Page 17 of Bred By the Wolfman

I shake my head. “Neither. Rarely watch football, actually. I’m not even sure what the rules are.”

He laughs, which is a good start. “So why are you here by yourself?” He glances down at my drink. “Screwdriver?”

“I don’t know. Something the bartender made up.” I take a sip, trying to decide how much to say. “I just needed to... be around people for a while.”

The stranger cocks his head. “Are you alone a lot?”

“All the time.” I swish my drink and sip it again because I’m starting to sweat. It’s been a minute since I tried to hit on someone, and I’m rusty. “It gets old after a while.”

But it’s not just the need to have company. It’s the hunger for Bill’s company, specifically, and the odd void it’s left behind in me.

“And a seedy bar is what does it for you?” the man asks, skeptical.

I hold up my drink. “And virgin cocktails, too.”

Another laugh, and I think perhaps my charms are working. “I won’t ask why,” he says. “None of my business. But I guess a bar is a good place to be if you don’t want to be... alone.”

He smiles as he says this, and I know I’ve caught him.

eight

DEE

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, trying to make it seem like I’m really enjoying myself. Robbie, the guy I’ve brought home with me from the bar, is naked and sweating underneath me, propped up against my headboard. He plays with my tits while I rise up again on his cock, then slide back down.

It’s just not the same. Not at all.

And that isn’t only because of the condom. He doesn’t fill me up the way Bill did, with that strangely-shaped dick of his. Unfortunately, that was perfect.

Robbie is fine, for a human guy. He’s moderately attentive to my pleasure, and when he gets close to coming, he reaches down between my legs to play with my clit.

It’s still incredible that Bill could make me come with just his cock.

I rock back and forth in Robbie’s lap, but my legs are starting to get tired. This isn’t doing it for me.

“Hey, hey,” I say, falling all the way down on his cock so he groans. “Doggy style me?”

Robbie blinks a few times, then nods. “Okay, sure.” I awkwardly climb off him and get on my hands and knees. I imagine I’m strapped down to the bench again, my legs spread, my feet in the stirrups. I can almost hear a growl behind me as Bill walks up to position himself.

Robbie slides in, and I hate the feel of the condom between us. Here, at least, I can touch my own clit, and I do so as he fucks me faster and harder.

“Oh, damn,” he moans. I want him to say something else, to say something dirty like Bill did, but he just grunts as I get closer and closer to my very distant climax.

Finally, I’m there, and Robbie lets go. At least he waited for me. That’s somewhat impressive.

Maybe, if I can just open my mind to it, this dating thing could work out. It’s a matter of when I tell him the truth.

Robbie stays the night, but we don’t really cuddle. It didn’t feel intimate, what we did—it was more like a necessary bodily function. I don’t sleep that well, either, with someone else in my bed.

The next morning, though, the stranger I picked up at the bar is affectionate, even as he puts on his clothes quickly to get to work on time. He comes up to me as he buttons his jeans and kisses me on the lips.

“Do I get your number?” he asks in a purr. “That sex last night was incredible.”

At least it was incredible for one of us. But maybe dating this guy could be fun, and get my mind off of Bill.

“Sure. Only if you actually call, though.” I pull out my phone, and he pulls out his.

“Of course I’ll call.” He squeezes my ass. “Not every day some hot woman in a bar takes you home with her.”

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