Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I wanna make a fucking mess.
On the couch.
On the floor.
My bed.
Hers.
Ours.
Alright, perhaps the latter is me getting a tad bit ahead of myself.
The machine makes its finishing sounds which redirects our attention to the next part of her process. “What’s the deal, primo? Why was getting her number so fucking hard? She not sure who’s tongue she likes to ride?”
Mine.
It’ll be mine from the first time to the next time as soon as I have the chance.
“It’s because I’m a wee bit younger.”
Gabby grabs the container of sugar and drags it closer to her cup. “Doesn’t that make you a wee bit better? You don’t need a pill to get shit going.”
“I imagine the reluctance isn’t about sex.”
“Everything’s about sex.”
I disagree.
Life is about so much more.
Sex just happens to be one of the more interesting aspects.
“When are you gonna call her?” my flat mate inquires as she repeatedly scoops spoonfuls of sugar into her beverage. “Or was this one of those it was about the chase not the conquering things, therefore you’ll never call her? You’ll just throw her number away once you’re done gloating?”
“Have I ever done that?”
“No, but I have.” Gabby flashes me an impish grin on what will be her next to last dump of sugar.
“You are a lot this morning.”
“Yeah, but pero me amas como quiera.”
“I do,” I adoringly chuckle. “I do love you anyway.”
This is what happens when two children with no siblings bond. We each found someone who felt like family and made them into it. Gabby while foul-mouthed, slightly meanspirited, and the definition of that Taylor Swift song “Trouble”, she’s also one of the most family oriented, giving, and good-hearted people I’ve ever met. She puts on this whole tougher than tar stains exterior, but it’s mainly to deflect those that aren’t worthy of what’s deeper inside. The young woman who does she shite like bakes both our mothers Bizcocho Dominicano for Mother’s Day yet gives me half the credit despite the fact the only thing I really did was not eat the meringue frosting. She gives a shite about so much even if she would rather the world not know, and I appreciate that I’m privileged enough to know. I love that it’s my shoulder she leans on when her heart aches after a breakup or my arm she punches for sneaking up behind her and scaring the shite out of her post a horror film. Growing up further away than I like from both sides of my extended family created an undeniable need to expand my definition of family. Bring others into the circle. And I’m grateful I have. And I know my parents are as well. They treat her like the daughter they didn’t have to fight for citizenship for, and her parents treat me like the son the doctor mistakenly told them they were getting.
“Just keep your love in your fucking pants, Tate, and it won’t be a problem,” Big T, her girlfriend, unexpectedly grunts from where she’s entering the room.
“Good morning, Big T,” I politely greet in return.
“Would be if you’d take your ass about fifty steps that way,” her pale face kicks the direction she wants me to move.
Rather than ruin the happy mood I woke up in, I simply surrender my hands, cross over to the couch, and plop my butt on the arm of it. “Better?”
The 4’11 female defiantly shoves her short brown stands away from her large forehead. “Better would be if your ass would move the fuck out so mine could move in.”
“We are so not having that fucking conversation before I’ve had a sip of coffee.” Gabby proclaims on a pat to her girlfriend’s barely covered stomach. “Or a shower with you between my legs.”
Big T beams wide and kisses her girl warmly prompting me to look away so that I don’t somehow accidentally spoil their moment.
I’ve never told anyone – not even Gabby – how much I want that. Not the overly aggressive partner part but the steady relationship shite. Someone to wake up beside. To share that first or last cup of tea with. Hell, someone to look at me the way my dad still looks at my mother decades after they met.
Relationships aren’t hard for me to maintain. I’m not afraid of hard work or commitment like so many other people I know. They’re just hard for me to begin at all. Transitioning from “it’s been great shagging you” to “let’s focus on more than just shagging one another” doesn’t always occur, and when it does, it typically isn’t smooth or doesn’t last very long. I like to think it’s them who are the problem, but the more and more I think about it, I’m feeling it may be me.
I want shite most guys my age don’t.
Marriage.
Kids.
Lots of kids.
A huge family with wild adventures and vacations all across the globe.