Page 47 of A Cock and Bull Story
“Do what?” I ask, mystified.
“Beat yourself up over a mistake,” Jack retorts.
I scoff at his words.
“Mistake?That’s putting it lightly.”
“Ah, lighten up, mate—you thought she was sending you a picture of a sphynx cat, not her minge. I mean—don’t get me wrong—it’s hilarious that you didn’t know, but it’s not a big deal. We’ve got bigger problems—not to mention, Belle literally could care less about this mix-up with the pictures. Hell, she’s probably more upset you sent her a pic of your fish and not your actual dick,” he chortles.
A small grin works its way on my face at Jack’s words.
He’s right—Belle probably was pretty miffed about me not sending her a shot of my knob.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Arthur wonders.
“Eh, Theo’s embarrassed about the picture fiasco,” the git admits. “I was just saying that Belle probably is more upset that she didn’t receive the pic she wanted more so than she is that Theo thought she was a cat.”
Belle flashes a brilliant smile at me.
“Weeeeeeell,” she drawls, “it’s never to late to send me that dick pic.”
I look to the others to see if she’s joking—I don’t think she is. . .
“Excuse me,” I say, standing up.
“Not now, for God’s sake!” Jude snaps in exasperation, and Belle pouts.
“What’s wrong with now? It’s probably the only thing that could make this shit situation better. Actually, I take that back—dick pics fromall of youwould make this better.”
Arthur coughs and tugs at his collar.
“Belle, love, there’s things about us—and our kind—that you don’t understand—” he begins, but our Yank cuts him off.
“Me staying is non-negotiable. A dick pic would just make it better, is all. If I’m going to be killed by a bunch of assholes who turn into big bad wolves, or whatever, I might as well get as many orgasms as I can—and nothing makes me come faster than some naughty photos. And since we’re talking dirty—really church these dick pics up for me, please. Hold your cocks hard at the base and squeeze your cranks until they’re veiny and throbbing. That really does it for me.”
Now, I cough.
Who is this woman—and where has she been all my life?
“So, you’re a roach,” I address Jude, trying to keep the disgust from my voice. “Big deal.”
Everyone’s face is still slack from my earlier words, and I figure that I’m coming on too strong. I need to back pedal before I make an even bigger ass of myself.
Jude’s brow furrows.
“I'm not a cockroach, I'm a cockchafer,” he corrects.
I shrug.
“What's the difference? They're both bugs.”
His scowl deepens.
“No, they're both types of beetles, but cockroaches are from the orderblattodea, and cockchafers are from the ordercoleoptera. It’s like saying that you're a pedophile instead of a nymphophile—they’re both interested in sex, but there's a pretty big difference between who they're interested in having sex with.”
I stop arguing even though I still think bugs are bugs. Besides, he lost me at ‘order’. I hear that word and just think ‘food’—which proves I’m not completely obsessed with sex.
A sigh escapes me. This disgustingly good looking man, that I've been wanting to fuck since the moment I laid eyes on him, turns into a creepy crawler. It really doesn't matter what kind because a creepy crawler is a creepy crawler.
