Fuck Valentine's Day(4)

By: C.M. Stunich

I threw a couple of the fatty, flaky rectangles in and held up a hand to shield my eyes from my roommate as I made my way to the front door and checked the mail. I was expecting a Valentine's card from my mom (shut up, okay, I know that's fucking lame) with some money it and hadn't gotten the chance to look yesterday. Lo and behold, there were two pink envelopes in the mail that day.

“Hot damn,” I said as I carried them both inside past the fuck buddies and sat down at the breakfast bar. One of the envelopes had a stamp on one corner and my mom's return address on the other. The second envelope was blank except for my name.

Andrea Annette Fisher.

“Huh,” I said as I slid my thumb under the pink paper and opened the envelope. The first thing that came out was a Valentine's Day card with a sexy man on the front. He had abs like the Grand Canyon, all mountains and valleys, and a huge bulge in his red and white underwear. Yummy.

Bitch, please! You thought Cupid was a freaking baby? Check out this bow and arrow.

I laughed as I reached over the counter and grabbed at my toaster pastries. Something slipped from inside the card and fell to the floor, picture side down. I set my plate down in front of me and looked at the message inside. It was blank except for an address written in neat, tiny letters, all caps. I didn't recognize the place, so I set it aside and climbed off the stool.

“Fuck me hard, Lance! Now! Oh yeah, right there!”

“What the hell is this … ” My voice trailed off as I grabbed the picture and flipped it over. “Holy cock!” I yelped as I came face to face with said object. There was a penis on the picture, a real, live penis with wrinkles and everything. It was as big as my Randy, long and wide, circumcised perfection. “Genevieve, seriously, come here and look at this.”

I turned the picture around and around trying to find some sort of identifying information. There was none. Except for the address in the card. I sat back on the stool and examined the photo for realism. Was this thing Photoshopped? There was a man's hand wrapped around the base of the cock and little droplets of moisture from a shower or lube or something. I, myself, was getting wet just looking at the damn thing. That was even before I noticed the little silver ring through the skin near the head of Mystery Man's cock. It was a Prince Albert.

“I'm coming,” Genevieve started shouting behind me, and I took that as my cue to grab my quickie breakfast, my cards, and my penis pic and get the hell out of there.

I found Quinn Prentis hitting on some girls near the door to our lit class.

The act infuriated me to no end. Told you to avoid this prick, my rational mind said as she stuck her tongue out at me. I had the picture clutched in my hand and marched right up to the biggest bad boy on campus.

“Think you're such a stud?” I said, and the two girls he was flirting with moved away like I was poisoned. I mean, come on, I wasn't that scary was I? Five foot nine, thin as a rail, brown hair, brown eyes, I was just your average girl. Maybe they saw something in my face that day that told them to back the fuck off, maybe it was instinctual, some old forgotten woman vs. woman thing? I have no fucking clue.

Quinn held up his hands and sucked in his lower lip, big, blue eyes all wide and innocent. I almost swooned, but I held my ground.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

“It's Andi,” I said, acidic tongue wagging at full force. “So, you just leading me on or what? Why ask me out? Give me chocolates?”

“I'm just hanging out. You know I was waiting for you, right? Didn't see you in bio, so I thought something was wrong.”

“Uh huh,” I said, about to thrust the picture in his face and demand that he explain himself. Then he stepped forward and his should-be-illegal-because-it's-so-tight T-shirt rode up his belly and flashed me wet worthy abs and a trickle of dark hair along with some brightly colored tattoos. Tattoos that were most certainly not in my penis picture.

“I'm all yours for tonight if you come clubbing with me. I won't even look at another woman. Pinky promise?” he asked, and I stood there like a deer in the headlights. If Quinn didn't send the pic, who did? I had just sort of assumed it was him. I mean, who else would've done it? Besides, it was pierced. Don't all bad boys have pierced junk?

“Um,” I began as he moved closer to me and sent the hairs on my arms standing to attention. He moved like a panther, all sleek and muscular and deadly. I almost drooled. Maybe he took it before he was tatted?

“What have you got in your hand, beautiful?” he asked, apparently allergic to using my first name. I took a step back and flicked my eyes back and forth. Did I have a stalker? Was he watching me carry his picture even now? Masturbating to it? And why was that idea making me so wet between the thighs?

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