Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(44)

“O is for orgasm. Or another one that goes with that would be O face. Like, what’s your O face when you orgasm. Oooh, O is for oral. Yeah, that’s nice. That’s a good one.

“P is for penis. But again, I don’t think that’s very dirty. P is for… pussy.

“Q is for quickie. Which, in my experience, wasn’t all that sexy. Or fun in any way. But I’ve read that if done right, it can be very satisfying. I will hold my judgment for now.

“R is for… um, riding? Riding.

“S is for schlong. S is also for… slit?

“T is for twat. T is also for tunnel. I’ve seen that one in books. And tongue. But I think it’s dirtier if you use it as a verb. Like… he tongued me. Oh, I hope my mother never listens to this.

“U is for… Uranus! No, I can’t say that. That’s not a good one. All I can think is uvula. But that’s like, at the back of the throat. Oh! Well, all right! That works when combined with O is for oral.

“V is for vagina, obviously. But I don’t think they use that in those books very often. Vulva, maybe. See? I keep coming up with doctor words. It needs to be dirty. What about voracious? She has a voracious vagina. Oh jeez! Now I can’t stop thinking about a vagina with teeth, eating everything in its path. Okay, I need to move on.

“W is for wet, and want.

“X is for X-rated.

“Y is for…. What would Y be for? Y could be for yes. You read that a lot in those books when things are happening. Like, yes, yes, yes!

“Z. I think Z is going to be a wash. No wait, Z is for zipper, which he pulled down to free his hard length from its denim prison. Darn, I’m getting good at this.

“So, okay! I said some dirty things, and it’s good practice. Maybe it will help me get a kiss on my next date with my neighbor.

“This has been Heidi’s Discount Erotica, signing off!”





Chapter 22





“Are we really arguing over this right now?”

The corner of Brent’s mouth is tipped up in amusement as I stand facing him, in front of the Ferris wheel at the Minnesota State Fair, with my arms crossed in front of me in a huff. Tons of people are pushing their way around us, and we’re causing a bit of a traffic jam just standing here in the middle of the midway not moving, but I don’t care. The midway is the section of a fair where all the rides and game attractions are located. It’s the most popular part of a fair, tied for first with the food area. When I say it’s flooded with people, it’s flooded with people.

Again, I don’t care. This is too serious of a discussion to have while walking in search of our next fair food item.

“Yes, we are most certainly arguing over this right now. We are in our first fight,” I inform him.

“On our second date,” Brent replies, the corner of his mouth twitching so hard that his infuriating dimple pops out.

He takes a step toward me until we’re toe-to-toe, and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. His chest brushes against my folded arms, one of his hands reaching up and pressing gently against my hip.

Oh my. He’s so dreamy. No, no, no. I can do better than that. He’s so… fffucking dreamy. Wait! I’m mad at him. We are in a fight. He’s doing this on purpose to distract me. Oh no you don’t, mister!

“Well, it had to happen sooner or later,” I tell him, my voice rising as the loud buzzing and clanging bells sounding right next to us at a game booth announces its current winner. “Might as well nip it in the bud now.”

I try my hardest to keep a stern look on my face as I look up at Brent. He keeps his features schooled, and we are currently vying for first place in a serious staring contest. Which doesn’t last long at all. Both of us suddenly burst out laughing at the same time. My hands automatically unfold between us, and I press my palms against his chest.

Oh! He’s got a nice chest. I can’t believe I just put my hands here like it was no big deal! The power of the F-bomb is with me.

Brent shakes his head at me with a smile, neither one of us paying attention to all the people and noise around us.

“It’s called soda,” Brent informs me with mock-haughtiness.

“Brent Miller, for the last time, it’s pop! It’s only called soda if you live in the 1950s and you’re at the malt shop, drinking from a soda fountain. Do you really want to start our first fight all over again, when we were just about to have our first make-up?”

His hand on my hip slowly slides around my side and across my lower back, pulling me snuggly up against him.

My fingers curl in until I suddenly realize I’m gripping his T-shirt in my hands.

Just yank his face down to yours and kiss him! Who cares if you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers? No one! Do it!

“Our first make-up, huh? What exactly did you have in mind?” he asks, the tips of his fingers starting to make these gentle swirling motions against my lower back.

I have kissing this man in mind. And in my heart. And in my stomach. And waaay down south, if you know what I mean.

“We could go down south!” I immediately quip, my mouth dropping open when I realize what I just blurted out. “I mean, not south as in Florida. That would just be crazy! And definitely not south as in the place where the ferns are. You know what? I’ll just stop talking now.”