Random Acts Of Crazy Read Free Page A

my manhood? It deserved to be ogled. A glorious contribution to the world of erections, it definitely stood out from the crowd.
    And stood up right now, pointed at her. A lucid whisper in my brain told my hands they should cover it anyway, despite its glory, and I gave it a quick attempt. Then I looked like I was just jacking off, and that wasn’t the impression I was trying to give. So I gave up, my head clearing by the second and not liking what I was realizing.
    Except for her.
    “What’s your name?” I asked, now really getting a look at her.
    “Chippy Pete.” She deadpanned, as if there were some inside joke I was supposed to understand. Ohio had some really strange naming conventions for women.
    “Uh, OK…?” I asked, my voice rising. Her face fell, though, as if I’d disappointed her. Some deep sorrow came out of her skin, as if it were a dementor, seeping into my heart and making me feel like an ass. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I felt really awful suddenly, and wanted to make it up to her. But we were sitting in a cheap rustbox on the side of some interstate in Ohio and I was naked.
    My only option? To reach over and kiss Chippy Pete. Because when you’re coming down off ’shrooms and NyQuil and find yourself naked in a car older than you, 600 miles from home, a kiss is about the only thing that can make it all better.

Chapter Two

    Darla
    Whoa. If I had to pick a dream to come true, I’d have chosen the winning MegaMillions lottery ticket dream, but this would do as a distant second, Trevor’s mouth warm and inviting, tasting like orange tangy yumminess. He kissed with his whole body, hands roaming through my hair, his tongue parting my lips and going on a search for something so deep in me I thought he’d never reach it and I would have to live in the ecstasy of being loved by his mouth forever .
    I was OK with that.
    The fact that he was naked brushed through my mind and then my hand brushed against his thick, gleaming manhood, making his stomach tighten under my hands, splayed against the fine, taut skin of his abs. Washboard. I’d heard that word applied to a man’s body before but had never understood it til then. His flesh so different from my own full curves, as if I were exploring an alien body in a state of arousal so high I would reach nirvana soon.
    “Oh – ” he groaned breathlessly, then stopped. “What’s your real name?” he whispered.
    “Darla.” It came out in a rushed gasp as his fingers found my right nipple and pinched just enough to make it – and my pink nub – pebble instantly, as if they were one long, connected nerve ending. His other hand explored my back, sliding up under my shirt, the heat of his flesh pouring into me. The fact that he was fully naked and I was not was a kind of tragedy.
    We needed to fix that.
    No central Ohio man flared this kind of intensity in me within seconds, Trevor’s mouth so soft and hard at once, his essence in his breath, a sensuality that was complete and inviting, imploring me to go to places of the flesh with him, to enter a new world where all that mattered were touches and licks and sighs and moans and friction. Ah, friction.
    I needed friction.
    He leaned the passenger seat back and pulled on my leg, his face spreading into a grin that told me so much, a smile of absolute delight. In my fantasies men looked at me like this. In real life, they barely kissed me. What were the odds that I’d be driving along I-76 one night and find a naked man who wanted me? The look on his face was more arousing than any touch, which perplexed me. If he could make me – Darla Jo Jennings, just a small-town (fat) girl from central Ohio, daughter of a lush and college wanna-be – feel this special with one deep, excited expression, then what else did the world hold that was waiting for me?
    And then there was that joystick of his. Slinging one leg over the stick shift, I straddled him, leaning back against the dashboard. His erect shaft