F*ck Worthy, Volume 2 Read online

  F*ck Worthy

  An Erotic Serial

  Volume Two

  by AJ Harmon

  www.ajharmon.com

  First eBook Edition, February 2018

  Copyright 2018 by ABCs Legacy, LLC

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  TWO

  Why is it that men can fuck whoever they want… whenever they want… how many times they want… wherever they want… and it’s cool? They are men, after all.

  When a woman fucks an indiscriminate number of men, she’s a slut or a whore.

  Who are these men fucking? Women, that’s who! Talk about a double standard. Being single and horny is okay if you are a man, but if you’re a woman, don’t you dare scratch that itch. You will get a reputation.

  It’d been a few days since I’d gone for a drink after work. The fiscal year was coming to a close and that meant longer hours in the office in preparation for closing out the reports. I’d missed relaxing on a bar stool with a cool drink in my hand.

  “What’ll it be?” I looked up to see Jack grinning at me. “It’s been a while.”

  “Work’s a bitch,” I muttered.

  “You should do something that you love and then you’ll never work a day in your life.”

  “You sound like a cheesy greeting card.”

  Jack chuckled. “Whatcha in the mood for?”

  I contemplated his question but decided not to say fucking you on the bar. I figured he meant what did I want to drink.

  “Can you make me a mule?”

  “Of course,” he nodded. “Moscow? Passion fruit? Pineapple?”

  “Surprise me.” I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  “You got it.”

  It had been almost fifteen days since I’d had sex. Well, technically, ten days, but I’d decided that Tank didn’t count. I was chalking him up to a poor decision on my part. And when I say, “having sex,” I mean that I am participating enough to have an orgasm. Obviously, Tank’s performance did NOT count if that was my criteria.

  Jack placed a tall glass in front of me, a lime wedge and a straw sticking straight up encouraging me to taste the magnificence he had concocted for me. I sipped the divine drink as my eyes closed, savoring every taste of its goodness.

  “Wow!”

  Jack interrupted my euphoric experience with his exclamation. I looked up to see a state of discomfort on his face. His left hand dropped below the bar and I sensed something was wrong.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. I just don’t think that I’ve ever seen anyone have an orgasm while drinking.”

  “I did not,” I snapped back.

  “You sure looked like it. And it… well, you know.” He looked down at his crotch. At least I assumed it was his junk, but it too was below the bar.

  “Give you a little hard on, huh?” I smirked.

  “No,” he replied. “A great big one.”

  I laughed. He smiled. There was an awkwardness that was weird. I’d been coming to this place for, well, forever it seemed and up until a couple of weeks before, it had been fine. But now that I knew his name and we’d had a tiny bit of banter, it was feeling a bit odd talking to him like we were friends. I mean, we were not friends.

  I slapped a twenty-dollar bill down in front of him, hooked my purse over my shoulder, picked up my drink and stood.

  “Thanks,” I nodded and walked away from him. I could feel his eyes on me as I meandered through the tables and found an empty two-seater and slid onto the stool. I was no longer in the mood to do any prowling. I hoped that some well-hung dude would come and hit on me.

  It took exactly six minutes.

  “This seat taken?”

  “Nope.”

  “May I join you then?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m Rob,” he smiled.

  “Jill,” I replied.

  “I’m in town for work,” he said. “Just for a couple of days while I negotiate a contract for my company.”

  “Oh?” I acted interested.

  “I work for a company that builds navigation software for drones. It’s all very top secret,” he chuckled.

  “So why are you telling me?” I countered.

  “I’m not,” he frowned. “I mean, I haven’t said…”

  “I’m just giving you a hard time,” I smiled, letting him off the hook. “Is your hotel nearby?”

  His eyes widened. I should have told him I was easy when he first sat down.

  “Uh, yeah. Across the street.”

  “Oooo,” I swooned. “You’re at the Ritz Carlton.”

  “I am.”

  “Nice. Are you ready then?”

  I shocked him. I would have knocked him off his feet, had he been standing.

  “Look,” I sighed. “You’re in town for two days. I am only looking for a night… one night. Not even a full night. Just a couple of hours really. Are you interested?”

  He swallowed. More like a gulp. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  In a gentlemanly manner, his placed his hand on the small of my back as we left the bar. I didn’t see Jack still staring at me as we walked out.

  *****

  Over the last couple of years, I have decided that men are typically creatures of habit when it comes to sex. Maybe I should rephrase that. The men I typically date… fuck… whatever name you want to give it… are white collar professionals, and they are, more often than not, creatures of habit. Better wording there? Yes, I agree. Not all men are created equal, but the men I am attracted to seem to be on a level playing field.

  Rob and I walked across the street to his hotel. We rode in the elevator until we reached the ninth floor and then walked down the hallway to his room, all in complete silence. You see, we both were after one thing; an extremely satisfying orgasm. There wasn’t any need to engage in small talk, chit-chat, or shooting the breeze. Once we were in his room, kissing commenced, followed by the removal of clothing at a high rate of speed. The ever-popular foil wrapped condom was used and Rob pounded the fuck out of me until we both came (he was first, duh!) and we were both sweating like we’d just ran a marathon in the rain.

  He offered the bathroom. I accepted and locked the door behind me. I rinsed off in a cool shower, dressed, combed my hair into a ponytail and opened the door.

  “Okay, put Mommy back on the phone,” he said.

  I listened… quietly.

  “I’ll be back on Thursday once the contract is signed and everything has been filed with the SEC.”

  I continued to listen, my fists clenched, my suspicions on high alert.

  “Love you too, babe.”

  He. Was. Married.

  “You fucking pig.”

  He swung around to face me. His expression was blank. I couldn’t read him.

  “It’s not like you asked,” he threw back at me.

  No. I didn’t ask. I made an assumption, which was wrong. Very wrong.

  I left, slamming the door behind me, as much as a hotel door will slam, and I stomped back across the street, back to the bar, and back to a bottle of vodka.

  Jack didn’t say a word as I slid onto the stool. He brought over a glass with some ice in it, poured in some vodka and cranberry juice, and slid it towards me. I appreciated the silence.

  He refilled my glass two more times before he attempted to talk to me. Wise man. I guess it’s true what they say about bartenders, you know, that they are wise and all-knowing. At least Jack seemed to be, and I appreciated the fact that he didn’t ask what had happened. All he said was, “It’s on the house.” The best words I had heard all day.

  I drank in silence
. There were a couple of TV’s in the room that had sports playing on them and the general hum of voices in the air reduced over the time I had downed four drinks. It was time to head home and to bed, so the day could be repeated tomorrow. The bar slowly emptied of patrons and I continued to sit, playing with the melting ice in the tumbler I held in my hand. I needed to sleep, my eyelids felt heavy, yet I didn’t move.

  I watched Jack tidy up the bottles on the shelves, close out tabs, and load dirty glasses onto a rack that would go back to the kitchen to be washed, dried, and ready to use once more. He wiped down the plastic covered menus and stacked them neatly in the corner. Still I watched, not attempting to hide my stare. Every now and then he glanced at me and our eyes met for a split second until he looked away and continued with his routine of closing the bar for the night.

  I liked to watch the way his biceps flexed and relaxed as Jack lifted and moved items around. His fitted white t-shirt made his chest look hard and rippled. As I sat on the barstool, slightly drunk, I began to wonder what he would look like underneath if I ripped the cotton from his body. I thought about grazing my teeth over his chiseled abs and across his strong shoulders. I would nip on his earlobe and breathe softly into his ear. Then he would grab me and throw me on the bar and ravage me mercilessly for hours.

  “Jill? Jill?”

  My daydream was interrupted as I heard my name being spoken repeatedly. Snapping back to reality, my eyes opened to Jack standing directly in front of me, his head tilted, a look of confusion on his face.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why?” I sat up and scowled.

  “You were… were moaning,” he said.

  Fuck! Apparently, my secret fantasy wasn’t quite so secret.

  “I’m fine,” I sighed. “It’s time for me to go home.”

  “Let me call you a taxi,” Jack offered.

  “You are so 2015,” I muttered and pulled out my phone. “I’ll get an Uber.”

  “Okay. Just as long as you aren’t driving.”

  “You could always…” But I didn’t get to finish my proposition.

  Standing at the other end of the bar was a blonde ho with cleavage falling out of her unbuttoned shirt.

  “Hey, Jack,” she purred. “Buy me a drink?”

  He looked at her and then at me. “You got a ride?”

  “All done.” I showed him my phone. “Peter should be here in two minutes.”

  “Great.”

  And he left me sitting there while he went and spoke to the ho. She had to be older than him… by several years. And she was chubby. No, I take that back. She was fat! And her clothes were too damn tight for her chunky ass. If she wore the right sized shirt, her tits wouldn’t be dragging all over the bar.

  I picked up my purse and walked to the door. I glanced back to say bye to Jack, but he was engrossed in a conversation with the fat ho, so I walked out into the cool night air and found Peter waiting for me at the curb.

  “Damn!” I said as I slid into the backseat of his Prius. “You look just like a young Denzel!”

  “Thank you,” he blushed. “But I don’t.”

  *****

  I like to drink, but to be fair, I rarely get drunk. I did not, however, remember much of the previous evening after I stormed out of the Four Seasons pissed as hell at the asshole who had chosen not to disclose that he had a wife and kids back in Atlanta. It is this exact behavior, lying, that encouraged me to live my life the way I did. I was tired of being lied to by men who would do and say anything to fuck me and lead me into thinking that there was more between us than just a good orgasm. Having a one-night stand with no strings attached encouraged honesty. At least I had thought so. Mr. Atlanta had thrown me a curve ball and I was pissed as hell. If I was a vengeful bitch, I would find out who he was and call his wife and tell her she was married to a douchebag, if I was a vengeful bitch, which I’m not. But I could definitely see how women turned themselves into bitches who eyed every other woman in the room as competition. It was sad that a man could turn us into shrews so easily.

  At work I spent most of the day staring off into space, not really thinking about anything at all but everything at the same time. I was thirty-three years old and had a job that supported my cleaning habit. I liked to buy all the gadgets that were supposed to help clean your home, like a steam mop and the electric spinning brush to clean the grout in the tiled bathroom. I also liked to buy scented candles and waxes so there was always a pleasant smell in the air. It’s an addiction I tell you.

  When it came time to leave for the day, I had accomplished nothing. I thought about taking some work home, but knew I wouldn‘t do it, so I left it all on my desk to complete the following day.

  I ate ramen noodles on the sofa while watching reruns of Friends. And then I went to bed and pulled out good ol’ Mr. Dick. My life was no longer satisfying. Even though Mr. Dick did what I’d purchased him for, the rest of me was left wanting. I had my job and my friends. I had my apartment and my car. I had everything required to maintain a functional physical existence.

  Was there more? And did I want it?

  *****

  Dinner with my parents at the weekend reminded me that there wasn’t more to want. They had been married for thirty-fiver years. I like to imagine that at one time their marriage had been one of happiness and joy, but all I’d seen, recently at least, was a civil companionship that would leave me wanting to shoot my brains out if I was in their situation.

  I am old enough to understand that after years and years of being with the same person, an element of boredom would no doubt creep in to the relationship. Eating the same casseroles night after night, the telling of the same jokes over and over again, and the familiar smell of sweat would have to get on your nerves, wouldn’t it?

  I watched my parents exist in relative silence, each already knowing the answer to any unasked question, television preferences, and daily chores that needed doing. I watched them coexist as if they were friendly roommates rather than a couple in love with each other.

  It made me wonder how you could take a shower while your partner took a shit on the toilet just five feet away. It made me question if there could ever be enough to talk about every single night over dinner. And, as disgusting as it sounds, I even wondered what sex would be like with the same person for more than a few months. I can tell you that my answers were not giving marriage a very glowing report card.

  Where was the excitement in their lives? My mother while in her fifties, was always a spitfire, ready for anything, vibrant and intelligent, and still looked young and very attractive, yet she seemed old to me… tired and resigned to the life she had. My father, very much the patriarchal stereotype, hunched over when he walked and preferred to sit in his favorite chair with the TV remote than engage in any activity that would take him away from the house. I didn’t see how these two polar opposites had stayed together this long. Resigned? Given up hope for anything different? Just hanging around waiting to die? The thought made me shudder.

  I watched their routine after dinner. Mom began clearing the table, Dad belched, farted, and returned to the living room, leaving me still sitting at the table.

  “Don’t you want more?” I asked

  “No,” Mom shook her head. “I already have a hard time with acid reflux. More will just make it worse. Although the pie was good,” she smiled.

  “Not the food,” I grumbled. “More out of life. How can you be content with… with… this?”

  She didn’t answer me. I pretended that she must not have heard me, but I really think she had been asking herself the same questions for years.

  *****

  It took me a few days before I was ready to venture out into the world of possibilities, as my experience with Mr. Married, and my subsequent conversation with my mother, had left me feeling rather depressed. And not only feeling blah, I wasn’t even thinking about the big O either. I just had no desire.

  But by Friday when I left work
after a miserable week, I needed a drink… or two. Each of my girlfriends had plans already made so I walked into the bar by myself. While that is not unusual, I wasn’t there for a fuck. All I wanted was a drink. Some vodka would help me feel better.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered under my breath as I walked towards the bar. There was no sign of Jack and the bitch behind the bar was the fat ho blonde I’d seen a few days earlier humping the barstool as she attempted to flirt with Jack with her tits dangling in front of him.

  “What can I getcha?” she asked brightly.

  The dilemma was hard. I really needed a drink, but the ho was asking for my order. The need for alcohol won out.

  “Cranberry vodka.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I downed it quickly and asked for another, and I would have sloshed that one back too and left, but just as fat ho placed number two in front of me, Jack walked through the door from the kitchen and headed toward me.

  “Hey.”

  His voice was silky and instantly my clit throbbed. Such a traitor. Three seconds earlier my clit was ready to shrivel up like my mother’s.

  “Where ya been?”

  “Work,” I shrugged. “But it’s Friday and that calls for a drink.”

  “Do what you love, and you’ll never work another day in your life,” he grinned, his white teeth dazzling brilliantly under the fluorescent overhead lighting.

  “You should work for the greeting card company. Your original words are so inspiring,” I smirked.

  Jack’s laugh sent my clit into overdrive. I wriggled on the barstool and that just made it ten times worse. If he kept talking, Mr. Dick would have to make an appearance after I got home.

  He sat on the stool next to me and fat ho hurried over to see if he needed anything.

  “Whiskey,” and she turned to grab a bottle from the shelf behind her and poured his drink.

  “Trying the other side of the bar tonight?” I asked.

  He chuckled and nodded. “Just for a bit. Taking a break before it gets really busy in here.”

  “You know, I‘ve been here a lot and I’ve never seen you take a break. You are always here… on that side of the bar.” I nodded to where fat ho was standing.