Page 6 of A Cock and Bull Story
I’m practically bouncing in my seat from excitement—both from knowing I can still finger-fuck myself to sleepandbecause Theo’s going to show me his cock. I always love a good dick pic. I don’t care how uncouth Oxford thinks I am, but Brett Favre can send me shots of his open flyanytime.
About five minutes later, Theo’s pic finally comes through. What was he doing? Getting the right lighting?! I open it up and find. . .a fish in a tub?It’s taken at the weirdest angle, like the phone is propped up against something and, for the life of me, I can’t figure why the guy sent methis.
I think I could live in England my entire life and still never understand British humor.
BELLE: Very cute.
THEO: Thank you! The coloring you see down the side is rare.
I stare at my phone.
What a strange dude.
Why does that turn me on?
Because everything turns you on,my mind snarks.
Shut up, bitch-brain,I snark right back.I’m getting help!
Now, I wonder if I need help for talking to myself.
Eh, one problem at a time, right?
By the time I make it back to my apartment, it’s nearly ten and I’m exhausted. Just as I’m about to pass out, Theo texts me again.
THEO: Since you asked me, can I see your kitty?
BELLE:See it?I’ll let you do a helluva lot more to it, but here’s a pic to tide you over.
I snap him an up-close and personal shot of my snatch and fall asleep with a grin onbothmy sets of lips.
* * *
The next week flies by—thankfully—and it’s Thursday night again. Time for my second SA meeting. We’re meeting at seven and I need to bring food, per my suggestion, but now I’m in a quandary. Where am I going to get ‘American’ food? You can’t bring British McDonalds to a potluck, can you? Why the fuck are there so many arbitrary rules in the world?!
Finally, I decide on tacos. They’re technically Mexican, not American, and I’m sure I’m getting that wrong, too, but who doesn’t love a good taco? I know I do—pun totally intended.I spend the train ride north thinking of all the terrible sexual innuendos I can make about tacos.
You stuff them with meat and, then, top them with cream.
Eating them is messy and the meat juice runs down your chin.
You can add some lettuce, tomatoes, and onions—basically atossed saladon top of your taco.
Makes me wonder when the last time was that somebody tossed my salad.Too long, I tell you,too long.I frown and look down at my black nails, no longer painted their sultry red—black seemed moreprofessional. I really need to reign in my thoughts. I toss my tie-dyed hair over my shoulder in contemplation.
Tonight, I’m wearing a black dress and heels to match my nails, but I refuse to change my hair. A line in the sand needs to be drawn and that’s where it’s going—Oxford can kiss my sexually active ass on that one.I also tried to tone down my makeup. Instead of bright pops of color, I’ve left my lips neutral and glossy, and I’ve only added a small cat-eye with my black liner.
The train stops and I make my way to the church, my arms laden with delicious tacos. I’m glad that Banbury is small and relatively low on crime since I’m a girl on foot—in heels and with precious food that I refuse to drop if I have to run.
Rule number one—never waste food—which wars with my ‘always wear a condom or swallow’ rule.
I’m like Julia Robert’s hooker inPretty Woman—always a safety girl.
When I arrive in the community room in the basement of the church, everyone greets me warmly.I freaking love this group.They aren’t all hoity-toity like most people I have to deal with on a daily basis back at the university. Surprisingly, there are some people I just can’t seduce—usually only older women—and they get remarkably pissy with me when I continue on my merry way with everyone else around me.
“You looklush, love,” Sian says to me as I set down my food.
I turn and give her a hug, which she returns. Unintentionally—mostly—I rub myself against her and she chuckles.
