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Keeping my gaze on hers, I undo the buttons of my jacket, then let it slide off my shoulders. Everyone cheers as I toss it to one side.
This is turning into a battle of wills. Still holding her gaze, I say, “What’s the difference between hungry and horny? Where you stick the cucumber.”
A shake and a beckon, and a whoop from the crowd.
“Dammit.” I huff, unbutton my waistcoat, and that joins the jacket.
Now I just have my shirt, trousers, and underwear. Holy shit. This is getting serious.
I blow out a breath. “The nurse at the sperm bank asked me if I’d like to masturbate in the cup. I said, ‘Well, I’m pretty good, but I don’t think I’m ready to compete just yet.’” I chuckle as the girls dissolve into giggles. “I made myself laugh then.”
But Missie shakes her head, straight-faced. Jesus, she’s really going for it.
Glaring at her, I unbutton my shirt and slide it off. They all cheer. I toss it aside.
Right, this calls for extra effort. I remove the mic from the stand, then jump down from the stage and walk forward to stand a few feet from her. The girls all whoop and clap. Missie lifts her chin and gives me a challenging look, determined not to be intimidated.
“What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball? A guy will actually search for a golf ball.” I point at her. “Now, you know that’s not true.”
Everyone cheers. But Missie shakes her head and gestures at my trousers.
Fuck me. With one hand, I undo my belt buckle, then slide it out through the loops. I hold it in my hand for a moment, tapping it against my leg, letting my lips curve up. “You realize I’m going to make you pay for this later,” I tell her, amused.
The girls all go, “Ooooh,” and she blushes and presses her hands to her cheeks. I laugh and toss the belt onto the stage.
I hold her gaze. “Why can’t Miss Piggy count to seventy?”
“Don’t know.”
“Because every time she gets to sixty-nine she gets a frog stuck in her throat.”
The girls all burst out laughing. But Missie holds my gaze, keeps a straight face, and shakes her head.
“Missie!” I beg, “Come on! Don’t make me do it!”
But she just beckons at me.
“Ah, man.” I give her the mic to hold, then, keeping my gaze on hers, I undo my trousers and slide down the zipper. Shit, am I really going to do this? I can’t back out, though. I’d never live it down.
Slowly, I push my trousers over my hips and let them fall. Luckily I’m wearing a new pair of black boxer-briefs. I pick up the trousers, toss them onto the stage, and take the mic back from her. There’s no point in acting coy—I’m standing in front of a group of gorgeous twenty-something girls in just my underpants—so I put my hands on my hips and let them ogle. They all laugh and cheer.
My Missie’s eyes are hot, though, and full of desire. She lifts her chin. “One more piece of clothing, Alex, unless I’m very much mistaken.”
“You’re really going to make me do this?”
She flares her eyes.
I have no idea what’s going to happen if I can’t make her laugh.
“Right.” Standing in front of her, I keep my eyes locked on hers. We survey each other with amusement for a moment. I think about different jokes, discarding them, looking for one I know will take her down.
Eventually, I say, “What’s the difference between anal and oral sex?”
She gives a small shrug.
“Oral sex makes your day. Anal makes your hole weak.”
Despite her best efforts, she gives a short laugh, then covers her face and groans with feeling, “No….!”
