The Asshole:
Currently, I’m relaxing at home. Why?
Me:
Curious.
I’m the one that texted him, and now I freeze up? Lovely.
Me:
What are you wearing?
Me:
Feel like getting our rocks off through our words?
Awful, just terrible. Who even talks like that? To make it worse, I would put money down that he’s just watching those little ellipses pop up every time I attempt to write something.
The Asshole:
Can I help you with anything?
Me:
What do you think you could possibly help me with?
The Asshole:
Hey, you’re the one who texted me. I’ll help in any way I can if that’s what you’re looking for.
I’m standing in my bathroom, so I take a long look in the mirror and think about what I want and why I chose to text Arlo in the first place.
Because I wanted an orgasm before I crashed for the night and Arlo was the first thought that popped into my head.
Grabbing my phone, I walk to my bedroom and strip out of my clothes before crawling under the covers. Direct and to the point is the way to handle this.
Me:
I’ve had a long-ass few days, and I need an orgasm so I can get some good sleep tonight.
The Asshole:
And are you alreadynaked for me?
Me:
Yes.
The Asshole:
Slide that free hand down your stomach, but don’t touch that pussy. Just touch your body.
I do as I’m told, and as frustrated as I am that he isn’t getting straight to the point, my body lights up as I comply with his simple directions.
The Asshole:
Bring that hand up and circle your breast, but don’t touch your nipple.
