Drop Dead Sexy

I was in a cheap hotel/motel room.

And then as it hit me, a groan of shame escaped my lips. I slapped my hand over my eyes, trying to shield myself from the mortification as last night’s events played through my head like an X-rated movie complete with the seedy bow-chicka-wow-wow music. I couldn’t help wondering what the hell had gotten into me. Yeah? I’d been in a sex drought, but last week, I would have never allowed a stranger to take me home—well, to a hotel room. What made last night any different? Then I remembered my mother’s lingerie shower, coupled with my talk with Jill, and I realized where things had gone wrong.

When I glanced over my shoulder, my mistake was stretched out on his stomach, his muscular arms wrapped around the pillow. His broad back rose and fell with lumbered breaths. Heat coiled between my legs with the sheet doing a provocative peekaboo with his delectable ass. It took everything within me not to pounce on him for another round.

A big O for the road. A farewell fuck. A “see ya never again” screw.

No, no, no. I couldn’t do that. I’d been enough of a brazen hussy in the dark, but now in the light of day, I had to get a hold of myself and my raging libido. I silently thanked God Catcher was still asleep, and I could make a clean getaway.

With my limited sexual experience, I’d never dealt with a walk of shame in real life, but I had seen plenty on television and in the movies. I knew with my bird’s nest hairdo from going to sleep with wet hair and outfitted in my sexy dress, I was going to look like the Queen of Walk of Shames.

Slowly, I started shimmying across the mattress. Once I got to the edge, I eased off the bed and dropped to the floor like I was in stealth ninja mode. I picked up my dress and threw it over my head. I gave a muted grunt as I fought with the tight material. As I rolled around on the floor, I probably looked like a caterpillar stuck in its cocoon. Or a sausage being stuffed.

The thought of a sausage made me think of the fine piece of Grade-A sausage that was just a few feet away. Ugh, I was seriously pathetic. I patted around the cheap carpet for my panties. And then I remembered what had happened to them the night before. RIP Victoria’s Secret Chantilly Lace red thong.

When my hand reached out for my heels, an ache spread between my legs. Once again, a bow-chicka-wow-wow flashback assaulted my senses. I could see, and if I concentrated hard enough almost feel, Catcher’s tongue sliding across the arch of my foot, sucking on my toes the same way he did my clit. I shook my head as the heat in my vagina spread through the rest of my body. If I let myself continue the stroll down memory lane, I would combust.

It took everything within me not to go jump Catcher. After I got myself together, I rose up from the floor. Catcher still slept soundly. As I gazed at him one last time, a different ache entered my chest. Besides the sex, I had enjoyed my time with him. He had been interesting to talk to—smart, funny, kind, and a king of addictive, filthy talk. Basically, he was everything I was looking for in someone to date. Unfortunately, that could never happen now because you just didn’t turn one-night-stands into lasting relationships.

As I tip-toed across the threadbare carpet, I held my breath hoping with me being so close to a getaway, I wouldn’t wake Catcher. When I finally stepped outside the hotel room, I exhaled in relief. I tucked my head to my chest, so I wouldn’t have to meet any potential judging eyes. I even kept my resolve when the lady at the front desk called, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I mumbled as I powerwalked by her and out the mechanized doors.

I didn’t feel completely safe until I was locked into my car. Since I didn’t want to give Catcher the chance to catch me, I gunned it out of the parking space. I kept a led foot on the two lane roads. When I got to the interstate, I glanced back into the rear-view mirror.

“Bye Catcher Mains. Thanks for the memories. And the laughs. And the mind-blowing and life-altering sex. And the five orgasms. But most of all, thanks for showing my vagina what it was born to do.



After getting home from Bumblefuck, I managed to shower and get ready in record breaking time. When I finally wheeled into the funeral home parking lot, it was after ten. I powerwalked to the backdoor before plowing into the kitchen. I didn’t want to have to deal with anyone until I had at least one cup of coffee, preferably two. Without proper caffeine consumption, I could not be held accountable for my actions.

I had just poured a steaming cup of Joe when a voice behind me caused me to jump out of my skin, sending scalding coffee onto my hand. “Shiiiiiit!” I screeched.

“Where have you been?” my mother demanded.

Ignoring her, I brought my hand to my mouth and sucked on the burning flesh.

“Olivia Rose Sullivan, you answer me.”