Page 169 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Have you done this before?” Betty asks.
I pick up a piece of popcorn, poke my needle through it, and then drag it down the string.
“A few times. It’s all about where you push the popcorn through. Too close to the edge, and it’s just going to break off.”
“I’ve noticed that,” she says as she concentrates hard on her needle, threading her popcorn.
Tonight she chose to wear a low-cut long-sleeved shirt in a navy blue that makes her eyes pop and her tits look amazing. I told myself when she was coming over that we were going to string popcorn, have dinner, and then I was going to have her for dessert. I promised myself to be in control and not try to fuck her the minute she walked into my house. Because if anything, I don’t want her thinking I like her just because of the sex. I like her for so much more than just that.
But with that shirt and the way her tits have been hanging out, I’m telling you right now, I should win a goddamn award for keeping my hands to myself.
“I can’t believe people will do this every year.” She sits back. “It’s hard.”
I can tell you something else that’s hard: my dick and her nipples.
She has to be wearing one of those see-through bras again, because her nipples are poking against her shirt as if she’s not wearing a bra at all... Wait... is she?
“Atlas.”
“Huh?” I say, looking up to meet her eyes.
“You’re staring at my boobs.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, not being shy about it. “Just wondering if you’re wearing a bra or not.”
“Why would you think that I’m not?”
“Because of the way your nipples are pressing against your shirt,” I answer.
“Oh.” She glances down at her shirt and then, to my surprise, tugs on the front of it, revealing her bare breast.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
She readjusts her shirt casually, as if she didn’t just show me her entire boob. “I didn’t wear a bra because I figured you’d strip me down the minute I walked through the door, but boy, was I wrong. We’ve been doing arts and crafts for an hour now, and not a single orgasm has been had.”
I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth. “Um, yeah, because I told myself I wouldn’t have sex with you until after dinner.”
Her brow creases together. “Why would you do that?”
“Didn’t want you to think I only saw you as a hole I can stick my dick in. I actually like you, more than just for sex.”
She presses her hand to her chest, a look of appreciation on her face. “Aw, that’s oddly crude yet sweet at the same time.”
“Just telling you the way it is. I like you. I want you to know that. I want you to know that we can do more than just sex.” I hold up the string of popcorn. “Like arts and crafts. And I wanted you to see that we can chat and have a conversation that doesn’t consist of you telling me to fill you with my cum.”
Her cheeks go red. “God, I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did. It was hot, and I hope you say it more. But say it after dinner, when the sex will commence.”
“You’ve scheduled it?”
“Loosely scheduled,” I say.
“How loose is that schedule?” she asks, moving in closer, causing me to gulp from the way her shirt dips in the front.
“Um . . . pretty loose.”
“Like... almost nonexistent?” she asks as she straddles my lap, draping the popcorn strands to the side and making sure to stick the needle in the couch so as to not lose it.
