The Autumn Diaries (2 page)

Okay, that’s funny. I just made a note in my writing program about doing a story called “Cum Dealer” that’s all about a guy with jizz that’s like super addictive, like crack, and girls keep coming (no pun intended) to him and begging for more, and so he starts a
Breaking Bad
style business selling creampies and hot beef injections.
 

I guess that’d be fiction. The stories in
Swallowing Secrets
are kinda sorta mostly true, but I could
totally
make shit up. Obviously. That’d be hilarious.
 

Great. Now I’m all wet. Gotta go rub one out. Or I could call Sam. This
is
his job, right?

Thinking it might be time to go exclusive with Sam, BTW. I don’t like the idea of limiting dick diversity, but guys do seem to expect that, and Sam has a helluva tool. I think he’s a keeper.

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GOT MY FIRST SALE ON
Swallowing Secrets!
I’m going to be rich. Considering buying a small Hill of Beans coffee with the profits.
 

Despite the sarcasm, I was super fucking happy to make a dollar-ninety-something from something I made up in my head. I got so worked up that I called Sam and asked him if I could put a finger up his ass. He said no. I asked him if he wanted to put a finger up my ass. He said that we weren’t really at that stage yet. WTF? So I told him to come over, then ripped his pants off at the door and knocked him down trying to get his dick into my mouth. Missed on the cumshot and Sam shot a stringer onto my lamp.
 

NOTE: buy a new lampshade.

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FELL OFF THE WAGON A little this week, with “the wagon” being Sam’s dick.
 

I don’t think it’s cheating since we haven’t said we’re exclusive yet, but now that I’m thinking about letting Sam’s and ONLY Sam’s helmeted soldier into my glory of glories, I figure that: 1) I can’t deprive the rest of the world of my pussy without issuing one “last call” and 2) I need to get whatever wild oats remain out of my system before closing shop — a final sprint for the finish.
 

I’ll write about it later. I’ll have to write it in the third person as someone else, or set it farther back in time so it doesn’t piss Sam off.
 

Okay, just made a note to write the one with the 18 marshmallows.
 

The list of story prompts I have is ridiculous. I’m actually looking it over now and laughing so hard that my sister Celeste, who is in the other room with three Italians and a Shake Weight, keeps asking me what I’m doing.
 

OMFG, this decides it. I’m writing the one about the guy with the dolls tomorrow.
 

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DECIDED TO CHANGE NAMES BELOW because Lawrence is recognizable and the fact that I hooked up with him could be something he wouldn’t want shared, in his business and stuff. So I’ll be “Carly” and he can be “Rick.” Wrote it third-person to add another layer of anonymity.
 

I’m way too nice to creepy dudes.

+++

Rick was possibly the sexiest guy Carly had ever met.
 

She was still in college, so it’s not like she’d had much experience so far with sexy. She’d experienced plenty of
hot
, and she’d had hard and rough and young and old and wild and all of that, but “sexy” had a certain and somewhat significant weight. Some girls may find surfer types sexy, but Carly put those kinds of guys more into the “hot” camp.
 

To Carly, “sexy” implied a guy who was slightly older, but not too much — maybe in his thirties and with a high-profile, powerful job. “Sexy” guys wore suits, probably imported. They had slicked-back hair. They drank good wine and, unlike Carly, could actually tell the difference between good and bad wine. Their houses or apartments (she thought apartments; sexy guys tended to be city-dwellers) were done in grays and blacks and whites. Their furniture was more attractive than comfortable. Their medicine cabinets were orderly, like store shelves. Bonus points if they used a straight razor and warmed shaving foam that didn’t come from a can with red and white stripes.
 

Rick was all of that and more. Carly met him at a Hill of Beans. He asked her for the wi-fi password because he wanted to use a laptop computer, pulled from a gorgeous Italian leather briefcase. He smiled a beautiful smile, not too white. He leaned over, placing a large hand with nicely groomed fingernails (and no wedding ring) palm flat on her table for balance. His hair was dark and perfectly in place save for a single hair, charmingly hanging down like fucking Superman as he leaned down.
 

Carly felt herself totally disarmed — not at all her confident, slutty self. She actually blushed as she told him there was no password, that all you had to do was to open a browser window and agree to the automatic prompt. The guy said that he’d tried that but that nothing came up, then gestured to his laptop. Carly stood and went over, leaning across the table from the other side. He was also leaning down, and when she looked up, Carly caught him looking down the front of her blousy shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra. The knowledge that he’d just seen her nipples made them hard. And, of course, her pussy got wet.
 

He’d asked if she came here often. It was a total line, but also perfectly in character. Sexy guys used all of the cliche lines because they were sexy enough to get away with it. It was like James Bond. Yeah, he was a cartoon, but he was also JAMES MOTHERFUCKING BOND. Bond could say whatever he wanted and still fuck the classiest broad with all the vacuum cleaner attachments he wanted. (That wasn’t in any of the books or movies, but Carly felt sure Bond got filthy kinky.)

Carly said she didn’t.
 

Rick complemented the art in the Hill of Beans, which doubled as a gallery for the college’s art school.

Carly said that she loved art, which was totally untrue, then crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to come up too far so he could see what she was keeping inside it.

Rick told her that he had a lot of fine art at his apartment and asked if she’d like to come over and see it. So Carly went.
 

Rick’s apartment was just as clean and sexy as he was. His rug looked like it was offended by feet. His refrigerator was so complicated, Carly skipped the ice and drank water from the bathroom sink using her cupped hands. His couch was beautiful and gave her shooting leg pains. Then he sat beside her, set his hand on her leg and asked if she wanted to go into the bedroom.
 

Carly, who thought she might be leaving a big pussy stain on Rick’s terrible couch, said sure. Rick went to the bathroom and gestured toward the bedroom.

Carly went into the bedroom, looked around, then immediately returned to the couch.
 

When Rick came out of the bathroom, he first went into the bedroom then went back into the living room and looked at Carly as if she must not have understood. He waved an inviting arm into the bedroom, giving her a sexy James Bond smile.
 

“It’s in here,” he said.
 

“Let’s stay out here,” Carly suggested.
 

“The bed is much more comfortable,” Rick insisted. “That couch cost seven thousand dollars. It cost so much because enemy nations also buy them to torture dissidents.”
 

Carly wiggled on the couch, then pulled up her skirt to show him that she wasn’t wearing panties. She slipped a finger into her pussy, then licked it.

“I’d rather stay out here.”
 

Rick walked over and held out a hand for Carly. His eyes went to her spread legs and open pussy, then lingered. Something big grew in his pants.
 

“Come here,” he said. “Please.”
 

She took his hand. He was too sexy to resist, and she had a fierce girl-boner. The clock was ticking. If she didn’t get something in her soon, she would probably explode.
 

He led her into the room and laid her down on beautiful soft gray sheets that had to cost more than Carly made in six months. She tried to stare at Rick’s handsome, sexy face as he laid on top of her, his suitcoat and tie off but everything else still on like a present in need of unwrapping. She wanted to feel nothing but Rick, but all she could feel were the eyes.
 

The hundreds of eyes. All over her.

He covered her lips with hard kisses.
 

Their mouths opened and his tongue went inside.
 

But the eyes were still watching.

Carly put a hand on Rick’s chest and pushed him up so he was a few feet above her. “Baby?” she said.

“Yes?” His eyes were seductive, his breath heavy and warm.

“Why do you have all of these dolls?”
 

“They’re vintage collectibles.”
 

“Collectible
dolls?”
 

There were dolls everywhere. Fucking
everywhere
. Dozens were carefully and precisely aligned in a kind of hutch unit across from the bed. There was a large overstuffed chair in a corner, and six perched in its seat. There was a corner shelf holding two. A fancy bookshelf with fancy molding ran along the left wall, on both sides of the window, with dolls sitting in a long row, like sentinels. A few were above the headboard, almost perched, definitely leaning forward and looking down like the world’s least subtle peeping toms. A few were even still in the enormous bed. Most were quite fancy, in frills and old-looking clothing. One hundred percent of them were the creepiest motherfucking shit in the universe.
 

“My mother collected them. It’s something we did as a family.”

Well, mention of his mother, when combined with the creepy doll eyes, definitely made shit hotter.
 

Carly’s brain made a phone call to her pussy, demanding that they leave immediately. Carly’s pussy replied — almost hostile — that she’d once sucked a guy’s dick in an ice cream truck while at least fifty kids banged on the closed partition, yelling for Rocket Pops and Fudgesicles, and that if it didn’t get its due after all this sexy buildup, it was going off to join another body.
 

Carly closed her eyes. Rick removed her shirt. Totally naked, a sizzle ran through her body. Her pussy yelled at her brain to gloat, like
HAHA FUCKER I WIN
.

She heard his fingers fumbling, then the rustle of expensive fabric and the unzipping of a zipper. She felt shifting on the bed. Something hard and warm touched her leg. It was wet at the tip.
 

Carly opened her eyes, then screamed.
 

“What?” Rick’s body was as sexy as his face. He actually had a six-pack, and his cock was magnificent and screaming her name. Her pussy was attempting to pull it into her using the Jedi Mind Trick even while her heart raced.
 

A doll had climbed over from the edge of the bed and was staring at her. Rick hadn’t noticed.
 

Look at that dick,
said her pussy.
 

Carly huffed and swatted the doll. It slapped the wall and fell off the bed.
 

“Hey!” Rick blurted. “Careful!”
 

“Honey, it’s hard for me to feel sexy with all these dolls around,” she said, sounding a trifle defensive.
 

He leaned down and kissed her neck. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing a subtle aftershave or if he just naturally smelled amazing. He followed the contour of her tendons, kissing up to her ear. His breath circled her ear.
 

“They’re collectibles,” he said in a voice usually reserved for describing body parts and where one wanted them to go.

“They’re creeping me out.”
 

Rick pushed his cock into her pussy. It was very nice and very large and her pussy said
OM NOM NOM.
 

“I’ll get used to it,” she said.
 

Rick picked up tempo. The bed shook, causing the dolls above her to fall onto her face. Carly screamed as she batted them away like a ninja repelling attackers.
 

“Hey!” Rick blurted.
 

He’d stopped. Carly grabbed his ass and closed her eyes. “Just… hurry up and fuck me.”
 

“Because you want it bad?”

“Because… yeah, sure,” she said.
 

Another doll dive-bombed her. She dealt it a karate chop and willed her orgasm to come out from hiding. It wanted to, but the dolls were all watching it and it felt totally self-conscious.
 

Carly wrapped her legs around Rick and pulled his dick into her pussy, all the way to the hilt. She squeezed and he moved faster. Her fuckhole started to tingle. Rick’s sexiness reasserted itself. She was a girl. She didn’t need a visual. She knew what he looked like. She kept her eyes closed and focused on the sensation. Then Rick’s cock began to jackhammer into her hard enough to knock her vagina up into her lungs. She was close. He had to be close.