Page 19 of Little Paper Games
“Can we please just play the game?” I whined, not wanting to continue his new game of Tease the Repressed Chick from Next Door.
“Fine, if you want to play it that way, yes we can. Never have I ever gotten off from sex,” he threw out there. I lifted the glass to my lips with a smile when he spoke again. “Without toys.”
Fucker. I set the glass back down with a scowl.
“Christ, Red.”
“Shut up,” I scoffed. “Never have I ever had sex in the shower.”
He drank.
“Never have I ever had sex that wasn’t in the missionary position.” The way his eyes narrowed on me, almost calculating, made me nervous.
I didn’t drink. He did. He was changing the rules on me.
“Never have I ever been fingered so hard I squirted and screamed.” He didn’t even let me ask a question. His voice was lower, deeper. I didn’t drink.
“Never have I ever been laid out on a table like a feast for a starving man.”
I didn’t drink. I could barely breathe.
“My God, Kenna. You haven’t lived,” he barely breathed out.
“Well, what do you want me to do about it. Make a fucking sexual bucket list?” Something about the way I just blurted it out must have triggered him. The little spell was broken, and he was chuckling.
“That’s a good idea actually. A sexual bucket list,” he repeated.
“Well, then don’t just stand there Get me a pen and some paper and get the fuck off my back about it,” I smarted off. It was easier to be dickish to him than be embarrassed by my lack of experience.
It wasn’t that I was a virgin. Far from it. I think I just had awful taste in men. He shrugged his shoulders and went in search of a pen and paper, giving me time to think. Or, sort of think, what with the fuzzy buzz I had going.
“Here you go, Red. Knock your socks off.” He set the pad of paper and pen down beside me and I began to write.
Kenna’s Sexual Bucket List
Shower sex
“Do not start with that, Kenna. Come on,” he criticized.
“Why the hell not?” I shot back.
“Because shower sex is not where you start,” he chuckled.
“It’s not meant to be in chronological order, dumbass. It’s just a list.” He had me feeling all off balance again.
“Fine, whatever,” he gave up. I noticed he had a pen and paper in his own hands.
“What are you doing? “I asked curiously.
“Making my own list,” he answered facetiously, as though it should have been obvious.
“Is there ever anything you could put on that list?” I teased. He moved a throw pillow from behind his back and chucked it at my head.
“Bitch.”
“Idiot.”
I began writing again.
