Page 28 of Lovetown, USA
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by how good it was. How goodhewas. Maybe because he didn’t take the openings I gave him. When men aren’t bold, I tend to assume their dick is trash.
Lesson learned.
“Alright, I need one more just like the last one. Look off into the distance and think—“
“About love,” I say, cutting him off. “I got it.”
Just as I’m focusing my eyes on a spot across the lot, I hear footsteps behind me. Someone’s passing by on the sidewalk. A deep voice sounds in my ear.
“Damn,” it says.
“Fine shit,” another one echoes.
I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. Two young men, of course, with their eyes glued to me.
Max glares in their direction. “Keep it moving, kids.”
But I wave it off and say, “It’s fine.”
Because oddly enough, it is. I normally hate being catcalled, but here, in this fake ass town full of painted storefronts and scripted meet cutes, that little moment felt…real. It was unfiltered and annoying, like life often is. The way lifeshouldbe.
The other night with Trey also fits into that category. What he and I shared was very real. His giant penis was amazingly real, as were the three orgasms he gave me.
But also? The way he kissed me. The way he stared into my eyes. His cockiness. The way he talked to me. The way he handled me. All of it was real. No pretense. No agenda.
I appreciate that.
But it was just one night. I’m glad I have the memory, because that’s all it will ever be.
Later that afternoon, I sit across the table from a couple in their sixties. They look late forties/early fifties, but black don’t crack and all that.
I met them yesterday when I was walking near the hotel. She was speedwalking and he was following her with a large stick.My man was on high alert. It was sweet.Actuallysweet, not whatever this cafe has going on.
They picked it, and it’s nice, but it smells like powdered sugar, and it reminds me how sick I am of this town.
Their names are Verna and Orlando, and they’ve been married eight years. After some inane small talk and a shared pastry flight, I turn on my recorder and set it between us, ready to get down to business.
“So how did you meet?” I ask.
“Well.” Verna’s face brightens behind her glasses. “It was a singles skate night. And I know what you’re thinking. ‘What are them old ass people doing teetering around on four little wheels?’”
I chuckle at that, because yeah, I absolutely was wondering why they’re out here willing to break a hip for fake love.
“We were invited,” Verna explains. “And I fell on my ass. I did. But he helped me up.”
Orlando beams. “I’d had two beers and thirty minutes of staring at this beautiful woman. You couldn’t tell me I wasn’t seventeen again.”
That pricks me a little.
It sounds like your typical meet-cute. Very down-to-earth. Very…plausible.
“How long did you date?”
The two exchange glances.
“I don’t even know that I’d call it dating,” Verna says.
“Oh. It was just sex, then?”
