smartass,” he growls.

  “I’m sorry tonight turned out like this.” I drop down to my elbows and let him work.

  “Me too.”

  “I just wanted to mix things up a bit. Since you’ve come home, I kind of feel like we’ve lost our spark.” My fingers skate back and forth across the duvet.

  “Our spark?” he asks. “What we have is so much more than a spark.” His sigh of relief brushes my shoulder. Strong arms bind around my waist, pulling me back against his solid chest. “We have love, babe. I agree, we can and should spice things up, but I love making love to you. Never doubt that. I don’t need all of the kinky shit to have something spectacular. I just need you.”

  My heart melts at his words.

  “Are you okay?”

  The friction of his day old stubble snags my hair as he nods. “I will be, but you should know if you ever buy anything with cordage again, I’ll cut it up.”

  I chuckle. “Point taken.” I wiggle my ass against him and whisper, “Do you think you’re up to... well, you know.”

  He groans in my ear. “Always. Wanna try anal?”

  I laugh. I lean back against his shoulder and look up at him. “I think we’ve had enough awkwardness for the night. Let’s just make love.”

  “Agreed.” He winks and smiles.

  The End

  * * *

  Riley and Kelsey are from the SMOLDERING SERIES. If you want more from them, please check out my website for links to Amazon. Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed it.

  Tiffany is an Army wife and mother of two with an obsession for the written word. Since she was a child, she has always dabbled in writing. One day Tiffany decided to put pen to paper and never looked back. Writing isn't something she does just for fun. It's something she lives and breathes. Smoldering was a book she wrote in 13 days. Everyone thought she was crazy, but since she’s published, it has made her an International Bestseller. When she’s not writing you can find her lost in the imaginary world of other authors’ books or outdoors with her family.

  * * *

  For news about previous and future works and ways to contact me please visit my website.

  www.authortiffanyaleman.com

  Is There a Baby in This Cup? An Epic Holiday Short Story

  Trudy Stiles

  Tristan

  * * *

  Tuesday

  5:00 AM

  I’m the only person in the waiting room, and somehow this doesn’t surprise me. It’s fucking five o’clock in the fucking morning. It’s still dark out for God’s sake. I rub my hands on my sweats and kick my feet out in front of me. I remind myself that today is going to be a long day, and this is just ten minutes of my life. Ten short minutes where I can take care of what I need to, and then I’ll be by Kirsten’s side, holding her hand as she undergoes her procedure.

  The door swings open, and another dude walks in. His head is hung low, and his hands are jammed into his jeans. He writes his name on the sign-in sheet and sits in the open chair directly across from me. We don’t make eye contact, and that’s a good thing. He takes out his cell phone and starts swiping. His thumb is incessantly scrolling, and I notice he isn’t even looking at it. I get it, this whole thing is awkward. Fucking awkward.

  The interior door opens, and a small woman walks out. Her hair is in a tight bun and she’s wearing all white, from top to bottom. White blouse. White cardigan. White pants. White shoes. Even the horn-rimmed glasses she has perched on the edge of her nose are white.

  She grabs the sign-in sheet and scans it, looking between me and Scrolling Dude.

  “Mr. Lee,” she says and looks again. “Mr. Geddy Lee?”

  You have got to be shitting me. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? I wrote my real name down on the check-in sheet, and he just assumed the name of the most incredible bass player on this planet. Not to mention, he’s the amazing lead singer of Rush. He’s my fucking hero.

  Geddy Lee stands up and nods at Ms. White. Then he makes eye contact with me. I nod at him as if to say Respect, Dude. Massive respect.

  He follows Ms. White through the doors, and I’m alone again. Then it hits me. I was here first. What the fuck?

  I jump up to look at the sign-in sheet. My name is still there, but Ms. White scribbled something next to it.

  5:30 appt.

  Geddy has 5:00 next to his name.

  I’m a full half hour early. Crap.

  Kirsten does this to me all the time. She knows I hate punching a clock, and she knows I hate following a timetable for anything. But she also knows how important it is for me to be on time today, so she lied and told me that my appointment was at five. Well played, babe. Well played.

  The clock on the wall is ticking loudly. I didn’t even think they made clocks that tick like that anymore. Tic-tock-tic-tock-tic-tock–FUCK.

  I left my phone in the console of my SUV because I thought I’d be in and out of here quickly. Now I wish I was able to mindlessly scroll like my man Geddy.

  I pick up a magazine from the table next to me and open it up.

  Seven Thirty-Minute Meal Ideas for the Busy Family

  This should kill some time. I scroll through the article to see if there’s anything interesting, and my stomach starts to growl. The chicken fajitas look so amazing that I would literally kill for three of them right now. I turn the page and see avocado roll-ups. Now this is just cruel. I slam the magazine shut and drop it back onto the table, angry that I forgot to eat breakfast. Not that I had my wits about me at four-thirty this morning when my alarm went off.

  I bend down to untie and re-tie my Chucks. I do this three times. If Ms. White has a camera watching me from what I can only imagine to be her stark, white room, she’s thinking I have a problem. I’m about to untie them again when the inner door opens, and Geddy struts through it. His chest is puffed out, and he looks seriously proud. I’m tempted to make a fist and hold it in the air for him to bump one out before he leaves, but I quickly change my mind. We make eye contact and nod, chins in t
he air.

  He leaves, and I shake my head. My heart starts to pound in my chest when I realize I’m next. Ms. White is going to be coming for me any minute, and I realize I’m not ready. My hands begin to sweat, and I try to remain calm.

  Think of Kirsten.

  “Ahem,” Ms. White’s voice bellows throughout the empty waiting room. “Mr. George. Tristan George.”

  Considering I’m the only one here now, I doubt it’s necessary to call my name like they would at a deli counter. I raise my hand. “Here,” I say, as if I’m in grammar school.

  She nods and turns so I follow her through the door. The hallway is surprisingly not white, but beige and lined with fake plants for as far as the eye can see. Plastic ferns in giant pots. Now I feel itchy.

  She leads me to the last door on the right and opens it up. I notice her hands are covered by plastic gloves, and I cringe. I guess I wouldn’t want to touch the doorknob either.

  “Mr. George,” she says, her glasses still perched on the edge of her nose. “You’ll find the specimen container over there, by the sink.” She uses two fingers to point, and all I can think about is a flight attendant.

  “You can make yourself comfortable in the chair over there,” she points to the corner. Then she opens up an entertainment center filled with videos and magazines and points to a remote control. “And if you need anything here, it’s at your disposal.”

  She then points to the wall next to the sink. “Please read and follow these directions carefully.” And then she’s gone.

  I glance at the wall to read a sign:

  Wash your hands with soap and water

  Refrain from using any lubricant, saliva, or anything that may contain spermicidal agents

  Ejaculate directly into the sterile sample cup – be sure to capture the first part of the ejaculate, and do not attempt to collect any spilled semen

  Place the cap on the container as soon as you’ve finished

  Make sure your name, time, and date of your sample is clearly printed on the cup

  Hand sample to nurse

  I immediately complete step one and make a mental check as I dry my hands.

  Complete–that was easy.

  I can skip over step two because I don’t have any lube, nor will I need any.

  Complete–I’m flying right along.

  I freeze when I get to step three. I feel like they skipped over a few steps, and I panic. I find the chair in the corner and sit down. It’s a pleather recliner, and the handle on the side is covered in plastic. In fact, practically everything in this room is covered in plastic. I pull down the front of my sweats and say, “Let’s get this over with.” As I wrap my hand around my shaft, I realize the specimen cup is across the room on the sink. Fuck.

  I jump up and waddle with my sweats below my ass, my junk hanging out and swipe the cup and a few paper towels. I plop back into the chair and use the paper towel to cover the plastic covered handle on the side of the recliner and slide the chair back. I’m laying mostly flat, and I’m surprised that I already have a boner. Score.

  I close my eyes and begin to pump my hand up and down over my length. I see Kirsten’s smile and her long hair pulled back, exposing her shoulders. Her perky breasts inviting me to sample them. She’s bare and exposed for me, and I can’t wait another second. My hand is moving faster and faster and Kirsten’s mouth forms that perfect ‘O,’ and a light moan escapes her lips. I lose myself in her, and a fast, but satisfying orgasm rips through my body.

  And that’s when I realize I didn’t ejaculate into the cup. In fact, I spooged all over myself, and the cup is lying, still closed, next to my hip.

  Motherfucker.

  Now what? I grab one of the clean paper towels, and before I clean it off of me, I wonder if I can scrape it into the specimen container. Step three seems to have neon lights pointing directly to it.

  Ejaculate directly into the sterile sample cup – be sure to capture the first part of the ejaculate and do not attempt to collect any spilled semen

  Dammit.

  I clean myself off, the rough paper towel feels like sandpaper against my stomach. I can’t believe I just fucked up the third step. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

  I look at the clock. It’s five-forty. I need to get another round in so I can get out of here fast. There’s bound to be another dude in the waiting room, and the longer I stay in here, the worse the walk of shame is going to be.

  Okay, let’s get serious, Tristan.

  I walk over to the entertainment center to see if there’s anything I can use for inspiration. The magazines are piled high, and the covers look wrinkled and torn. There’s no fucking way I’m touching those, the levels of DNA on them must be through the roof.

  I scan the shelves for DVDs and only see VHS tapes. What the fuck? Is this nineteen-eighty?

  The VHS tapes are a mess, most of them not even put back into their original sleeves. The titles alone make me laugh out loud. This isn’t going to work.

  I switch on the television to see what may already be in the machine. Loud screeching comes blaring out of the speakers, and I immediately mute it. I picture Ms. White outside the door, shaking her head, judging my choice in eighties porn.

  A brunette with giant tits is bouncing on some dude’s lap. Her tits are bouncing around wildly, and apparently, that’s where the loud screeching was coming from. The sound is still muted, so I have to use my imagination. Her dark hair is in pigtails with big pink bows tied around them, and she has way too much makeup on. The only thing she’s wearing are navy blue socks pulled all the way over her knees. This must be a student-teacher fantasy. Now, we’re getting somewhere.

  I back up into the chair, taking the remote control with me, but I’m careful to keep the paper towel wrapped around it.

  This time, I remove the cap from the specimen container first, so I don’t have the same issue as before. I lean back into the chair and push my sweats back down below my hips. I have to block it out of my mind that someone else’s bare ass touched exactly where I’m sitting because I don’t have time to line the chair with paper towels, too. In fact, I’m disgusted by the fact that there isn’t anything covering this chair at all, not even the paper that covers normal exam room tables. I need to stop thinking. Now.

  I place the container on my stomach and begin to get myself ready. Since I just ejaculated a few minutes ago, this is going to be a challenge. I suddenly panic when I think I may have wasted all of my good sperm in that last load. They were very specific with us when they told us how to prepare. They stressed the importance of abstaining for two days before collecting this specimen. My heart pounds in my chest when I realize that I really fucked things up.

  Shit.

  I try to relax in the chair, watching the sexy student get pounded by her much older teacher. The faces she’s making are completely comical, and I realize there is no way I’m going to be able to get into this. I hit the power button on the remote control and switch off the television.

  Now what?

  I’m stressed out that I have nothing left in me worth capturing. And I’m worried about disappointing Kirsten. She’s already upstairs in the clinic, getting prepped for the IVF procedure. If I don’t give them something to work with, we’re going to have to wait another cycle for us to try again. I can’t do that to Kirsten. The needles, the drugs, the hormones are all too much.

  I hear her voice in my head. “Tristan, you have one job to do. One. Job.”

  She sounds angry, and that gets me hot. Okay, this is going to work now. I’m not going to fuck up.

  I have one job to do.

  I wrap my hand around myself again, and the sensation is back. Thank God.

  My eyes are closed, and I see her again. This time, she’s stepping into a hot tub, completely naked. She sits down across from me and sinks into the water. Her tits bobbing up and down, teasing me, in and out of the water. Her perfect nipples are erect, and she covers herself up. I shake my head and tell
her, “No, I want to see.”

  She smiles slyly and slowly uncovers her breasts. God, she’s perfect.

  She slowly raises one foot out of the water and slides her toes along my leg. Then the other. Her eyes are dark and seductive, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Building me up slowly.

  Out of nowhere, I hear music in my ears. It’s Rush’s Tom Sawyer.

  Well, this fantasy is certainly heating up. Sex with Kirsten in a hot tub, and the most epic band on earth is the soundtrack. Perfect.

  My eyes are still closed as Tom Sawyer blasts in my ears.

  And then I see him. The fake Geddy Lee tearing it up in this room. I only see his back, his pale, white ass on display, and he’s rocking out with his cock out.

  What in the ever loving fuck?

  I open my eyes to end this nightmare. Why? Why did I need to see that? I stifle a gag as I try to get the image of the guy, who was in the room before me, out of my head. But he’s everywhere. I picture the smug and proud look on his face when he passed me in the waiting room. He silently spoke to me. “I got it done, dude.”

  He was in and out in under ten minutes, and here I am struggling to get myself off for the second time, because I royally fucked up the first. I’ve been in here at least twenty minutes and feel like a complete failure. The fake Geddy Lee hosed me. He rocked it.

  I take a deep breath, trying to get the wild thoughts out of my head. Trying to ignore the fact that Geddy’s DNA must be everywhere in this room. I think I’m going to throw up.

  There’s a soft knock at the door.

  “Mr. George. Everything okay?” Ms. White asks sternly.

  For crying out loud! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  “I’m good,” I say in the deepest voice I can muster. “Be out in five.”

  Fuck. Will I?

  I look down at myself, and I’m completely flaccid. Five minutes is going to be a fucking miracle.

  Deep breaths.