Chapter 2 - Daphnee's POV
Day Tripper
I consider mints highly vital. When people are asked what they would bring on a deserted island, obviously mints isn't their first pick, but if the situation was sucking face with the hottest guy in the flea market, I'm sure an axe and light matches wouldn't be their answer.
Not that I'm sucking faces with the hottest guy in the flea market, I'd consider it more as close encountering his tonsils. Point is, I'm pressed against the wall of the flea market male's bathroom and our tongues are getting quite familiar.
I should be asking him if he's HIV positive or if he has herpes, but strangely, I couldn't care less. If he gives me anything that penicillin can't treat, I can tell him he has to stick with me for the rest of his life. He's so hot—panty moistening hot, drooling worthy hot, though I don't drool in the presence of hot guys, my mouth gets dry. And I find drooling counterproductive. If you're a drooler I 'm not going to run after you for a kiss. If I have to grossly wipe my mouth after I kissed you, I'm not calling you back.
I'm not sure why I'm doing this... well yeah, I know exactly why I'm doing this—because the guy is soooo hot. The thing is, sometimes I think I should get my shit together. I should stop making out with anyone that's decent in the face department and that's looking to party with my mouth. If people at school knew how much action I'm actually getting I wouldn't be the hippie anymore, I would be the town bicycle.
Technically I know why I'm doing this. I have daddy issues and this is how I'm dealing with them.
I really shouldn't be thinking about my missing daddy when I'm making out with hottie number 84.
I came alone to the flea market today. I shaved too. I'm not wearing underwear. I'm ready for some action. I'm leaving for Morocco tomorrow anyway, and I figured making out with Hot Flea Market Guy might get him out of my system. I don't want to be thinking about him when I've got a whole new pool of hot guys to pick from.
He probably thinks I'm a lunatic, if he's able to think at all. I think I caught him by surprise. I know I caught myself by surprise. I just saw an opportunity and jumped on it... or him I guess.
Aren't I always telling Lexi I was going to attack him in a public bathroom? I'm just putting money where my mouth is... or his mouth? Our mouths? I'm not making sense anymore. I think I'm lacking oxygen.
I think I need to kiss him more.
Sure, I was all aggressive when I shoved him against the wall and claimed his mouth, and he looked like a lost puppy, but he certainly doesn't kiss like a lost puppy. He kisses me like my future's baby daddy.
And that is sooo wrong to think.
I need to get away from him. I need to stop kissing him.
My hand slips under his shirt and my fingers dig into the skin of his back.
I'm not going anywhere. He's not going anywhere.
God, I really need to find myself some Moroccan Rick Blaine when I leave. I can't deal with something like this. I'm kissing him, I'm just kissing him and I'm so turned on I almost regret not wearing panties. This isn't right.
I'm about to stop kissing him but now he's got his hand over my boob and I can't just leave now. I mean, it's also over my shirt, but I think he hadn't realized that I wasn't wearing a bra. Yeah, I'm not wearing a bra. He makes a strange noise in the back of his throat. I really regret not wearing panties.
I want to get his clothes off and my clothes off and I want to bang him in this restroom, right now.
So instead, I stop kissing him. I stop touching him. I just back away and I smile. "Well, this was fun," I manage to say without sounding breathless. I wave at him. "Toodles."
And just like that, I'm out the door.
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Weird and Weirder
Teen FictionShe's weird. He's weirder. Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, they're both crazy. Crazy and meant to be.