“Are you getting ready to cum, Bobby?” Charlotte’s soft voice called out through the haze of bliss coursing through my system. Come on, get naked! “Sorry about that. “I know how to handle myself and have no desire to get caught up with any of them.”
“Okay,” Mom didn’t sound convinced. I didn’t know if she was supposed to be part of the LARPers or mixed up her music-themed night, but her heavy eyeshadow, too dark lipstick, pale white skin, and black leather outfit didn’t match anything in this tavern. “My name is Charlotte.”
“Bobby,” I told her, taking her hand. The sounds of my hips slapping against Charlotte’s back end filled the room, in counterpoint to our combined duet of moans. But that didn’t stop my friends—and others who’d heard of the blurse—from dragging me out to a new club or bar every ladies’ night. She never tried for a divorce and suffered everything he heaped onto her. Fuck ‘em both, right up their tight little assholes.
