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on
me.”
    I pull on the bottom of her shirt exposing the top of her
bra. I bend down to kiss along her exposed collarbone making sure to nibble
just a little bit. The move is barely noticeable. Her excited eyes are staring
up at me. “Your panties are soaked, aren’t they?” I challenge her.
    I am right, once again. She is practically naked in a matter
of a few shots. I almost feel bad for her. She is the one that made the rules.
I am simply obeying them, willing to let it go as far as she is willing to take
it. Right before she is about to unsnap the back of her bra I gather up her
clothes that are on the floor. Dragging her away from every guy’s watchful eyes
only makes it seem like I care more than I actually do. The harsh reality is
that I’m just ready to release some tension.
    Of course they all huddled around the table once her pants
came off, but I wasn’t willing to share her with all of them. I knew they were
all planning on standing on the sidelines ogling her in her tiny underwear. I
may not want to make her “mine” but I’m not willing to allow what is mine to be
on display for all of my friends. That’s where I draw the line.
    I open one of the first bedroom doors we come across shoving
her through, slamming it behind us. I throw her shirt back at her.
    “Put that back on,” I demand quickly unbuttoning my pants
pulling my wallet out of the back pocket. I pull a condom out (because I’m not
a fucking idiot) and throw the wallet on the nightstand.
    “You’re fucking kidding with me, right? Graham, I’m standing
here pretty much naked and you are demanding I put my shirt back on,” Amanda
fights quickly realizing that sliding the shirt over her head is the wiser
decision. She knows it’s something I’m not willing to relent on. “You’re
absurd, you know that? You are the only boy I know who has ever demanded a girl
to put more clothes back on.”
    The whole rule started after losing my virginity to Shelly
Winter freshman year. She was wearing her shirt the entire time. It made the
whole act feel impersonal, almost like a business transaction without the dirty
exchange of money. I prefer it that way with no emotion or expectations. Since
that first time I’ve always insisted that they kept their tops on, all of them.
No one’s escaped the rule. No one ever will either.
    “Do you want to do this or argue about what clothing you’ll
be wearing when I’m inside you?” I raise a challenging eyebrow at her knowing
damn well what her answer will be. It’s the same every time.
    “Fuck it.” Amanda finishes sliding her hands into her shirt
leaving it bunched up right below her perfectly round tits. They are perfect
size to fill my hands. She jumps into my arms wrapping her legs around my waist
before I lay her down on the bed.
    Let’s get one thing straight. Amanda’s not my girlfriend and
she probably never will be. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think she knows that.
She’s a nice person to waste some time with. She’s easy going, but at times she
does get a bit “girlfriendy”. The girl has this impeccable body that can do
some pretty amazing things. I can ignore the hand holding and other public
displays of affection if she continues to do the things to me that she’s doing
right now. All I’m saying is that the girl could ride a cock like a bull, fast
and fierce.
    I slide out of her once I am finished not caring if she gets
off, grabbing for my jeans from the bedroom floor. I throw the condom into the
trash can. She lets out a sigh and I know what that means in “girl world”. She
wants to cuddle or talk or some other girly shit that guys only do to guarantee
a second ride. That isn’t going to happen, not a chance in hell.
    “You’re running off, aren’t you?” Amanda looks up from where
she’s lying on the bed looking well fucked and angry for my willingness to bail
on her afterwards. By now, she should know the routine.
    “Yep,” I deadpan pulling my jeans up