Chapter One
Royce
Unknown: It was horrible. H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E!
I stare at my phone, at the mystery number I just received a text message from. It’s not completely rare to receive them at nine at night, but it is a little odd to get one from a number not programmed into my phone.
Before I can reply, another message pops up.
Unknown: Why do men feel the need to talk about their penis sizes on a date? On a FIRST date nonetheless.
Color me intrigued, as I glance down at my own naked crotch, a smirk spreading across my face.
Me: Because it’s a favorite amongst all appendages?
Thanks to a freaked out woman at work, I had to shower the moment I got home to wash the vomit off my leg. I toss my wet towel into my hamper and grab a pair of shorts. The entire time, watching for a reply from whoever is on the other end of this chat. I’m already smiling when my device lights up.
Unknown: It’s only a favorite with them. No woman has ever been excited to get a dick pic, Sabrina. None. Ever.
I snort a laugh, my fingers already flying across the screen.
Me: I think you’ve been receiving the wrong pics of dicks then.
I fire it off, a burst of pride sweeping through my body as I preen like a proud papa bear. My dick is glorious, if I do say so myself. Any woman who gets a picture should be honored to receive it. A solid nine inches, thick and straight. A unicorn amongst guys, if you will. Many a lady friend has complimented me repeatedly about how impressive my cock is. You know, screaming my name over and over again.
There’s no greater compliment than multiple orgasms and hollering the Lord’s name.
Unknown: Not true. The dicks worth photographing are all taken or attached to a cocky manwhore, who has every intention of shoving his dick in every vajayjay this side of the Mississippi.
Again, I snort, because she’s not wrong. Guys like me aren’t looking to settle down, at least not yet. We’re having too much fun playing the field, or as my mystery texter said, shoving our dicks into available vajayjays. And let’s be real here. Life is about having fun, living it to its fullest. Why muddy the water with commitment and monogamy?
Take my brother, Rueben, for example. The asshole went to a class reunion last fall as single as you can get, met up with an old friend, and is now engaged to be married. Why? He’s essentially cutting off his own balls and handing them to one woman to carry in her purse for the rest of his life.
I shiver at the thought.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Cricket. A lot, actually. She’s funny and smart and loves to give my brother hell. That alone is a key selling point in her favor. But the one woman thing for the rest of your life? Yeah, not for me.
Me: Variety is the spice of life… *inserts smiling devil emoji*
Unknown: Who are you and what have you done with my BFF?
I almost tell her who I am and that I haven’t done anything to her friend—yet—but I keep it to myself. This is too much fun. Before I can respond, she adds:
Unknown: Anyway, I’m calling it a night. I need to drown my sorrows in tequila and wake up in the morning, pretending this night never happened. Here’s to not remembering this date with Gill.
Gill? Well, no wonder the date sucked with a name like Gill. I can almost guarantee that guy measures in at just under five inches but boasts about a solid sixer. He’s probably a stockbroker or insurance agent to boot.
I focus in on her reference to tequila. The last time I did shooters of it, they were out of the belly button of a petite redhead named Candy, who I met at a tourist bar on Parkway. I live and work in Gatlinburg, in the heart of tourism USA. While I prefer the small dive bars on the nights I’m looking to have a few drinks and be alone, it’s the busy bars and restaurants in downtown that I frequent when I don’t want to be alone. Bachelorette parties, girls’ trips, and divorce celebrations all have one thing in common: single ladies looking for a little no-strings fun between the sheets. Or in the shower. Hell, even against the wall in the VIP bathroom at the club.
That’s where I come in.
Me and my nine inches of earth-shattering fun.
Unknown: Talk to you in the morning, Rina.
I’m nothing but smiles as I send my reply.
Me: Night, sweetness. Looking forward to it.
I toss my phone on my bed, suddenly wishing it would light up again with another message. That’s not a feeling I’m used to. Desire, sure. Excitement, definitely. But this feels more like…longing. A desire and excitement all wrapped up together, and not in a sexual way. In an ‘I want to talk to her some more’ way, which is absolute fucking madness, considering I don’t even know who she is.
Part of me wants to get dressed and head to town, find a new willing friend to get lost in for an hour or two. But another part, the chunk that’s outweighing the power of my cock, tells me to throw on my running shoes and go pound the pavement for a bit. That’s the part that overrules the sex-fueled piece of my brain and has me reaching for my favorite runners and slipping on a T-shirt.
I do a few stretches in my front yard and get ready to go. I start down the hill where my small cabin is situated and make my way to the road. Most of these roadways are more of a single lane until you get down to the base of the mountain. That’s one of the things that attracted me to Gatlinburg when my mom and brother relocated here: the scenery. It’s like being secluded away from the action, even though houses are somewhat close together.
My cabin sits on the side of the Great Smoky Mountains, facing downtown Gatlinburg. I love the lights and the sounds that float my way without actually being in the city. My space is a single bedroom, loft-style home with the biggest shower and Jacuzzi tub known to man. In fact, besides the view, it was the selling point that tipped the scale. Do you know how many women will fit in that shower?
The answer is five.
Comfortably.
Plus me.
No, I didn’t screw them all in the shower. This isn’t a cheesy porno. But I did enjoy the company of one particular lady later that night, after her friends partied in my hot tub, showered, and left.
Did I mention they were all in their suits when they showered together?
See, not a cheesy porno.
My pace picks up as I reach the bottom of the mountain and start to make my way through the side streets. Running in Gatlinburg is a great workout. There’s not a single road that’s flat or straight for any reasonable length of pavement, and some of the inclines are fucking brutal. Like the one that’ll take me home. Going back up the mountain, especially at the end of your run, is never an easy feat.
I glance at my watch and notice I’m already three miles in and barely breathing hard. After my time in the Army, physical fitness and endurance was such an engrained part of my day, I kept the routine going. Running, some light weight training, and kayaking are my favorite ways to keep in shape, and I do all three as much as possible.
As I make my way down the road through a small grouping of houses, a shadow sweeping across a front porch catches my attention. When I’m right in front of the house, a loud thud sounds, followed quickly by, “Shit.” The voice is soft and feminine, yet laced with authority. No-nonsense, of sorts.
I find myself slowing my pace and stopping completely when I reach the short sidewalk that takes me to the front porch. “Is everything all right?” I ask, spying the shadow crouched over.