Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Eighteen-”
“Eighteen fucking years old!”
The exclamation expands through the night sky forcing my shoulders to shrink inward.
“You know what I was fucking doing at eighteen?”
Of course I know the frat tales that he’s passed down to my older brother who’s followed in his same, hump everything with great tits footsteps, yet has somehow managed not to completely lose his soul to Satan. Pretty sure Dad sold his before he was even old enough to legally drink.
“Fuckin’ girls in the back of limos. Bar bathrooms. Fucking sorority sluts for sport two at a goddamn time. You know how many threesomes I had had before I turned nineteen?!”
Don’t wanna know.
“You fuckin’ your girlfriend, son?”
Definitely the uplifting speech I need after telling my girlfriend I’m willing to hold out for her.
Oh, wait.
No, it’s fucking not.
My silence seems to send him spiraling, which sends my need to step back to new levels.
“You’re not banging that shit, are you?”
I can’t even move my mouth to answer.
“Fucking pathetic.”
Words to reply struggle to form.
“You. Are. Fucking. Pathetic.”
A hard exhale comes from me, but other than that I stay absolutely still.
Here’s the thing…I don’t feel pathetic. And I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong waiting for Pres. It’s not like I’m a virgin with an itch, American Pie, anxious to fucking scratch. I started boning girls when I was thirteen. Sex with my sister’s best friend while she slept in the room beside us is how my trip into sex began. That shit was a disaster, but the times after that were fucking killer. She taught me some shit only a chick who’s been around could know, and I’ve never failed to put to use that good info. The shit helped me create the type of rep that’s had a shit ton of girls begging for cock since I was a fucking Freshman. Truth is that I’ve had more than my fair share of fucking before Presley, so it isn’t a giant mystery to me what the big deal about sex is. I just so happen to like what my girl has to offer more. I love that I’m like a fucking person with a dick instead of dick that happens to be attached to a person. I love that she gives a shit if I’m in a bad mood or not in “the mood” to get physical. I love that she cares about more than what I can do for her and is asking herself often what can she do for me.
That’s not normal shit.
And it’s not shit outside of Pres that I’ve ever had.
“You’re too goddamn young to be this fucking attached to one girl!”
She’s not just some girl though.
She’s the girl.
My one and only.
“You’re too fucking young to be makin’ plans like running away to college together, college that my ass is gonna be stuck payin’ for for both of you. As fucking broke as her family is, I know your ass is gonna be asking me for loans to help get her through the shit too.”
Probably not.
Pres’s fam definitely doesn’t have the kind of cash we do but handouts aren’t really her or their style. Besides, I’ve already seen the scholarship and financial aid paperwork she’s gotta fill out. Even offered to load her up on breadsticks and massage her hands for all the writing she’s gonna be doing.
“And you’re damn sure too young to be makin’ plans about moving in together!”
How does he know this shit?
Has he been listening in on our conversations again?
Rather than admit to anything, I simply press my lips together.
“What the fuck else do you think you want with this girl? Marriage? Ha!”
“Marriage?” Mike sarcastically laughs. “That’s what you think you want kid? I got my old lady griping at me in and out every day about the fucking trash. How I don’t make enough for what she wants to spend. How I’m not ‘as romantic as I used to be’ or some horse shit. How I don’t even fuckin’ ‘try’ but it’s her fat ass who sits around on the couch watching soap operas pretending to be too damn tired to suck my cock when it’s not my goddamn birthday.”
Dad immediately mumbles his agreement, “And it's so much fucking worse with kids.”
Mike hastily shakes his head at me. “This shit ain’t life, kid. It’s a prison. An expensive ass, no get out of jail free card, prison.”
“Most accurate fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my life,” my father concurs prior to looking back at me. “Do you have any idea how much you three fucking cost?! Private schools. Colleges. Graduations. Tutors. Doctors. Nutritionists. Cars. Clothes. Food. Dorms. Apartments. Club fees. Credit card debts.”
I’m tempted to point out very little of those are related to me.
“And don’t forget your fucking mother. Surgeons. Botox. Burkley. Bentleys. Brunches. Vacations. More fucking credit card debt. God, the bullshit just never fucking ends.”