Kinky Confessions

“That’d be nice. Thank you, dear.”

“Is there a special recipe?”

“No.”

Brooke rolled her eyes and said to me, “Yes. It’s four parts punch, one

part coconut rum, one part spiced rum. Got it?”

“I deserved that,” I said mildly. “I may not be an engineer, but I can do ratios. Be right back.”

In the kitchen I took a page from Wren’s playbook and added more rum than the recipe called for. I topped off the pitcher with the rest of a can of Hawaiian Punch. Then I realized I might’ve overdone it a bit, so I grabbed the can opener and another can of punch before I headed outside.

I half-filled our cups from the pitcher. Then I punched holes in the top of the can and filled them the rest of the way. “Way too much rum,” I explained.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Probably trying to get us drunk and take advantage of us,” Christy teased.

“No, that comes later, once Brooke knows me better. For now, I’m on my best behavior.” I slid into my seat. “Okay, where were we… before I so rudely turned into a sexist jerk?”

Christy’s eyes crinkled with a smile that let me off the hook for real. Then she raised her cup and tasted the alcohol. “Oh my gosh, you weren’t kidding.” She added more punch and offered the can to Brooke, who declined. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m still… you know.” She tried not to glance at me, but Christy saw anyway.

“Seriously? He’s just a guy. I told you, he’s totally cool. Besides,” she added, “you’re beautiful, fun, and super-smart. You just need to relax and be yourself.”

I nodded.

“Easy in theory,” Brooke said. “And… I guess I’m still hung up about Fletcher. I mean, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “Stop right there. I don’t know Fletcher, but I know the type. Some guys are just jerks. All they care about is notches on a bedpost.” I sent a meaningful look at Christy. She’d accused me of the same thing. “You weren’t the problem,” I added to Brooke, “he was.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” I said. “Christy’s right—you’re beautiful and smart. I’m sure you’re fun too, just… not when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It takes a while to get over a serious relationship. I sort of lost my mind for a whole year—”

“More like two,” Christy said under her breath.

I shot her a grin and continued, “So don’t rush yourself. Fletcher was a jerk. You’re better off without him.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. From both of us.” I covered Christy’s hand with my own and squeezed. “Okay,” I said after a moment, “let’s change the subject and talk about something fun.” As an afterthought I added, “I almost said

‘something worthwhile,’ but you’re totally worthwhile, Brooke. Fletcher?

Not so much. So… next subject.”

Brooke reluctantly nodded and then picked up her cup. “Maybe I’ll find a cure for nerdiness instead of cancer.” She drank deeply but had to stop before she emptied the cup. “Damn, you weren’t kidding.”

“I told you!” I laughed. I leaned forward and added punch to her cup.

Then I emptied the rest of the can into the pitcher. “There. Tipsy is fine; drunk isn’t. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’d like to talk to you when you’re sober and with your clothes on—”

“One out of two isn’t bad,” she said under her breath.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “we’ll get to the nudist part. But for now—”

“Hey, I know,” Christy said all of a sudden, “if you really wanna apologize for being a chauvinist earlier, why don’t you take your clothes off.”

I blinked in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“You’re the one who’s always talking about equal rights. Shouldn’t we have the right to look at you? Besides, I’ve been telling Brooke how cute you are all week.”

Brooke herself nodded.

“So, Mr. Playgirl,” Christy added, “are you gonna show us your cute butt?”

“You’re gonna see more than that.”

“Oh, goody!”

“That okay with you?” I asked Brooke.

She blushed but nodded, so I stood and pulled off my shirt.

“Not that I mind,” I said to Christy as I unbuttoned my pants, “but what’s gotten into you? You’re Miss Sex Kitten again, all confident and demanding.”

“Maybe it’s ’cause she’s finally getting laid,” Brooke said.

“Just for that,” Christy said airily, “I’m not going to tell you what it was like. So there!”

I grinned at the two of them and folded my pants over the empty chair.

My boxers followed a moment later. Brooke tried not to stare at my shaved pubic area, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I thought you were exaggerating,” she said to Christy.

“Nope. He really did it, just for me. And now for you. Ta-da!”

I smiled at Brooke and said, “You can show me yours later.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see Brooke’s pussy. I knew she’d shaved it—

she’d told me in one of her tipsy moments when I’d called to talk to Christy

—but she wasn’t ready to show it off. She wasn’t ready to show off the rest of her body either. Not with a guy she’d just met, at least.

In all fairness, I’d have been surprised if she’d suddenly turned into a nudist (much less a swinger) after only a few drinks. So we spent a couple of hours getting to know each other instead of fooling around.