The Breakup Buddy by R.W. Clinger

Author:R.W. Clinger [Clinger, R.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2015-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7: Jax and Diary

June 28, 20—

Because of Carlton Scarborough and the short story, The Diarist, that he had sent Jax, Jax decided to launch his own diary, which was a huge disillusionment and pretty much confirmed that he was turning into a whore. Within the last week, he had slept with Corky Moxin every other day, and Gary Bent, the bicycle shop owner, in between. According to his diary, which was compiled of lists instead of long-winded excerpts of his everyday life, he had more sexual activity in the last seven days compared to the last six months.

Details of the diary included:

June 20, 20—

Evening fuck with Gary.

Parking outside Frickton Park.

Facing each other.

Not at all romantic.

Shoved his dick inside me.

Pulled it out.

Kissed me a few tames.

Called me names: bitch, fucker, rider, and sexy.

Drove me home.

Dropped me off.

Said something crazy like: We’ll try this again.

* * * *

June 21, 20—

Nice date with Corky.

Ice cream and a walk, next to Frickton Park.

Held my hand a few times. A gentleman.

We snuck into the woods.

Stood behind me, with his dick inside me.

Jacked me off.

Shot his load on my spine.

Said that he liked me, maybe a little too much.

Maybe he shouldn’t have liked me. I didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Came back to my place.

Had a few glasses of wine.

Watched American Horror Story: Asylum.

Spent the night.

Woke up at four o’clock in the morning and fucked.

Left at eight after a cup of coffee.

* * * *

June 22, 20—

Hunted Gary down.

Eastwind Library—L Wing.

Somewhere between Poe and Twain.

Fucked like dogs.

Kept our voices down.

Almost got caught by Mrs. Tender.

Cat lady with too much fat on her body, 137 years old. All wrinkles.

Gary had me over a reading table.

On my back.

Legs in the air.

Banged me like he was in high school.

Sloppy. Without tenderness. Rough sex.

We came on my stomach.

Wiped the mess up with pages from a short story called “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson.

Kissed me once.

Said he had a good time with my ass.

I told him I was a man who aimed to please.

And pleasing it was.

* * * *

June 23, 20—

Woke up in Corky’s big arms.

Kissed. Hugged.

Had French toast together.

Almost admitted I was in love with the guy.

Showered together.

Couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

Gobbled each other’s knobs.

Sex. Sex. Sex. Three times.

Cancelled my morning patient; shame on me.

Almost noon and we finally left my place.

Lunch at The Dover, a popular diner.

Saw Will with two college jocks that were half-dressed. Ignored him.

Parted ways with Corky because of two afternoon patients.

Before Corky walked away from me, he told me he wanted to fuck me three more times.

I obliged, greedily.

I was the fucking smartest and horniest man on the planet.

Amen to that.

* * * *

June 24, 20—

I had three therapy appointments in the morning.

Lunch with Gary; he packed us brown bags.

Talked.

Ate.

Talked more.

Ate more.

Sex on my desk.

Gary on his back.

Splayed over my desk.

Rode his dick.

Groaned.

Grunted.

Rode some more.

Until I blew a wad of semen on his chest, and in his face.

And he came in my asshole.

Thank God he was wearing latex.

I don’t do unsafe sex.

Never have.

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