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Fine. Meet me at Coffee Starts in 15.

Immediately, Monica replies.

Sure. See you then big boy!

Grimacing again, I put my phone down. This isn’t going to be pretty, but I’ve got to set my former lover straight. After all, I’ve already moved on to more fertile pastures, and it’s time to put a lid on this once and for all.

Within fifteen minutes, I’ve pulled up in front of Coffee Starts, and unfortunately, I see Monica’s blue convertible already parked in the lot. Okay, here goes. Taking a deep breath, I enter the café and Monica waves at me from a corner table.

“Hi there!” she coos. “Over here, Brant.”

I make my way to the blonde, and nod while dropping into a seat.

“Here, I got you a cannonball,” the older woman says, fluttering her lashes while pushing a steaming mug of joe my way. “You still like these, don’t you?”

I nod curtly.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

But then I stare at Monica, squinting a bit. She looks good, don’t get me wrong. The blonde is attractive and voluptuous, and she’s dressed in a flowery top which hugs her big breasts, paired with hot pink capri pants and high heeled sandals. But there’s something about Monica today that reminds me of someone else. Who could it be? My ex looks a bit like the actress Jennifer Coolidge, but younger of course, with the same flowing blonde tresses; big, puffy lips; and coy, sugary voice. But it’s not Jennifer Coolidge, and I sit there for a moment, trying to jog my memory. Meanwhile, Monica reaches across the table and seizes my hand with one of her own, stroking her thumb across my palm.

“Thank you for coming, Brant,” she purrs. “It’s so nice to see you again after a week of no contact.”

I nod stiffly while pulling my hand away.

“Well, we’re broken up now,” I rasp, staring at her pointedly. “Remember? We broke up at your house last week.”

“Oh that!” Monica laughs while flapping a hand in the air. Her manicured nails gleam hot pink in the light, and I grimace. How could I ever have found those claws attractive? “That was nothing,” she continues. “It was just a little spat and I know you needed some time to get over things, but it’s all better now, right Brant? You’ve had some time to cool off and we should be good to go,” she winks.

I stare at her.

“Monica, it wasn’t a spat. In fact, we didn’t fight at all. I told you we weren’t going to see each other anymore, and you agreed.”

The middle-aged blonde shakes her head, making her tresses sway.

“No, we had a spat! Remember? You wanted whiskey neat, but I mistakenly poured a gin and tonic instead.”

I stare at her, disbelieving.

“Monica, that’s nothing. I wasn’t angry about that at all. Whatevs, so I got the wrong drink. I’ll live. But yeah, I broke up with you, and as a result, we haven’t talked in a week for a reason. Got it?”

But Monica’s still not listening and shoots me a saucy smile as I continue to stare.

“I got some of that top shelf whiskey you like, Brant,” she coos while trailing a pink fingernail up my forearm. “It’s just waiting for you at home if you want to come and get it.”

A creepy-crawly sensation runs up my skin, and I pull my arm away, my handsome features stern and serious. What will it take to get this woman to listen?

“Monica, we’re done,” I say in a flat tone so that there can be no misinterpreting my words. “Forever. Finito.”

But still, the blonde’s unconvinced.

“Oh, we’re not done,” she says in an airy tone. “Last time, we had sex, remember? Right on the lounger by the pool after we so-called ‘broke up,’” she giggles while making air quotes with her fingers. “So how can you say that we’re not dating anymore?”

I stare at her, my mouth in a flat line.

“That was a mistake,” I grind out. “I gave in to my dark side and never should have touched you. Call it a good-bye fuck if you will.”

“But you came in me so hard,” the blonde coos while fluttering her lashes at me. “Don’t you want to experience that again? It was amazing, and besides, I have a special treat for you this time.”

I stare at her.

“I don’t want whiskey,” I say in a tight voice. “I don’t care how much it cost.”

Monica lets out a bubbly laugh.

“Oh no, not that,” she simpers. “It’s something much more special. Do you want to hear it?”

To be honest, I don’t, and I begin to push away from the table.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say in a terse voice, already beginning to stand. But then Monica seizes my hand and leans forward with a look of excitement on her face.

“It’s an anal prolapse,” she whispers to me in a not-so-quiet voice. “Do you know what those are, big boy? It’s where I push my guts out of my ass so that it blooms into a beautiful flower. Intriguing right? I’ve been practicing using a pump and a dildo, and I finally got the hang of it. Now I want you to be the first man to fuck me in my butt rose, Brant.”

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