“Fuck me,” I said to myself as I moved through what felt like a hellish field of thorns. Everyone would wake up soon with similar pain, and no doubt they would put two and two together, so I decided not to stay for Sunday breakfast. I slid the back door open and looked outside for my skimmer pole, but it was nowhere to be found. So, I took a leak behind the shed in the cool, misty air, almost passing out in the process, and drove the hell out of there. A couple blocks
north of The Chegg, I turned ocean-side and parked next to the wooden ramp leading to the Atlantic. As I undressed, my phone buzzed a few times. I expected it to be Jeanine since she knew I was always up this early, but it turned out to be a series of texts from a contact named “QueenieSlut” with a heart and tongue emoji next to it. The messages read:
“Where r u??“
“Me and Cindy r getting pancakes, u can come. Or cum 😉“
Nick Denardi 