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IKE, AKA MORE THAN A HARD DICK NEEDING A WET PUSSY
Idon’t know if I’veseen anything sexier in my life than Oana dancing to “Panama.” She bounces at first, seeming just excited to release her frustrations. As the song continues, her hips swing and grind to the guitar licks.
By the time the Van Halen tune slows down and hits its groove, she’s a seasoned temptress. When Oana’s gaze meets mine, the world drops away. We’re alone with the music and our lust.
Snapping out of my horny stupor, I remember how I need to feed my woman before delivery shuts down in Rockwell.
Oana doesn’t know how to speak up for herself. That’s why she nibbled at the Hot Pocket despite how each bite inspired a disgusted expression on her lovely face.
She also didn’t like the songs I was playing. Whenever the music hits right for her, she can’t sit still. The better the song, the more she needs to get on her feet and move.
I’m proud of my ability to read her. I don’t have natural leadership qualities. I’m older than West and Val, yet I’ve followed them for most of my life. They always seemed pushy about what they wanted to do and where they wanted to go. Why rock the boat when they were clearly doing well steering it?
Oana’s got no experience living a secular, independent lifestyle. She would have eaten that Hot Pocket and smiled like she didn’t hate it. Despite her inner wild child, she suffers from too much submissive training bullshit locked in her pretty head.
That’s why I’ll be in charge until she gets the hang of asking for what she wants. I order sub sandwiches and wraps. Since she frowned at those two, I sensed she didn’t know what they were. I could tell burgers and salads didn’t interest her.
Sometimes, Oana’s face reminds me of my sister’s. They aren’t overly emotional women, but they don’t really hide anything, either. All I need to do is watch for slight variations, and they’re open books.
Like with the food, I notice how Oana prefers the chicken wrap to the sub. She says she likes them both, but her face reveals the truth.
And she also really likes Van Halen. Oana can't sit still whenever a song from their early years plays.
However, her anthem is “Cherry Bomb.” I can imagine her memorizing that song and playing it in the safety of her mind. What I can’t imagine is feeling so trapped.
That’s why I need advice. Oana keeps pushing for me to touch her more. There’s no denying I’m dying to get my hands on her soft skin. My dick has been hard for hours.How often can a grown man jack it before he gets that shit under control?
Worried that most family members might snitch me out, I’m unsure whom to turn to for advice. I need more time with Oana before interference from our families. That means only one person can be trusted.
“I need advice,” I text Tuesday while hiding in the bathroom.
“It’s that little pink bud at the top of her clam shell. You’re welcome.”
Rolling my eyes, I can imagine my cousin snickering at her own bullshit. “Oana’s hot to trot.”
“Well, you’re a very attractive young man. I sense you work out. Very handsome.”
