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I always figured falling in love was like going down the stairs. Each step took a man closer to becoming one half of a pair. Creating a relationship was a process. Sure, you could skip a step, maybe even two. However, falling in love didn’t happen all at once.
If that stairs thing is even half right, I must have fallen down a whole flight. Within days, Monroe and I have gone from horny strangers to inseparable lovers. That whole “it’s only been forty-eight hours” bullshit I spewed at my uncle and the club bros was to keep them off my ass. I don’t need people knowing my heart, so I certainly wasn’t explaining how Monroe owns it now.
And loving her is so fucking easy. We skipped the flowers and awkward dates and jumped right to the hot sex, followed by shuffling around in our underwear and having conversations while the other is in the bathroom. I feel like a married man, and I don’t even know her middle name.
“Mulan,” she announces while we sit on the rooftop deck one evening.
“Why?”
Smirking, she says, “I’m kidding. I don’t have a middle name. I come from a long line of lazy namers. I think my mom wore herself out with picking the perfect first name.”
“My middle name is William after my father, despite his name being Billy. I think they wanted to class shit up for me.”
“From now on, when I’m coming, I plan to scream out ‘Conor William.’ You know, to class up our fucking.”
Monroe does indeed use my middle name in bed. Well, of fucking course, she does.
My honey is like a favorite pair of jeans. She’s comfortable, sexy, and makes my ass look great. Those things new couples usually avoid—bedhead, morning grumpiness, snort-laughing, lame drunk dancing, all the smells—don’t matter.
“My favorite color is brown,” Monroe randomly blurts out one night. “It’s also my least favorite color. It can be an old worn jacket or the shit on your boots. I both love and loathe brown.”
She shares this tidbit after we dye her hair to a shade close to her natural color. As sexy as she is as a blonde, Monroe fucking rocks her darker locks. Plus, she looks far less like my mom.
“I’ve never dyed a woman’s hair before,” I warn while she tears open the boxes of color.
“I have,” Amity assures me.
“I paid someone to bleach my hair,” Monroe says from her spot on the toilet seat. “I didn’t know how to get all the color out without completely frying it. I figure coloring my hair should be easier.”
Amity turns on “The Ballad of Jayne”—remembering how I once said I liked the song—and slides on a pair of plastic gloves from one of the color boxes. I shove my hands in the other set.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Monroe asks me while nursing a wine cooler.
“How is coloring your hair while you sit half-naked not the sexist thing ever? Plus, I’m looking forward to an artistic menage with this hottie.”
Despite smiling at my comment, Amity remains very focused on the task. I suspect she worries she’ll get color all over the walls or Monroe’s face. She obsessively checks for misplaced drips.
I’m far less careful. I just slop that shit on and rub it around. Monroe doesn’t help by moving her head to the song’s beat as if she’s not sober enough to stay still.
An hour later, Amity ditches us to play ping pong with Roni. Meanwhile, I enjoy a naked brunette bouncing on my dick to a Metallica song.
“I think Amity knew I was rocking a boner after seeing you in the shower,” I tell Monroe, who grinds her hot, wet pussy down on my cock.
“How can fucking feel this incredible?” she asks, tugging at my hair as she moves faster.
My hands grip her waist as she rocks her hips to the point of no return. I come so hard that my ears ring. Sex has never been this mind-blowingly hot before. And it’s not as if we’re doing any Kama Sutra shit either. We’re just fucking and sucking like God intended.
“I’ve been with two other guys, and they had decent-sized dicks,” Monroe shares later as she stretches out naked on the couch.
Getting a beer from the fridge, I mutter, “Thanks for that visual.”
“I have pictures of them on my phone if you want to see.”
“No, I’m good. I don’t want to know about the hearts you’ve broken before.”
“No hearts involved. No oral either. All pussy-dick stuff. But it was only okay. Of course, they weren’t as hot as you. Apparently, visuals are a very vital part of a good fuck. Looking at a well-toned sex machine,” she says, waving at my naked body walking toward her, “supercharges my pussy.”
“Let me see that pussy you keep talking about,” I say and twirl my finger. Monroe flips over on the couch, displaying herself for my inspection. “Yeah, I can see what you mean.”
My fingers slide inside her, finding her pussy already wet. “You got it bad, Monroe. How can I deny such begging?”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she sneers dramatically before squeezing her pussy around my fingers.
My dick feels right inside Monroe. Everything about us just clicks—from shopping for groceries to watching a shitty old action flick while she traces the lines of my shoulder tattoo. I can’t get enough of Monroe, and she keeps applauding me. I even got a standing ovation after eating her out one night.
“I’ll save my encore for later,” I promised before tackling her back onto the bed where my dick could find relief.
For weeks, I’d been so fucking terrified of Monroe failing to live up to my expectations that I wasn’t really prepared for how she might exceed them. Despite her secrets and rough edges, she’s fun and strong. And unlike most women, Monroe isn’t intimidated by my mother.
This proves fortunate since Mom makes her feelings clear when she finds me out back in the pool with Monroe.
“I don’t believe you’re my son’s honey,” Mom announces while frowning down at us from the patio. “I think you’re the whore he uses for his last wild fuck before he finds his honey. That’s why I have no interest in knowing you.”
“Very interesting, Beekeeper Barbie,” Monroe says, tightening the straps on her bikini top. “Well, I happen to believe you’re not Conor’s real mother. In fact, I suspect you’re one of those pod people. Since I don’t mingle with aliens, I have no interest in knowing you, either.”
“Smartass,” Mom growls.
“Our children will be able to snark people to death from across the room,” I brag to Barbie while snuggling up behind Monroe and giving her ass a little underwater slap.
“People today have no respect.”
“Said the lady who spit at a pastor.”
“He started it.”
“They always do.”
Barbie flips me off and hustles into the house. Leaning her head back against my chest, Monroe grins up at me.
“Pod people are the worst. I wonder what your real mom was like.”
“Probably highly emotional, not like my fake robotic mother.”
Monroe smiles wider. “Pod person or not, she’s beautiful.”
As first meetings go, I thought that one went well. Mom didn’t go apeshit, and Monroe didn’t take the “whore” thing personally.
They’ll have more opportunities to get on each other’s nerves at tomorrow’s Woodlands party. I usually stand back during those events and keep an eye on my mom, just in case something sets her off.
This time, though, I’ll be front and center. Might even fucking do a few “Saturday Night Fever” moves to show off my ass and the sexy woman who owns it.
