Georgia: Shut. Up. I’m done with this conversation.
Holy mother of awesome. My best friend had a stash full of sex goodies somewhere in her apartment, and I was going to find it.
Me: I was kidding. But now, I’m not kidding. Canceling my “get rid of Walnuts” mission. New mission: Find Georgia’s box of freak. I’m so proud of you.
Georgia: Greetings from Bora Bora, asshole!
Attached to that text? A lovely picture of Georgia flipping me off while she stood on a deserted beach, twinkling water and her fucking beaming, handsome husband behind her.
Me: One question before I start my search in your closet. Do you clean your bag o’ dildos after each use? Because if you don’t, you’ll need to pick up a new box of magnums on the ride home. I don’t have any latex gloves, and one of these isn’t big enough for my whole hand.
Georgia: You’ve already gone through Kline’s nightstand?!
Me: Oh, come on. That’s the first place you ALWAYS look. Does Kline really fill the entire magnum? Because if he does, I’m convinced his cock is a mythical unicorn.
Georgia: I’m not discussing my husband’s penis with you.
Me: Haha! I could literally hear you say the word penis like a schoolmarm. “Peeee-nis.”
Georgia: I’m disowning you when I get back from my honeymoon.
Me: Just remember to pick up milk too on your way home. You’re almost out.
Georgia: Since you’ve made yourself at home. House rules: NO sex in my bed.
Me: Okay, but those rules start right now, right? Yesterday shouldn’t count.
Don’t worry, I’m not that much of a weirdo. I don’t make a point of using my best friend’s bed as my own personal brothel. But it’s too funny not to make her think that.
Georgia: WASH MY SHEETS.
Me: I love you, Wheorgie. Go back to enjoying your honeymoon and riding Kline’s peee-nis with the glow of the sunset behind you. I’ll take care of everything here like it’s my own.
Georgia: Ugh. I love you too, Casshead. Replace everything you destroy.
I swear, my best friend was far too easy to rile up. I probably shouldn’t get that much amusement out of it, but I did. She pulled off adorably embarrassed like no one else. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Kline used it to his advantage, frequently. It was one of the reasons I loved him. He knew Georgia better than she knew herself sometimes, and he also respected her, cherished her, and treated her like a goddamn princess—all the requirements for avoiding genital mutilation, courtesy of me.
Since I was alone and there was absolutely nothing more fun than walking around without a bra on, I stopped my clothes search and placed my phone in their speaker dock. Once my playlist was set, it was time to search this place like I was a key investigator for the FBI.
Rhianna’s “Cockiness” was speaking to me, echoing throughout the apartment and getting my exploration mojo off to the right start.
“I love it when you eat it,” I sang, shaking my hips to the seductive beat and moving back toward Georgie’s closet.
And then, in my peripheral vision, my eyes caught sight of a large, looming figure in the doorway.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed. “Holy son of a whore tramp!”
Fucking fuck.
I mean, fuck me.
No.
Titty-fuck me.
“Helloooo?” Cassie’s perfect, heavy tits said while they swung back and forth, free from cover and uninhibited by clothing or bra. “Hey, fuckface!” they yelled. “Are you perverted or just dumb? The normal amount of time to stare at someone uninvited passed like forty-five seconds ago.”
God, not only were they the perfect size and shape, they were fucking smart. Speaking in full sentences and shit. This had to be the most talented pair of tits I’d ever encountered. They sounded a little agitated, but I was pretty sure that was just a side effect of the blood roaring in my ears.
“Ow!” I flinched as Cassie grabbed my nipple through the fabric of my dress shirt and twisted. “Jesus! What the fuck?”
“What the fuck? I’ll tell you what the fuck. You’ve been staring at my chest for the last two minutes!”
I watched as her mouth moved, even heard it form the words, but try as I might, I couldn’t not notice that they still hung there, uncovered in all their perfect, creamy, pink-tipped glory. When they swung toward me again with her lunge, I forced my eyes back to her wildly beautiful face.
“Look, I’m sorry. But they’re out and they’re perfect and they were fucking talking to me.”
I pressed a hand to the uncontrollably swelling cock in my pants. She raised an eyebrow in response.