Ruined for Other Women

I stepped out into the warm spring air, wincing as the sights, sounds, and smells of the city turned up the volume on my hangover.

"Ugh." I flicked open my sunglasses, settled them on the bridge of my nose, and took a sip from my cardboard-ringed cup.

"

Ugh!

Jesus..." Even with the cream and sugar, the coffee was flat and ashy in my mouth.

Whatever,

I thought.

I don't go there for the coffee. I go there for the puss-

"I want a taste."

I found myself looking into the largest pair of brown eyes I'd ever seen in my life. Looking

down

into them, that is. The girl they belonged to was almost a full foot shorter than me, and for a second I had to work to convince myself that she had actually said anything at all.

"I'm sorry?" I half-laughed.

Instead of repeating herself, she reached out and gently took the cup from my hand. Without breaking eye contact, she brought it to her lips, tilted it back...and immediately made a face.

"Oh, gross," she said, wincing. "What the hell, did you just dump an entire sugar bowl into this?" She handed back the cup, then laughed and shook her head. "God, I was right. You are

such

a fuckboy."

"I'm...sorry?" I said again. This time, I wasn't laughing. I was completely confused. Out of nowhere, this small, olive-skinned girl with dark curly hair and a nose that was just slightly too big for her face had seized my coffee, taken a sip, and then called me a...

"Fuckboy?" I said.

"Yeah. Fuckboy." She laughed again. Her voice was throaty, almost commanding...but if her voice was

almost

commanding, her brown-eyed gaze

definitely

was.

"I mean..." she began, gesturing to me. "Look at you, with that swooped over hair, and the sleeves of your dress shirt oh-so-casually rolled up, and ordering that lukewarm sugar-milk...come on, I can't really be the first person to call you that."

Somehow, I finally found my voice. "No, I've heard it before," I said. I tried to sound annoyed, even though I really wasn't, and I'm sure she could tell. "I just don't think that's the insult

you

think it is."

"Ah, I see," the girl said, nodding as she surveyed me. Her mouth opened slightly, revealing bright white teeth and a dark tongue thoughtfully riding the edge of one canine.

"Huh," she said, taking a step towards the coffee shop and peering through the window.

I stepped up next to her. "What do you mean, 'huh'?" I asked.

"Carli, huh?" she said. "With an 'i'?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. We looked at the eighteen-year-old blonde barista with the big rack, tight polo shirt, and autumn-colored apron standing behind the counter. I took another sip of my terrible beanwater and glanced down at my new coffee friend. Her tits would barely fill out her own tiny hands. I suppressed a snort and looked back at the big, sparkling smile of the barista.

"You know her?" I asked.

"No," the girl next to me said. She tossed her head towards my coffee. "Her name is on the cup. Along with her number." She switched to a babying voice. "And a cute widdle heart above the 'i'."

I looked down. Carli really had dotted the eye with a heart.

Jesus,

I thought,

this girl doesn't miss a

fucking

thing

.

She elbowed me conspiratorially. "So what's up, fuckboy? You and her gonna smash?"

I let out a snort. I tried to switch to

not

sounding annoyed by the nickname, and somehow I failed at that too.

"Probably," I replied.

"Probably, huh," the girl said, turning towards me and looking me fearlessly in the eyes once more. "So that's how these things go? You go in, flirt a little bit, she's impressed by your clothes, and your shoulders, and your little..." she swirled her fingers in the air. "Fuckboy haircut, or whatever..."

"You've got to..." I stopped and shook my head, rolling my lower lip over my teeth. I did not want this chick to see how much she was getting on my nerves.

"No, I know how it is," she said. "She's new to the city, here from some crappy little town out in, what...Kansas?"

"Minnesota," I replied through gritted teeth.

"Minnesota, wow," she said flatly. "Exotic. Anyways, she's here for school, and you two text a bit, and then you offer to show her around, you take her to dinner, you smash a couple of times..."

"Nobody 'smashes', anymore," I muttered, taking another sip of my shitty coffee. I scowled at the cup like the bastard son of a whore that it was.

"Utterly uninspiring, insipid, Great Plains-adjacent and greatly plain sex," she said. She raised her arms to put her thick hair back into a short ponytail, and all of a sudden I pictured her in my head, doing the exact same thing before wrapping her lipstick-darkened mouth around me and maintaining that powerful eye contact-

The coffee-thief was smirking at me. In an instant I knew that the thing with the hair was deliberate, and that she knew exactly what was on my mind. I blushed. I never blush, and I fucking blushed, and I was starting to get a little pissed off, and I was

definitely

a little hard.

"God damn it," I said. I turned and started walking to work, but the girl would not take the hint. She stuck with me, right by my elbow, like an annoying little puppy with a husky yip.

"Oh my gosh, you're such an

adult

with your own place and all these suits," she continued, affecting a really terrible accent that I guessed was supposed to be Minnesotan...and which actually

did

sound a little bit like Carli from the coffee shop.

"And, oh my gosh, you're so much

bigger

than my ex-boyfriend," she continued. We were waiting at a crosswalk, and she dipped her head and switched back to her normal voice. "Even though you're like what...six and a half inches? On a

really

good day?"

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck." I jaywalked, even though there was a taxi about to cross through the intersection. And yet, she stuck with me -- and when the taxi paused and blasted his horn, she gave him the finger without even looking in his direction.

"You've probably done this pickup dozens of times, huh?" she said. "You find a new girl, she looks roughly the same as all the others, blonde, big tits, big

bleh

. You go out a bit, you have a bit of sex, you get bored, and then you move on to the next thing, just the same as the old thing."

"Okay, I've got a type," I snapped. "What's your point?"

"Don't you think it's time for something new?" she asked. Once again, she took the coffee cup from me and I rolled my eyes.

"You know what," I said, "it's yours now."

She ignored my whining and produced a black marker that had been clipped to the strap of her bag. She scrawled something quickly across the face of the cup, then capped the marker and gave my coffee back to me.

"Here," she said, smirking. "For when you get tired of your regular order."

Then, without another word, she turned sharply and walked across the avenue, sashaying over the crosswalk with middle fingers out to the other taxis who had an issue with it.

"Crazy bitch," I muttered, then swore again as I looked at the cup. She had completely colored over Carli's number with the marker. I held the cup over my head, tilting it this way and that way, relieved that I could still see the indented digits left by the Minnesotan barista's pen.

I shook my head, then looked at what else the strange, combative coffee thief had drawn. MARWA, it said, with a pair of devil horns above the M, and a small, arrow-tipped tail trailing from the right-hand stem of the second 'A'. The tail pointed to a string of seven numbers.

"Marwa," I muttered. I opened my phone, then added a new contact for Carli with the numbers hidden under the scribbles. Then, after a moment of wrestling with myself, I added a contact for Marwa as well.

"What the hell," I said to myself, tossing the cup of shitty java atop an overflowing trashcan. "Chick is crazy. But crazy fucks good, so..." I checked my watch, swore, then sprinted to the subway.

* * *

"Oh. My. God. Yes. Please. Yes." Beneath me, Kyle was flushed and wild-eyed. Sweat plastered her thin brown hair to her forehead, and her thick-rimmed glasses were tilted at a crazy angle across her face.

"Oh. Yes. Please. Fuck me. With your. Jock. Cock," she said, for what was probably the fifteenth time that night. I growled and put my hand over her mouth, pinning her head down and muffling her voice. But even with my palm squishing her lips against her teeth, I could still feel her jaw moving -- and her moans had somehow gotten even louder.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the massive pair of tits that spilled out over the neckline of her tank top. Her large nipples were pale, hard, and normally hypnotic when bouncing up and down beneath me. But for some reason, they just weren't keeping my attention the way they normally did.

Kyle was one of my regulars...well, she was my

only

regular, and I occasionally reflected (with mild horror) on how she was, in a sense, my longest continuous "relationship". We had been paired up in an undergrad accounting course five years before. She was the dorky, chubby accounting major, and I was the hardbody business frat bro, so we weren't really "supposed" to get together...which definitely made it hot for both of us. More for her, though, I think, than me -- but she was always eager whenever I was in a dry spell or horny late at night, and my cock was always grateful for her.

But on this night, her amazing tits just weren't doing enough to help me cum. Growling again, I leaned back, pulling her legs up in the air so that I could wrap my arms around her thighs and

really

give it to her. Her squeals and speech were, as always, punctuated with a gasp that served as a period.

"Oh. Please. Yes. I want. Those frat bro. Babies. In me."

"Oh my God, shut the fuck up," I groaned. I pulled out, making her gasp loudly, then rolled her over on her knees. Pushing forward one side of her big ass in my hand, I slowly guided myself back into her pussy with the other. She was fucking soaked, just the way I liked it, and soon I was giving her hard, deep strokes once again.

"Nnnnnuh," she groaned. "Nnnnnuhh. Fuck yesssss..."

I gritted my teeth and continued plowing into her, trying to get myself to cum. All day, I had been fucking agitated, starting from my weird coffee run-in, to being late to an important meeting, to dealing with all the other bullshit that work had decided to dump on me. Add to that the takeout place forgetting half my dinner order, and I found myself with a deep, primal need to get off and get rid of some of this fucking

stress

.

Which is why I texted Kyle. But for whatever reason, this soft, slutty, insatiable, tight-pussied cumdump just wasn't getting it done for me.

"Oh. Yes. Daddy. Give me. That. Jock. Cock."

"Fucking, God

damn

it," I muttered. Reaching forward, I hooked my fingers inside of Kyle's mouth, pulling her cheeks back and holding onto her jaw for leverage. This elicited even more moans and another torrent of words from her, but with her mouth the way it was I was temporarily freed from her version of dirty talk.

"

Fucking

jock cock," I muttered. Yeah, I did lacrosse in high school, but I would hardly call myself a jock. But that was part of the fantasy for Kyle -- being completely fucking wrecked by the type of guy that everyone was supposed to fawn over, but that she wasn't supposed to have access to. Maybe even the type of guy who bullied her a bit in high school...or whose girlfriend did, at least.

Or something like that. Honestly, I had no idea. And it didn't fucking matter so long as she got me off. But right now...

Swearing loudly, I let go of her mouth, gathered her hair up into a messy ponytail, gripped it hard, and

really

began giving it to her. Her words all ran together in a series of guttural moans that sounded like a wild animal being trampled to death. And normally, some deep, fucked up part of me would have really been into that. But...

"God

fucking damn it

," I said. I was fucking

pissed

. I pulled her head back by the roots of her hair, and with my other hand, I began spanking her big, pale ass until it was pink beneath my palm, all while my backed up balls bounced off of her clit.

"Oh fuck," she grunted. "Oh shit, God damn, yes, take me, you dirty, slutty,

fuckboy

."

I froze, the head of my cock bending a bit from being pressed right up against her cervix. All I could see were Marwa's big, dark eyes looking into mine over the lid of my coffee cup. I heard her tease me, insult me, play with me, and call me that same word that really bothered me a hell of a lot more than I thought it should.

"Fuckboy." I heard her in my head, saw her lips curl around the syllables, playful and cruel all at once.

Then I groaned so loudly I hurt my own ears, and unloaded my cum deep in Kyle's cunt. Hearing me, feeling my cock twitch inside of her, and knowing that I was filling her with my seed set her off. She literally screamed into the pillow, her pussy clenching around me so hard that it actually almost hurt.

I pulled back, and went nowhere. "Shit," I whimpered, gasping as the pressure on my cock slowly started easing off.

It was almost a full minute before I was able to pull out of her. "Fuck," I moaned, decoupling with a wet sound and collapsing on the bed.

"Fmph," she agreed, mumbling into the mattress.

Kyle left soon after, the way she always did - awkwardly. Not because of any sort of post-coital "so what are we doing here" dance. But because she liked to do shit like putting on an old-timey radio voice and saying "thanks for the good time, sailor" while giving me a dumbass little salute...or even worse, the finger guns.

That night, it was the finger guns.

I was...agitated. I tried not to think about the girl I had met that morning. I tried not to think about the phone number that I had taken off the coffee cup, "just in case". And I tried not to think about the big brown eyes, the domineering attitude, and that annoying fucking nickname that had finally made me cum so hard inside of my chubby, awkward fuckbuddy. Even the memory of those things was starting to make me hard again, and finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Fuck it," I said, and I reached for my phone.

* * *

"Ohh my gawsh, ohh my gawsh," said the girl underneath me a few days later. Her hair was blonde. Her eyes were blue. Her tits were massive. And she spoke with a Midwestern accent that I had thought was charming the first time I met her, but that ever since I'd heard Marwa imitate I had found goofy and sexually off-putting.

Oh my fucking God

, I thought, gritting my teeth,

would you stop fucking thinking about...

I growled and leaned back. I had been grabbing Carli's ass from underneath, holding her hips in the air as I slid in and out of her. But now I was upright, watching those amazingly big, soft tits bouncing with every thrust, and imagining them like some sort of a proof of victory over the dark-eyed vixen who was continuously invading my thoughts.

How do you like those

, I thought, picturing Marwa standing next to the bed.

those are a

real

woman's tits. Unlike the half-handfuls that you've got

. I tried to picture Marwa looking embarrassed, humiliated, and maybe even a little turned on by the verbal abuse...but even in my mind, she stared at me with a cool confidence and that stupid little smirk that I couldn't get away from.

I growled again and picked up the pace, trying to ignore the girl in my mind in favor of the real one beneath me.

"Ohh, my gawsh, ohh, my gawsh..."

You better finish her off quick,

said the Marwa in my mind.

The Vikings kick off in fifteen and you're going to want to get yourself some hotdish beforehand, donchaknow-

"

"Fucking...fuck!" I said. I wasn't even close to finishing. I wrapped one arm around Carli's raised leg, took one of her heavy breasts in my other hand, and

really

started letting her have it.

"Ohmygawsh, ohmygawsh, ohmygawsh..."

I seized up as dark curls brushed against my temple. Hot breath toasted my cheek, and a sultry whisper slid into my ear.

"Come on," Marwa said, a phantom made real by my obsession. "Is that the best you've got...

fuckboy?

"

I felt sharp, imaginary teeth clamp down on my earlobe. And then I shuddered, groaned incredibly loud, and completely filled the condom. Moaning, practically whimpering, and with my post-cum shame really starting to settle in, I collapsed on the bed, once again practically enraged by yet another intrusive orgasm.

"Uff-dah," Carli said, rolling onto her side to look at me. "You are so much bigger than my ex..."

The Marwa in my mind stood at the foot of my bed, gesturing to the girl in an exaggerated way as if to say, "this is what I'm talking about."

I barked out a laugh, then shook my head. "Motherfucker..."

After a very, very long goodbye, Carli finally left. And giving in to inevitability, I reached for my phone, opened up a new text message, and stared at the blank chat history for a minute or two.

HEY...IS THIS MARWA? I finally wrote.

And then...nothing. I switched between a few different social feeds, dating apps, and video players, trying to distract myself from the lack of reply while continuously checking back to see if I had missed a notification.

Nothing. And finally, just as I resigned myself to spending the next two hours searching porn sites for DARK HAIR - DARK EYES - SMALL TITS - WIDE HIPS, my phone buzzed.

"Oh shit," I said. I dropped the phone facedown on my chest. My heart was racing. I tried to think back to the last time that I was obsessed with a girl like this...maybe Stacey Valentina, back in middle school? She had long brown hair, wore big fluffy sweaters, and publicly rejected me in such a brutal way that I swore to never let a girl make me feel so weak at the knees ever again.

So much for that.

I took a deep breath. "Don't fuck this up," I told myself, and I finally allowed myself to check my messages.

ME: hey is this marwa?

MARWA: ...it might be. Who are you?"

ME: uhh we met outside the coffee shop last week

MARWA:?

ME: you wrote your name on my coffee cup...crossed out another girl's name in the process...

MARWA: ...

I gritted my teeth together. I couldn't believe I was about to write this.

ME: ..."fuckboy"?

I waited. I waited for what felt like a long time, but was probably only thirty seconds or so.

MARWA: Ha, I knew it was you.

MARWA: I just wanted to make you say it.

She added a devil icon to the end of that last sentence.

MARWA: And now that's how you're listed in my phone.

"God damn it," I said out loud.

MARWA: So, what's up, FB?

"Okay," I breathed. "Don't mess this up, don't mess this up..."

ME: oh you know, nothing much...just chilling

MARWA: Boo. Boring.

MARWA: You need to up your text game, son.

"Shit," I said. This girl was not going to respond to the laid-back bro vibe I'd cultivated over years of trial and error of texting girls. This was going to require actual

effort

.

So what was the right tone? Teasing? Combative? Self-deprecating?

MARWA: So how was she?

I felt paranoid then, almost as if the girl had cameras in my apartment.

No, no,

I reminded myself.

This witch can just see right through you.

Fucking

annoying.

Even so, years of instinct forced me to play it coy.

ME: sorry, who?

MARWA: The barista, idiot.

ME: hey be nice

MARWA: You knew what I meant.

MARWA: Don't play dumb. I don't like it.

ME: yes ma'am

MARWA: That's better. How was she?

I almost wanted to ask her why she even bothered asking me. She already knew the answer. She was in my fucking head!

ME: very minnesota...dontcha know