“Aspen Willowood”

He heavily needed a shower.

He pulled out of the dirty blonde, then wondered around the living room to put on his clothes. An old alternative shirt he got from his older brother before he moved, and a run down pair of baggy jeans.

“Wait—where are you going?” The blonde asks—let’s call her Aria, yeah? Anyway, she reaches out and pulls the hem of his shirt with a pout. Oh god, not this bullshit again.

“I’m going back to my house, where I belong, sweet cheeks.” He speaks in a disinterested tone, no less energized, as he leans down and pinches her cheek.

“I thought you might want to stay?” She asks as she looks up at him with big blue pleading eyes, still holding onto the hem of his shirt.

“Well, doll, you thought wrong. I don’t do after care.” He smiles as if he wasn’t being a rude blatant bitch. His smile is sarcastic and uncaring.

After shrugging her off, Aspen puts on his raggedy converse, and heads out the door. Cracking his neck, and rolling his arms, on the way out of her house, despite her begging for him to stay. Who did she think he was? Aspen didn’t do aftercare. It was shitty, and cringey. He barely knows the woman’s name, why would he stay? Right, he wouldn’t.

He walks on the hard concrete of Aria’s driveway to his beloved motorcycle, Rosy.

Weird, yeah I know, he named his motorcycle.

Don’t remind me.

Anyways, where was I? Oh, right, he was walking to his beloved motorcycle. As he walked, he wondered why the crazy bitch thought he’d stay. And to be honest? He hated the way her house smelled, and he wasn’t very delighted with her shitty house decorations.

He continued walking to his vehicle, straddling the bike, putting on the helmet, and driving the fuck away. Finally, that dump can kiss his ass goodbye. He probably won’t be back.

Yeah, the bitch had nice tits and a big ass. However, Aspen wasn’t truly into all that. I mean—he was, but he wasn’t interested in her personality. What? Did you assume he was some selfish bitch and only use people for their body?

Yeah, I would too, fortunately, he doesn’t. He tried dating the girl, he did. Under the issue that she was bratty and spoiled. Did I mention no self respect? God, he couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything to her.

So he sticked with fucking. That was better anyways. She could have a low ass self esteem. And he could fuck? A win is a win. Personally, he thought the girl was better off being a lesbian.

Pretty soon, he pulled up to his apartment building, hopping off his bike, he walked to the elevator and clicked on his apartment floor number: 7

As he waited for the elevator and ruffled up his already fucked up hair. Jeezus he needed a shower. He hated smelling like cum and sex, it just wasn’t for him. Snapping out of his thoughts by the ring of the elevator, he stepped on and was moved to his floor.

When he got home, he immediately raced to the shower. Afterwards, he looked through the kitchen. For something to each. That fuck had him feeling hungry as an alligator. Pulling the white tall fridge’s door open, he searched for something to quench his starvation (he didn’t really starve, he ate two hours ago).

Then he spotted it. It was a box of chocolates. Picking them up, he smelled it. Checking for any mold. When finding none. He put some in his mouth. It tasted so good. But there was something off about it. Aspen chose to ignore it though, it didn’t matter.

Or so he thought. Within minutes, he felt weird. Not in a way he wasn’t used to, but kind of? His body felt all hot and damp, his cock was unusually hard, and he needed a relief. His breathing was fast and rushed. Reduced to panting.

Just when he thought things got worse, he spotted {{user}} getting out of the bathroom, after a shower.