Chapter 1
It’s a common misconception that not all women enjoy sex. Let me set you straight, once and for all; this is positively, absolutely, definitely not true. The problem is, and always has been, men. Ha! They should all be forced to attend a Finding Her G-Spot 101 module while in college. Or maybe it’s just that, once they finish, they don’t really care about letting her finish, too. Selfish bastards. I don’t mean to generalize, though. I’m sure there’s some guy, somewhere (probably in a fairytale) that always fucks his woman to completion.
The sex has never been particularly great with John, though it was never this bad. Whatever the hell he’s busy doing to me right now (because Lord knows I don’t know), it isn’t working. He’s like a fish out of water, flopping around on top of me with his throbbing manhood. At one point, I’m sure he tried to shove it in my bellybutton.
Ah, my fiancé, the market analyst; the guy who knows what everyone wants. Everyone except me, evidently.
Perhaps it’s just pre-wedding jitters, because right now he’s barely jittering my world. I want my world rocked like it’s judgment day and there’s no tomorrow. By now it counts as a need, and not a want. It has been nearly three months. We’ve been holding out for the big day, trying to do it the traditional way. I tried to wait, for him mostly. Tried being the key word. After all, there’s nothing traditional about me. There never has been.
My psychologist says it’s because I’m what doctors called a miracle baby. They said my mom’s oven was out of order, said my father’s dough would never bake a bun. Yet here I am, a fabulous bun. Apparently that gave me an increased sense of self-importance. But so what if it added to my ego, you know? More awesomeness to go around.
I kid, I kid. Though, seriously, I’m a big, beautiful, confident woman. Any guy would be lucky to have me. Though I doubt John knows that. Most people don’t, but that’s because they see me on the street, and they think I’m the one who is lucky to have John. What, just because I’m plus size, I should consider myself lucky to have a good-looking man? The thing that irks me is, John should realize how special I am. He used to. But now he slacks, putting less effort into this relationship with each passing day.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it, I think, pushing him off of me. It has to be pre-wedding nerves. Right?
“Wha-” he mumbles, scratching his balls as he lands on his side.
“This isn’t right, baby,” I coo, patting his stomach (he really has stopped putting in effort). “You were right.” Men love to hear that. “We should wait.” If I wasn’t pretending to smile so affectionately, my eyes would be doing a 360 degree roll in their sockets right now.
You’d think he’d be able to read between the lines, but he’s blissfully unaware of my needs. This weekend away will do me good. I need to get away, before I do something irrational. When I’m sex deprived like this, I don’t think clearly. I need the good lovin’.
I use my free hand to reach under the bed, feeling for the suitcase we keep tucked away there. I know I’d better start packing if I want to get everything done before I leave tonight. After all, Laurie is picking me up in just a few hours. So much for an orgasm before I hit the road. Note to self: remember to pack Steve and bring some spare batteries for him.
“Honey, your phone,” John says, holding it out to me. I take it from him. Laurie. She’d better not bail on me. I need this. It’s a need with extra e’s; I neeeeeeeeeed this. I open the message:
Laurie: Hey Mrs. Bride2Be! I’m going to pick up the girls later and then come fetch you. Be ready (for the trip and the time of your life!). Last blast before married life!
God. Last blast before married life. I let her words sink in like I’m waiting for the damn aspirin to kick in. John is a good guy. I love him. We’ve been together for so long. He’s the one.
Right?
You better fucking hope so that annoying voice inside my head chips in. I shake the thought.
Yes, my mother was a bitch from hell who destroyed our family, but she was right when she said that overthinking never leads to anything good. She didn’t overthink her decision to become a drug addict, but that’s a story for another day. What’s that saying? Que sera sera; whatever will be, will be. That’s pretty much how I’ve lived my life until now, and it has turned out pretty darn well (I mentally cringe when I start talking like John’s mother – you’re darn tooting!).
I’m living in my dream house, I drive a convertible (all thanks to my dear mother overdosing and leaving me all that was left of my father’s hard earned cash), I have great friends, and I have a good man. John is good. He’s good to me, at least.
I lean in towards him, planting a kiss upon his lips. He’s half asleep, but he kisses me back. Kissing isn’t against the rules, after all. I feel somewhat reassured. This is definitely (probably, the voice chips in) the man I love. This man right here is the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with – starting in three days. First, it’s two short days away for a girls-only weekend, and then I’ll be walking down the aisle to become Mrs. Charleston. Everything else – the wonderful life we’ll have together – will follow.
“Babe,” I say, rousing him from sleep purgatory. “I think we should see other people, but only for the weekend.” He lets out a chuckle-snore combo that sounds like a child imitating a pig.
I remember my sister’s bachelorette party; her sitting on a chair with a blindfold on, and some beefcake in a speedo thrusting into her face. I doubt my bachelorette weekend will be nearly as entertaining. A cabin in the woods for two married women, one bride to be, and Laurie (who is permanently single) to get drunk. Though Laurie did say it would be the time of my life.
Maybe she’ll surprise me and have something else up her sleeve, or – better yet – down a stud’s pants.
Chapter 2
There are a total of 9 chapters in this book: The Wolf & The Hen: A Bachelorette to Remember. If you want to read the rest of the chapters, you can get your eBook from Amazon here.
