Page 66 of Peaches

And men say we’re the difficult sex, come the fuck on!

But give me a whiny bitch, a stupid sorority “schoolgirl” type that reminds me too much of the ones I used to want to throat punch in high school, and I’m all like…this bitch!

So yes,this bitchis driving me crazy because I pray to all things holy and above that I don’t ever write a woman as annoying as shit as this and bore my readers to death with her!

Writer’s block absolutely not broken. Now, I have an annoyance sitting on top of it as I wonder if I really do write women as frustrating asthis bitch.

I scan the page for only his dialogue and suddenly hit a snag. Oops, looks like I missed something. Trying to back track, I see she was only sticking true to her character and grunt again in annoyance as I quickly try and re-find my place, hopeful he continues setting my Kindle on fire so I can forget all about her.

Good thing I didn’t pay for this!

Thank you, Amazon and KU.

Hell, this girl couldn’t decide what she wanted even if he was holding it out for her to choose, hopefully wisely, on his long hard dick and begging her to sit on his face for eternity!

Although, I doubt girls like this actually do stuff like that. The poor bastard. Vanilla as all shit.Serves him right.

And please, in the real world, no man would give up his man card and hold his dick in his hand joyfully while begging for her to do what she wants with him for the rest of his life.

Come to think of it, I’d actually like this book a whole lot better if he maybe slapped her around. Smacked some sense into her dull naive, sorority, “schoolgirl,” brain.

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just offend you and your own whiny bitch ways? Too fucking bad.

Or at least maybe if he tied her up and spanked her ass until she got the damn point, it’d be readable. And I’m not meaninggetting the damn pointby sticking his cock in her cunt, although that could possibly work too, if it was hot enough and got the job done. Now that’s a book I’d read and like.

But back to their fight, fuck forgive me, I’m ranting like this whiny bitch in this book. Time to set our differences aside, me and her, and let’s see what the obnoxious little whore has to say next as to why this man just can’t cut it for her after all.

I snuggle down further into my chair, picking up my cup of tea and Kindle and convince myself to keep reading a book I really don’t want to in order to cure my writer’s block that’s reared its ugly head once again.

My phone rings just as I am attempting to get back into the novel (that shall remain nameless) and I swear to all things holy I jump straight out of my skin. A scream falls from my lips, my left hand drops my Kindle while my right shakes and sends drops of my tea flying everywhere. I set the cup down next to me on the side table in the living room and then place my hand on my heart as I laugh at myself slightly.

Get a grip, Grace!

I look around me, embarrassed that maybe someone saw how idiotic I was, before rolling my eyes and remembering that I am home alone. A sudden crash of thunder sounds outside, and lightning strikes out the window as I pick up my phone. Shoot, I was so involved in this stupid book I didn’t even see the storm rolling in. That’s how much this book, and this heroine, (see, I can be nice, I didn’t call her names this time), is dumbfounding me as I sit and read it like a punishment I just can’t make sense of.

Glancing down, I’m surprised when I see who is calling.Mom?Geez, finally. Took her long enough.

I know sometimes she gets wrapped up with Archie and time slips away from the both of us. But a week is the longest it’s ever taken for her to return one of my phone calls, and honestly, I was starting to worry a little.

I’ve now been here pretending with Brett for over a month. Did you get that, Ladies and Gents? One month! And this girl’s legs still haven’t been pried apart and my lady bits have remained unclaimed by the irresistible Mr. Beckett! Well, that is if you don’t count last week and my own hand while he watched in heated passion. And the week before that, when he made me call him a name I still can’t believe I let fall from my lips in the heat of passion. If you can’t tell, I’m a little damn proud of myself here. But any ways, back to Mom.

“It’s about time,” I sass, as I pick up my phone. “You know, typically it’s the kid playing dodge ball with their parent’s calls, Mom. Not the other way around.”

There is silence on the other end of the line as I wait for a response and I find myself straining to hear some faint noises in the background. A steady beeping I just can’t make out is followed by what sounds like someone’s voice sounding from an overhead speaker.

“Mom?” I question, as I put my finger in my other ear and try harder to make out the noises coming from the other side of the line.

“Okay, great. Perfect. Thank you.” She says, but not to me. I can tell she knows I am on the line from the rustling of her hand against the speaker. Then again, that could be the seat of her pants, or the fabric of her purse, and she totally doesn’t know she called me. “One second, Grace,” she finally mutters into the line, and I hold my breath waiting, at least now knowing that she intended to make the call.

“And that’s all I need to do?” A pause. Some more beeping. A hushed voice barely audible behind her hand on the speaker. “Great, thank you so much, you’ve been so helpful.”

“Mom?” I urgently, and with slight irritation, shout a little into the line.

There’s a little more wrestling on the other end, and then finally my mother’s voice fills my ears. Her heavy sigh is what assaults them first, and I know whatever she’s calling about can’t be good.

“I’m sorry, what was I… Oh, yes, sorry Grace, are you there?”

“Have been. What’s going on?”

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