Not Another Bad Boy(7)

By: Devyn Morgan

"Guess he's grown on me. He's cute, too. You better keep an eye on me," I joke playfully.

He squeezes my hand and lifts it to give it a kiss.

I want this man more than anything right now. I grab his cheek to pull him toward me for a kiss. He must be feeling my mood, too. He bends towards me, taking charge. I close my eyes, purse my lips and wait for him.

Instead, he plants a kiss on my forehead and returns to singing.

The song ends with a dramatic sudden silence. The crowd screams. I scream, too, but not for the song.

My frustration threatens to ruin our evening. I'm about to slap Tom if I stay, so I slide past him, heading toward the aisle.

"Where you going?"

"Piss and a beer."

"Can you grab me one?"

I nod and sprint up the stairs.

The bathroom is empty. I splash cold water from the sink onto my face to flush away the tears.

"Fuck," I shout.

A large, drunk man stumbles in through the door and nearly falls against the urinal. He's wearing a flannel with the sleeves torn off. His bicep is covered with tattoos. They look familiar, but I can't place them.

He glances over at me when he starts peeing.

"Hey, you," he says. "I remember you. You suck dick like a champ. Let's head into a stall when I'm done here and you can do it again?"

It comes to me in a rush. I've fucked this man in a bathroom stall before. Well, gave him a blowjob at least. I don't remember all the details because of how much I must have been drinking that night.

The tattoo that I recognized is a ship. There are a ton of others covering the rest of his body. I remember asking him if he had been in the Navy. He hadn't. He just got the tattoo because it made other sailors think he had which, he claimed, made it much easier to get laid by sailors.

Despite being a piece of shit as a human, he hits so many of my buttons that I find myself wanting to join him for another round of bathroom stall sex. His tattoos, his cocky attitude, his ability to tell me exactly what he wants and willingness to do the nasty shit practically in public.

I actually take a step toward the stall before stopping myself.

What's wrong with me?

"Sorry, not tonight. I'm seeing someone now."

The guy dramatically looks around the bathroom.

"I'm not seeing anyone but you. Are you dating yourself tonight? If so, you can do that while you blow me. If I remember right, you like a good spanking. I can help you out there while we're at it."

I blush, remembering him taking me over his knee in the stall that night. He's right, though. I do like a good spanking, despite barely remembering what a spanking feels like these days.

"Not tonight, dude."

All I want tonight is Tom. He's the rock that can help me through my darker moments. He's the one that will stay around when things get tough. He's the stability that I crave more than the random encounters with men who only want me when their dicks are hard.

I ignore the man's shouts for me to come back as I run out of the bathroom. I collide into a security guard.

"Whoa, slow down there," he say, catching me by the shoulders to prevent the two of us from falling. "Everything okay?"

I glance back over my shoulder just as the man exits the bathroom. He gives me a small nod but passes without a word.

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just want to get back to the show. I don't want to miss my favorite song."

"Which one's your favorite?"

"Um...well..." I can't think of the name of a single one of Chris Isaak's songs. "The one...the fast one. Sorry, I gotta get back to my friend."

The guard lets me go. He wanders away, shaking his head. In his mind, I'm a weirdo, but a harmless one. I'm something he can ignore. Any of my problems are no longer a concern of his, just like all the other men except for Tom.

Tom slides over to my seat so I don't have to squeeze past him. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tight.

I want to kiss him, maybe slide my hand down his pants and feel his dick grow larger against my hand, but Tom wants to listen to his favorite singer.

Maybe this is the compromise that I have to make.

I kiss his cheek and then shout above the music into his ear, "Let's fuck when we get home."

He turns with a start. I nearly laugh at his wide, shocked eyes.

He nods emphatically.

When the next song ends, Tom pushes me toward the aisle.

"What are you doing? He'll be back for an encore."

"Come on, let's go. I want to get out of here."

My balls start to tingle in anticipation. Tom wants to rush away from his favorite musician's concert to take me home and fuck me. Maybe he's seen me compromise and he's coming to meet me halfway. I can practically feel his hand slapping my ass already.

Very few people are leaving at this point in the concert, so we get out of the stadium very quickly. As soon as we hit the highway, though, it is a sea of red taillights from an accident somewhere up ahead.

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