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JT Holland

Copyright 2017 JT Holland


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DISCLAIMER: This story is intended for a mature audience only! Contains explicit, graphic sex and language. Definitely not intended for individuals under the age of 18 or those with a weak heart! I repeat: 18 and over only!!!









I’ve always been lucky when it comes to women. I’m not quite sure why. I’m a decent enough looking fellow, a shade over six feet tall and 170 pounds with an in-shape body of a natural athlete who spends a lot of time outdoors, but I’m certainly nothing special. But for some reason, there’s something about me that draws a specific type of woman. Namely, sluts.

Every since I was a teenager they flocked to me. In high school, college, and now into my late twenties, I routinely get approached by women who just want to fuck. Most of the time it’s just a one-time thing, with no complications or commitments. At times it has turned into something more, but every time a hook-up morphed into a relationship it fizzled out pretty quickly. Again, I’m not sure why. But for some reason I just wasn’t relationship material.

Which was fine by me. The way I see it, relationships are more trouble than they’re worth. I was perfectly content to have single nights (or afternoons) with women and then move on. And I was lucky enough that I never had a shortage of suitors.

Like Shawna, for example.

There I was, just minding my own business in line at the coffee shop after work, getting myself a cup of coffee to help me through the evening, when I first saw her. She was a  platinum-haired beauty, standing right behind me in line, wearing a white and black lingerie-style top and a black skirt. She had dark eyes, full lips, perfect skin and a rockin’ body that she obviously wasn’t afraid to show off.

Once glance and I turned away, not wanting to stare. I’m a pretty nice guy, relaxed and mellow, but I’m not real outgoing. I don’t generally start up conversations with strangers. But apparently she had no such reservations.

“Quite a wait, huh?” she said, talking to me as if we were old friends right from the get-go.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to return the vibe. “Pretty typical for this place.”

“I know, but still, today seems longer than usual,” she said. “At least I’ve got some decent scenery to look at.”

I gave her a slightly confused look.

“What?” she said. “You don’t think you’re good-looking?”

“I don’t know,” I said, not sure where this was going and not wanting to make a fool of myself with a complete stranger, especially one as hot as she was. “I’ve never really thought about it much.”

“Oh, bullshit,” she said, laughing. “Everyone thinks about what they look like.”

“True,” I said. “But I’m not really concerned with it too much.”

“I can tell,” she said. “Otherwise you’d shave every once in a while, or wash your hair.” Before I could object, she continued on. “But you know what? I like that. Too many people worry about what everyone else thinks these days.”

“I agree,” I said as the line moved forward. It was my turn to order. I did, then asked my new friend what she wanted. “My treat,” I told her.

“Why thank you,” she said after placing her order. “I’m Shawna, by the way.”

“I’m Mike,” I said. “And it’s the least I can do,” I said.

“And what’s the most?” she asked, flashing me a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?” she said, her grin growing wider.

“I have no idea,” I said.

Before the conversation could go any further, the barista called out our names.

“Care to sit down with me and talk some more, Mister Mike?”

“I’d be delighted,” I said.

“It’s hard to find a good man these days,” she said shortly after we’d sat down. We were outside, at the table in the corner of the patio, away from the rest of the patrons.

“Most guys are trash,” I said, still not sure exactly where this was going. I had a few ideas, but I didn’t want to presume too much for fear of getting disappointed.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Of course, I don’t exactly set myself up for success most of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I generally don’t go about picking up guys the traditional way.”

“How do you go about them?” I asked.

“Well, if I want a guy, I’ll just go up to him and ask if he wants to fuck.”

I’m not going to lie, it took some effort to keep my coffee down when she said that. But eventually I managed to ask: “What if the guy says no?”

“Then I go on to the next one,” she said. “But that doesn’t happen very often, believe me.”

“Oh, I do,” I said. “So, is that what you’re doing right now? Asking me if I want to fuck?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On you,” she said.

“How so?”

“Well, I’m pretty picky,” she said.

“About what?”

“Cocks. They have to be certain size or I’m not really interested.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded.

“But how do you know how big it is before you get their clothes off?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said. “There are a whole bunch of different ways. Sometimes I take them to the men’s room and get a little peek. Or the corner of the building. But usually I just do this.”

She reached beneath the table and grabbed ahold of my cock, grasping it through my pants, right there at the patio of coffee shop. Luckily I was pretty hard just from talking to her.

“Well,” I said after she’d let go. “What do you think?”

“Very impressive,” she said.

“Is it big enough for you?”

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