My Boyfriend Wanted a B-Day Party

And not a cheap one either. He's into some dumb alien action movie that he wants to employ as the theme, and book out an entire cinema with decorations from it like a twelve-year-old. But hey, he's my man, I'm not gonna judge. And of course, he never specifically said I should be the one planning it, but he knows what I'm like, hard-working when I wanna be, and so I think he knows I'm determined to do this for him.

And speaking of work, I made the mistake of mentioning this to my dad who said it was a good excuse to get a job at last. I hadn't much in way of a sturdy retort as he had already given me plenty over the past few years. He had done pretty well for himself as a board member of the college, even now in retirement, and so he'd been fine providing me with handouts as long as I wasn't selling body parts to most of the town's male population. Which of course was the last thing I'd allow to happen.

I'd saved most of what he'd given me, and bought my current car with it for a good deal from that loser I blew, but cum in my mouth from guys like that was the only income I'd been getting.

I obviously hadn't told my dad (or bf) but I had actually come close recently to regular employment, only to blow it before it truly began. Literally. Through a few people my college friend Paula knew, I ended up as an office runner at a corporate law firm just out of town. It wasn't a big practice, about fifteen licensed lawyers and twenty-odd paralegals, so I guess I figured I could make a name for myself through whatever it was - bringing their fucking lattes on time or replacing the markers under the case board slightly more regularly than required. I hadn't particularity wanted a job but even before he'd mentioned it I knew my dad had been getting antsy about my livelihood as a unwaged mooch. And beyond truncating his familial funding into my bank account, I really didn't tell him about the job because of his intransigent views of lawyers ( - derivatively designating them "vultures"). And while he'd always claimed it was a view in vogue or simply without required reason I knew it was because of all the shit he had to deal with after my mom died. Her insurance claim. Some suits helped but some hindered. And still to this day he struggled to take anything other than the negative away from it all. How could you not, I suppose. It was messy. And their messiness was quickly apparent to me working alongside them. I was only three days in when a partner of the firm caught me on the rooftop parking lot, sucking the life out of the cock of an associate who'd promised me a promotion. Which sucked harder because I'd been hoping in a year's time I could come back as a summer clerk. It'd really been in the cards for me. We were both promptly fired and a week later, mid-August, I started up my second year at college. Which was about when my bf informed me of his birthday party wishes. So yeah, great fucking timing.

But of course, anything to make him happy. So fine, I needed cash. And between playing Newcomb ball weekly, my classes starting back up, and dividing the time I had left between my bf and friends, it was difficult for me to formulate a new route that this time wouldn't finish with a dick head finishing in or on me but would still be putting money in the bank. Then just today I was with my bf in his dorm room when he again brought up the party idea after our suck and fuck, and luck struck.

He was laying on his bed, scrolling through something on his phone.

"What you looking at?" I said, pulling on my panties across the room.

"Event planners," he idly responded.

"Ohh okay. Aren't those super expensive?"

He shrugged. "I guess. Depends." Then he glanced up at me. "But, ahem, aren't I worth it?"

He gave a stupid smile and I smirked and rolled my eyes. I still had my top off and he wolfishly stared at my chest as I crossed over to him.

"And are you asking or telling, cutie?" I said.

I ran my hand through his soft fringe and he closed his eyes and smiled.

"A little of both, could be?"

"

A little of both

," I mimicked playfully.

He pulled himself up to his knees and his mouth moved to my breasts and started sucking. I pushed the back of his head gently and moaned.

"Feels more like asking to me," I said.

"Yeah," he moved from one to the other, "I guess it is. But I've never had a

surprise

party."

I smirked. "Not really a surprise if we're talking about it now is it?"

"Well, the

what

isn't," he muttered. His hands moved to my ass and my panties were coming off again. "But that still leaves the who, when, where, how." He looked up at me and frowned. "And what's the other one?"

I chuckled and tugged my panties back up into place. "Nope, you got 'em all smart guy."

I was happy that since both my bedroom endurance and dexterity had skyrocketed he'd been a heat-seeking missile daily headed for my lap. But rewarding greediness I knew could lead to languor, given time. And I didn't have any plans for us to be parting ways. We were good for each other.

He started sucking again when I looked over his head down at his upturned phone and almost stumbled backward.

Fuck!

(And no, it's not what you're thinking - he'd never cheat on me, just like he knew I'd never on him.)

On the event planners' website he'd been looking at was a picture of the owners - a twenty-something tall black guy next to what I guessed was his wife/gf/fiancé, a small Southeast Asian woman with a huge smile. They wore matching gray shirts bearing the company's name and logo -

EVENTUALITIES

.

And I instantly recognized them. Both were students here at the college only a few years ago, back before either me or bf were attending. But because of my dad's teachers group I'd vaguely heard the story about how they'd gotten together back when they were in high school, had joined college together and had quickly become one of the campus couples everyone either liked or said they liked. Aaron Bell, and I think her name was Georgie? Georgia? Fuck knows.

But, the thing was, I knew more about Aaron than just that. Because seeing his eyesome, dark, athletic frame in a full-body shot like that reminded me of my what was my previous, first and really only job up till now. (If we're not counting my loosely three days being loose at the law firm with my first-rate firm sperm fist and lip-shake. (I'm writing this late, so gimme a break.))

See, because everything in town revolved around Bulleens, the college, it was pretty easy even for teenagers to get casual work there. My dad was on the board too, sure, but even he knew any influence on his part did nothing to propel whatever future I wanted for myself toward luminary status. And I

did

want to work, then. When I was 17 and without a clue. Thought the world was a dollhouse filled with boys' action figures that needed shuffling out. I could tidy up around town. The nation, the world. So when I was a high school senior, about four years ago, the staff of the college office gave me a data entry job, which I ended up expanding into quasi-frat/sorority events and logistics planning. They'd crippled my access to total alumni registers but bootstrapping my way back into most of them just cost me a prescribed date and handjob with an admin officer's teenage brother who showed me where the logon password was written down on the officer's desk at home. It was after I'd split with Carl my high school boyfriend but before I'd lost my virginity to Conner the confused college prof - basically I wasn't proffering my pussy for anything yet, even if it meant the unalloyed ability to view every student's personal details and outgoing emails. Yeah, sounds creepy I know, but for me all it ever meant was a way to make more money than being their data entry bitch would give me, and, more importantly, more money than any of my friends' part time jobs at the time. So, anyway, short story long, what it meant was I ended up seeing a few things my artless eyes were surely not supposed to. One of which being that a basketballer (wannabee pro) in Nu Alpha Upsilon Tau (yeah, those fucking Greek life names were another reason I hadn't wanted to get myself into college too fast) was fucking a member of the faculty. Melody Chu, a cute yet far too old for him Leisure Management professor. The dibshit had actually been dumb enough to use his school email, the same he used for the frat, to send her three-quarter-naked gym pics of himself. And a fucking accompanying message.

Wishing you here girl...

I assume she'd told him how braindead that was as I never saw another email from him like it, but it was too late. I had it. I saved screenshots of the exchange to a thumb drive that I still keep in my bedroom dresser.

And that basketballer is? Yeah, you fucking guessed it. Aaron Bell. The fucking odds. But slim or not chances were chances and I certainly wasn't gonna waste this one. All it'd take is for me to fire the screenshots off to Aaron's girl, who I was sure he was with at the time and therefore stepping out on, and his romantic and business aspirations would fizzle out faster than his failed career on the court.

So later I look through their shittily-designed website and find a contact number that I text asking vaguely about the cost for a party the following month. A few hours later I get a response that I can tell is written by a guy.

Hey! Thanks for hitting us up. We quote $550 for a party of between 20 and 50 people $750 between 50-100 and $1000 for 100+. Drinks not included. Whats your size and requirements?

Fuck me - does anyone actually pay for this shit? I wonder whether this isn't just the couple's side hustle. I mean, Aaron clearly didn't dribble too far after college basketball so was this his idea, and did Georgie/Georgia just join in by adding entropic values to their initial prices?

I go to text back, asking for a meetup the next day, but stop myself just short. If they agree but then the wife shows up either by herself or with him, I'd be shit out of luck. I needed to catch him alone otherwise he'd be denying every contention and it'd turn into a shitshow. I flick over to Instagram and through his profile find his girl's.

Georgina

. That was it. Georgina Han. Well, I guess he has a type. She's kinda cute but nothing to squeal about. I'd say I can see why he two-timed with the much cuter Professor Chu, but she was like at least ten years older than him, so not too sure what his game was. And yeah, I fucked Mr. Nutritionist from the country club who was in his 40s but that's way different than actually cheating and opening up a full on dialogue with the person. It's not like I'd ever be sending him cute update pics with a missing you message. I strangely don't see any pics with her and Aaron but I do find a photo of her with some colleagues in front of a building with a sign reading

Corman and Lomax

. I search the place. Actuarial services. So yeah, "Eventualities" is a side project. One I'm hoping she doesn't devote too much time to. I get the Corman and Lomax operating hours then text who I'm sure is Aaron back, asking to meet up mid-afternoon tomorrow when I know Georgina will be working. He agrees.

It's a diner on Demure Street, one of the main drags in town, and I'm sitting with an iced coffee, wearing sunglasses like I'm 'bout to stir some real shit up. Feeling fierce. And it's not even fucking sunny outside. I'm gonna steamroll this loser.

I'm watching the parking lot through the window when in the reflection I catch a waiter wandering over.

I turn, ready to tell him I'm all set for further diner fare but instead he says: "Hey, you come in here a bit right?"

I frown. "Uh, yeah, why?"

He shuffles a little and smiles. "Oh, no reason, just, I see you in here and was wondering if maybe you'd wanna get coffee. You know, somewhere. Not here obviously."

He laughs and he probably thinks I'm going to remove my glasses but I don't. I keep frowning. He's kinda cute, a little young for me, maybe 19 or 20, and with the amount of dudes I turn down he wouldn't exactly be the first benchwarmer I'd pick to cum out onto the pitch.

"Got a boyfriend, sorry," I say.

"Oh, shit, I'm really sorry," he says and immediately darts away.

I smirk to myself. It's good to be committed. Even if he'd attempted to sidestep the boyfriend thing it's not like it'd ever be easy to make me cheat.

Especially

not just because I think a guy's cute or tall or something. Never period, but never without reason, of course.

And then Aaron comes through the door.

It's as though all the eyes and energy and heat in the room latch onto him, and his intimidating walk and legs and arms and shoulders and fucking whole head-to-toe thing he's got going on somehow make me truly forget why I'm sat there for a strong minute. He's beaming like a celebrity walking the fucking red carpet, making the tank and sweatpants he's wearing seem like an Armani suit. He slaps hands with someone he knows sitting at the lunch counter, then spots me in my little booth by the back wall and unfortunately I need to stick my hand up like a fuckhead in a classroom to let him know it's me. He nods coolly as he approaches. I can't help but squirm a little as he leans down and sits, then juts his hand out for me to shake. I wonder if the part of his body visible above the table is about the length of mine in its entirety.

Tall as fuck. Hot as fuck.

I feebly shake his fingers and he chuckles a little.

"You good girl? What's with the glasses?"

"Oh, haha, sorry," I immediately say, sliding them off and fumbling them onto the table. I hadn't even spoken a complete sentence and yet I'd already lost charge.

"All good. You eatin'?"

I glance up a him, looking somewhere between the bridge of his nose and the smooth fade of his hairline. He barely regards me, leaning casually back in his seat and nodding to a waitress. She immediately flies over to him, pen and pad in hand.

"Yes sir?"

And he's suddenly looking me dead in the eyes as he orders with a smile. I squirm some more.

"Coke, I guess. Cheeseburger. Waffles. Chicken. Hash browns. Biscuits. Gravy. You do salad? Cobb?"

The mousy waitress halts her pen in its tracks and her eyes shoot up at him again.

"Yeah. Ah, yes sir. I mean."

"Let's do it," he says.

He spreads his huge wingspan across the back of the booth and looks somehow even more relaxed than he had already.

The waitress has stopped writing but has her attention still wholly hooked to him.

He frowns. "Yo, aren't you gonna ask her what she wants?" He points at me.

The waitress spins on her heels like some puppet on stressed strings and looks down at me without a word.

"Same," I find myself saying.

Both her and Aaron send me puzzled looks.

"You sure you gonna fit all that in there?" He eyes off my chest and stomach.

Like a fucking cartoon I shake my head to clear it and mutter something about just sticking with my coffee. The waitress leaves and Aaron looks over at me again, smiling like he's just won a championship for naught more than showing up.

"So look, I don't mind meetin' up with clients, but usually it's after we know each other for a while."

"Oh, ah. Haha. Yeah, I guess. Well, I just thought..."

He laughs like he's a parent who's just watched their kid flex their arm in some mock show of strength. "Yooo, it's cool. Don't worry. I can certainly make exceptions."

He's looking me up and down again and I start to wonder if it's really all of me that's squirming or just that one spot between my thighs. "So," he says, "what you have in mind for this party? Who's it for anyway? You?"

"My boyfriend," I say. That came out much quicker than I'd planned. In fact, I hadn't planned to tell him that part at all.

"Ohhh shit. Nice, nice. He's a lucky man."

Somehow this news doesn't stop his sightline crisscrossing my chest, my shoulders, my lips. But then just as casually he looks away again, his eyes now magically calling his food over fifteen minutes before anyone else's would have been ready. The same waitress once more enters the scene, carrying the four different plates like the porcelain is crystal.

"Here you are, sir." She places them down before him, a king to whom thraldom enthralls her, and he doesn't move an inch. Arms still open across the back of the bench. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks him.

"You sure you good?" he says to me.

I nod.

I then find myself watching him eat as I explain what my bf wants his party to entail. The date I was thinking for next month, the dumb alien movie theme, wanting to book out a cinema, his friends from college, older friends from high school, family, blah blah blah. Before I've even realized it the plates before him are clean and he's leaned back in the booth again, smiling.

And I'm still blabbering like a dumbass.

"So yeah, I thought, I mean I just wanted it to be perfect for him, like, I can tell he really wants it. Nice surprise. Um."

"How long you been together?"

"Nine months," I say proudly.

"So the baby popping out soon?"

I'm nearly certain the joke isn't even remotely funny but I'm somehow laughing as if it's a fucking killer.

"Well," he says, "Imma give your boy a fucking good party. Everything you said and more. That's the easy part."

"Is there a hard part?" I say.

"The hard part is not being able to ask for your number when it's all over."

My brain and pussy wave to each other as they switch places and before I go to figure out the safest way I can turn him down while reminding myself I'm in a committed relationship, my fingers fall against my phone and I miraculously recall why I am there. The fuck have I been doing? No. Stop. I'm here to give this charming idiot the surprise of his fucking life.

"Are you really trying to hit on girls when you're

married

?" I say, complacent, trying not to smirk.

"Huh?" he simply replies.

To my annoyance he doesn't budge from his relaxed pose.

"I know about the teacher you fucked when you were attending Bulleens. Miss Chu. Okay? You sent her an email with your dick basically out to her school address. You really fucked up."

He's frowning and simply brings one huge hand over from the booth to his chin and looks at me curiously. I hold his gaze.

Then, his forefinger falls outward and he starts nodding.

"Yo, wait yeah I remember her! Damn she was a fucking loud ho, haha! I always got her confused with that other one, Miss Low. She was cute too."

I go to throw something back but every workable reply is suddenly lost to the ether.

"Wait, what?" I mutter stupidly.

"Yeah, Low. She was Asian too. Not Chinese though, Korean maybe. Can't remember for sure. Her ass was crazy. So you were at Bulleens?"

"I - no, I mean, yeah. Wait. What the fuck? Are you saying you were fucking multiple professors while you had a girlfriend?"

He cocks his head back. "Girlfriend?"

I'm gripping the curve of the table so tightly it scores my skin. "

Yes

. Now she's your wife or fucking partner or whatever. Georgina."

There's a long pause and then to my horror he releases a massive laugh. His muscles ripple under his top.

"Curious Georgie? Hahaha. The fuck? Girl what you been smoking in your downtime? Me and her are just fuckin'."

"Fuc - what? No! I saw you with her on your website!"

He's grinning like this is the best day of his fucking life. "Yeah, and you didn't read when you on there? I even wrote that she's just a friend helping me out from time to time. Marketing shit. That's it. She took that random pic wit' me. She's helping me get my Instagram page going. And for her services I give her good dick. We dated for like a year between high school and college but realized all we really wanted was to fuck. Yo, you thought we married? You're fucking funny, girl."