Pucked Up

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I wanted to make it deflate.”


I walk over and stroke her cheek. “Sunny, baby, you can deflate my dick any damn time you want. You don’t even have to ask.”

She rolls her eyes, but leans into the touch. “Was the shower an excuse to deflate?”

“That and I always feel gross after flying.” Violet’s the one who made it a problem after she mentioned that I’m breathing recycled air, and it’s full of people’s skin particles and shit floating around in the confined space. Sometimes she’s a real asshole.

“So you—” She gestures to my crotch, making the whacking-off motion. She’s generous in the way she holds her hand in a “C” shape, so it looks like I have a beer can for a dick. I’m hung, but that’s more in line with a circus dick.

“I did.”

“I hope you cleaned my shower after you spanked your monkey in it.” She moves back on the bed, making room for me.

“Spank my—did you—” I follow after her. “I think you’ve been talking to Violet too much.” I’m definitely not telling her I blew my load on her loofah. I need to remember to throw it out before she uses it again.

“I have an older brother, remember? His skating friends were always here, being gross. I went to my first party before I was legal to vote. I might not have the personal experience you do, but I’ve heard it all. Oh, and those boys in figure skating are way worse than the ones who play hockey.”

“Really?” I know Waters figure skated for a lot of years before he went to professional hockey. Almost every professional hockey player does a year of figure skating. It helps develop skills on the ice.

“Well, yeah, there are girls in figure skating. Those boys were always trying to get with them. It was all incest-y. Everyone was dating everyone else. Except Alex. He didn’t date anyone ’cause he was too busy.” She cocks her head to the side. “I bet the girls loved you when you were in figure skating. Those spandex outfits don’t hide anything.”

“I didn’t have to wear any spandex. I just took the lessons. I didn’t do the performance stuff.”

“Probably better that way. You would’ve terrified the ladies with your sword of lust.”

“I like that one.” I straddle her legs and lie on top of her, bracing my weight on my forearms, like a plank, and settle my head on her chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Cuddling with you.”

I’m not a *. I just like the snuggles. With bunnies I try to limit it to three minutes tops, otherwise they start to get the wrong idea. But I don’t have to limit cuddle time with Sunny.

We lie there for a while, not saying anything, existing. When it’s me and her, and there isn’t any bunny BS to get in the way, things are easy. We don’t have to fill silence with meaningless conversation.

From my spot on her chest, I have a close-up view of her nipple through her bra and shirt. It’s right there, almost staring back at me, so I do the logical thing and start circling it with a fingertip. Then I go over it with my knuckle like it’s a tiny speedbump and my finger is a miniature car. In my head I make the accompanying sound effects.

“Miller?” Her voice is breathy.

“’Sup, baby?”

“Can you lift your head for a second?”

I don’t want to, but I do it because she asked. Sunny arches up, pulling her shirt and that horrible sports bra over her head. Bam! Just like that she’s topless. And I’m hard again. Faint tan lines highlight her breasts.

“I thought maybe we could pick things up where we left off.”

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