Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Which was a foreign fucking feeling for a guy like me.
Thatcher Kelly loved strip clubs, loved strippers, loved all the stripping-things!
I poured sugar on anyone who asked, ate cherry pie like a fiend, and was married to the one-hundred-percent, real-deal, original Crazy Bitch, but this situation, I could vibe, had the power to change my view of strippers and strip clubs forever. Just like that, years and years of fantasies, gone in a flash.
I struggled to wrap my brain around the complexity of it all, but it was no use. Even though the strippers hadn’t even started dancing yet, hadn’t even come out of the bathroom in their stripper clothes, I already felt like I was developing a case of PTSD.
I shut my eyes for a brief moment and forced myself to inhale a deep breath.
Just relax, man. It’ll be fine. Sort of. Okay, not really, but you’re going to have to live through this and act like you’re enjoying it for the sake of Cassie’s sanity and your balls.
Even my subconscious knew this was all fucked.
And I was so close to standing up and calling the whole damn thing off, the risk of castration be damned, but an all-too-familiar pounding beat started to filter from the bathroom—where I was assuming the strippers had decided to set up their impromptu music station.
No. No! Not “Pony”! Please, anything but the number one stripping song ever! Don’t ruin this for me.
I squinted toward the still-shut door, and smoke started to slowly filter from the space above the threshold.
Oh, what the fluff? A smoke machine?
The bathroom door opened, more fake smoke started to spread throughout our suite, and with a discreet flip of the main light switch by the entrance door, Cass and I were cloaked in darkness.
A few seconds later, a strobe light switched on and illuminated the room in shades of bright pinks and oranges and yellows and greens.
“Woo-hoooo!” Cassie clapped eagerly, and her eyes met mine.
I nodded and gave two thumbs up like a moron, trying my best to act excited.
I wasn’t excited, though.
I was weirded the fuck out.
Visions of horrible worst-case scenarios danced around in my mind.
Me getting accidentally dick-slapped in the face by Magic Mark’s schlong.
Cassie flipping out when Emma Bone shoved her boobs and beav too close to my head.
It really, truly felt like nothing good could come out of this scene, but I was locked in whether I liked it or not.
Eventually, Ginuwine’s voice joined the catchy rhythm, and he started singing about being a bachelor and looking for someone who knew how to ride.
It wasn’t a surprise that was Magic Mark’s cue.
The male stripper strode out in front of us, smoke and flashing lights providing the ambiance, and the serious but sexy expression on his face made it known he was about to run the fucking room.
And the only person he was focused on was my wife.
Son of a bitch.
Cassie started to dance in her chair, and I had to force myself to just sit there while some greased-up dude dressed as a construction worker ripped off his jeans and T-shirt and started shaking his red-Speedo-thong-covered floppy dick all over the goddamn place.
If this isn’t hell, I don’t want to know what hell really is.
When I was just a strapping young dude and looking ahead to the future, I sometimes pictured what my bachelor party would look like—close friends, lots of bars, strip clubs.
Basically, I envisioned an entire night of debauchery, with booze, tits, and ass galore.
What I didn’t foresee, though, was some stripper named Magic Mark letting his half-hard wiener invade my wife’s personal space.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to stay in my seat. This was what my wife wanted. This was what she planned. And I’d obviously do anything to make her fucking happy.
Fuck. This is literally a nightmare. An actual fluffing, real-life nightmare.
When Magic Mark started to shake his ass a little too close to Cass’s face for my comfort, I was about two seconds away from standing up and throwing him the fuck out of our suite, but that was when Miss Emma Bone decided to make her big debut.
Instantly, the music switched from R&B to rock, and before I knew it, Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” blared from whatever speaker-situation these strippers had set up in our en suite.
Magic Mark started to headbang in front of Cass, and Emma Bone, dressed up like some kind of sleazy librarian, came strutting out on a tall pair of clear stilettos.
And she stalked right the fuck toward me.
Most men would’ve thought this was awesome, but I was terrified.
My beautiful, pregnant wife was sitting right beside me, and I had absolutely zero desire to watch Emma Bone show off her best moves.
If a Chipotle mistake could spur a holy rage of murderous proportions, I didn’t want to know what another woman’s actual titties in my face might do. No. Nope. I did not want any part of it.