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I moseyed back to drink ‘nother of the beers, kinda half-heartedly looking for a girl to take home. Hopefully I’d find something better that that two I woke up to with a horrible feeling the last time I’d gotten lucky. Lucky? Shit, there’s different kinds of luck. That was some of the bad kind. I swear she must’ve been hit with the ugly stick. I swore then and there I’d never bring anything home to that big four-poster bed but at least a four or better (that’s why I hadn’t got laid in three weeks). Getting a new, cold longneck, I mused a little about how this whole scorin’ thing worked. No one ever worried about it until Mickey Gilley came out with that damn song! Well, the good-looking girls suddenly wouldn’t be caught dead at a dance at closing time unless they had already hooked up. They were sure-fired worried that someone thinking they must be a one or two and they’d get a bad rep. I always thought it was just the guys doing the scoring ’til one morning after an all-niter Molly. Finally I leaned back and took a deep breath. He came back with me, resting his head on my shoulder. “Okay,” I said. “You win.” “I know.” He waited a moment, then got up. The tent in his pajama bottoms had grown, and there was a spot where pre-cum had leaked through. He pulled off his top, then pushed down the bottoms, making sure I got to appreciate his smooth, slender nudity. He climbed back onto the chair and straddled me, starting to undo the buttons of my shirt. I didn’t have the strength to stop him. Once he’d gotten it open, he moved down and undid my belt and pants, then pulled them down, revealing the sticky mess of my underwear. He pulled those off too, and ran a hand over my semi-limp penis, smearing cum. He took me into his mouth, his tongue swirling up and down the shaft. I couldn’t stop another groan; the head was still sensitive. Sandy didn’t apply much suction, just enough to make sure I could only react one way. I started to swell again. He took my penis out of.
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