Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I’m already beginning to regret telling her my fantasy.
“I’m not hiring an escort,” I say firmly. “And definitely not two escorts for a threesome.”
My buddy merely shrugs and winks at me.
“Well, we’re only twenty-two now. Let’s revisit this list when we’re twenty-nine, okay? Everything changes with time.”
With that, we both giggle and start gossiping about other issues on campus. But in the back of my mind, I’m titillated. I do want to be with two men. It’s something that I’ve seen in the X-rated clips that I watch late at night, and it looks amazing. Women are spit-roasted, and the expression on their faces seem to be the purest type of ecstasy as they’re taken again and again by two gorgeous studs. The men are always glistening hunks of pure muscle with powerful tools that make me gasp and then grow hot.
I guess what Carly’s saying is true. If I get desperate, I could hire a service. The question is, am I brave enough to do it? After all, I’m Amy Lee, boring co-ed with her nose in the books. But if the opportunity comes, will I have the courage to indulge?
2
Amy
Seven years later.
The time has come. It’s my dreaded thirtieth birthday, and it’s really sad, but I’m all alone. With a sigh, I step through my apartment door and into the dark space. My apartment is cold, lonely, and depressing, and with a flick of the switch, the light flickers on to reveal my humble home.
The space is a little too humble, to be honest. I’m a daycare teacher at the local preschool, and while I love my job, it doesn’t pay much. As a result, I can only afford a studio in a five-story walk-up. The walls are made of brick, which gives my apartment a charming pre-war feel, but unfortunately, there are also lots of holes for mice and cockroaches to make their presence known.
Plus, there’s a limit to how charming a space can be when it’s serving as both your living area, bedroom area, and dining area. There’s a kitchen lined up against one side of the wall, with a miniature fridge and a miniature stove. Then, my couch is in the middle of the room, facing my boxy 36-inch TV, and right in back of the sofa is my double bed. It’s warm and homey looking, with its colorful afghan quilt, but still. I can’t really have guests over because the space is just too puny. We’d have to eat with our plates in our laps, and not only that, but it’s embarrassing. If guests want to use my bathroom, they’d have to swing their knees to the side while sitting on the toilet in order to close the door.
But at least this place is mine. Before, I was sharing a three bedroom with two other women, and it was crazy. One of my roomies, Lindsay, was a nymphomaniac, and I swear, she had a different guy over every week. There were loud pounding noises at all hours, not to mention the used rubbers in the kitchen garbage, goopy and damp with seed. That was enough motivation alone to move out.
But it was my other roommate that really did it. That girl was just weird. A nymphomaniac is one thing, but a hoarder is another. Bailey was the kind of person who sincerely believed that Armageddon was right around the corner. As a result, our cupboards were lined with supplies. She saw nothing weird about stockpiling cans of tomatoes and chicken soup everywhere, including on the floor in the living room, in our bookshelves, and even in the bathroom. I told her it was unhygienic more than once, but Bailey merely shrugged and said I would thank her when the time came.
Thus, when the opportunity to rent this studio popped up, I jumped at it. It’s a rent-controlled place, and so I’m actually paying less than market price, even if it still stretches my salary. But although I enjoy living on my own, I miss Bailey and Lindsay in their own ways. They were tough to handle sometimes, but a bucketful of hoots all the same.
I step into the living room and kick off my mid-heel shoes. Then I pad over to the kitchen and take a can of soup down from the cabinet before emptying the contents into a bowl and popping it into the microwave. This is what it’s come down to: I’m now eating canned soup, all alone in my apartment like a spinster.
After all, my date tonight was awful. Brian seemed like he would be okay. I met him off a site called Two To Tango, and he had a great profile. He’s a teacher by day, so I thought we’d have a lot in common since we both work with kids. Plus, he had a head of brown hair and dark blue eyes that were serious yet humorous at once.