The Randy Romance Novelist(6)
I gulped. I was so not ready for the challenge.
“Sounds like a good time,” Henry said.
“It will be a good time! Think of the possibilities. We can wear penises on our shirts, drink from penis cups, with penis straws, while eating penis cookies decorated with penis candies. We can carry around sashes that look like penises, blow penis whistles, and play pin the balls on the giant penis. We can wear penis headbands that bounce around on springs, gyrating to the beat flowing through our bodies. We can have a penis pi?ata full of little penis eggs that when you open them up, there is a macaroni penis inside. We can hire men to wear penis costumes who follow us around, poking from behind every so often, begging for a good stroke . . .”
“I get it,” I held up my hand. “You want penises at the party. Seems like you have that all covered.”
A maniacal laugh popped out of Delaney’s mouth as she shook her head. “Oh, dear and sweet Rosie. I don’t have this all covered . . . you do.” She pointed her manicured finger at me.
“Excuse me?” I asked, sweat starting to form on my upper lip.
Inspecting her nails, she sat back in her chair and laughed as she spoke. “Rosie, as my maid of honor, you are in charge of the bachelorette party. I don’t want a bridal shower, and I really don’t care what my bouquet looks like as I walk down the aisle, but I do care about the bachelorette party and the penis count that will be attending. It is your responsibility to deliver.” She pushed the binder toward me. “This is your reference book; use it. Let it be your guiding light as you sift through cheap and crappy penis memorabilia and the high quality kind that shows every vein. I’m depending on you to make this happen for me. I need this, Rosie. I need veins!” She gripped her fist to her chest in desperation.
Again, I gulped . . . big time. A bachelorette party, under Delaney’s demands. Pretty sure losing my virginity was easier than what Delaney was demanding.
I flipped through the pages, scanning through her collection of strip clubs in the city, her suggestions for logoed tchotchkes, or shall I say . . . dick-chkes. Page after page read like a horny woman on a plastic-coated penis bender.
“You want all of this?”
“Rosie, I want an epic night.” She waved and smoothed out the air above her with her hands, trying to paint a picture for me. “A night that I can look back on when I’m talking to my grandchildren and tell them that yes, grand-mammy celebrated her one last night as a single woman in total erotically charged freedom, that she allowed man bushes to grind against her leg and flaccid penises to be aroused by the mere sight of my pert breasts—because they will be on display that night, nipples barely covered. I’m counting on you to make this night the most memorable night of my entire life.”
No pressure or anything.
Henry cut in before I could say anything. “Poker, pizza, and beers for you?” he asked Derk.
“You know how we do,” Derk nodded.
Ugh, men. They make it so easy.
“Better get planning, Rosie. You only have a few months to make my cock-filled dreams come true.”
“Lucky me.”
Chapter Two
Fungal Cock
HENRY
“Dude, why are you walking like that?” Freddy asked me.
I stirred my coffee before turning to face him. Last night Rosie was a beast; straight up, it was the first time I was genuinely concerned that she might bite my penis off. After Delaney and Derk left the apartment, Rosie paced the apartment in a fit of panic, wondering how she was going to plan Delaney’s dream bachelorette party when she knew nothing about party planning, let alone male strippers, or penis party games. Her nerves turned into animalistic instincts, and before I could react, she had me pinned to the floor, pantless and attacking my dick like there was a hidden treasure under the layers of tubed skin.
It wasn’t until I felt the piercing of my thigh that I cried, “Uncle,” and begged her to stop. You would think, since her nail dug deeply into my inner thigh, that I would be the one coddled—considering the too-close-to-my-dick part—but that wasn’t the case. I spent the rest of the night coddling her as she cried uncontrollably in my arms.
Not our best night, but then again, I couldn’t imagine spending a night without her, even if it meant watching her tear-encrusted mascara eyes look up at me while snot dripped from her nose. The stress seemed to tumble down on top of her, and she lost it completely.
Looking Freddy dead in the eyes, I answered him. “Rosie punctured me in the thigh last night with her lady claws.”
“While doing the dirty?”
I just nodded.
Covering his mouth, he said, “Dude! That shit’s crazy. Was she sucking you off?”
Just a heads up, Freddy is the biggest tool bag one could be unfortunate enough to meet. Just think if you took a meathead from the gym, combined him with a frat boy—make that three frat boys—and all the original cast members from The Jersey Shore, mixed them up into a melting pot of “Black Ice” car freshener, and you’ve got Freddy Roma.
“That’s none of your business, dickhead. Seriously, you really think I’m going to stand here and talk about my relationship with you? I value and respect my girl way too much to belittle her in front of you.”
Freddy tilted his head to the side and studied me like a dog looks when you talk to them but they can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to convey. “Wait, so you don’t want to talk about the sex you had?”