THE BRO-MAGNET Read Online Free Page B

for a living?” I ask.
    I’m crouched down checking out the mini-bar selection, figuring I’ll just give Three Sheets some cash before I go to cover whatever I take, when – oof! – something crashes into me from behind. I’m not quite sure what Three Sheets was trying to accomplish, whether she was making an amorous move on me or if she simply tripped on her way over to those travel-sized bottles of liquor. But whatever. The results are the same. I’m sprawled on the floor, half on my side, and she’s sprawled on top of me. Before I was thinking maybe we’d have a drink and then maybe kiss for a while first, maybe even finally learn each other’s names, but as she rearranges me so that I’m flat on my back and leans over me with all that purple-encased cleavage, I’m thinking: Yeah, this could work.
    And then Three Sheets is kissing me, she’s got her tongue down my throat, I’m a little taken aback by the suddenness yet somehow manage to respond in kind, then she’s sliding my white tux jacket off, ripping off my purple bowtie, undoing the buttons on my shirt. The cummerbund confuses her for a bit, but then, don’t cummerbunds confuse everybody?
    And now I’m playing catch-up here, sliding that ridiculous purple dress off Three Sheet’s creamy shoulders and – wow! – she’s got no bra on underneath to go along with the no panties underneath I glimpsed earlier. This is so easy. It’s almost too easy. Now she undoes my belt, tugs my white pants down over my hips so that they’re bunched up around my ankles. Wait! Don’t I have to get this stupid tux back by five? Oh, that’s right, I still have until tomorrow night. My white patent-leather penny loafers still on my feet, I’m tenting my boxers but she relieves me of that restraint too and then takes a quick dive, her breasts are bobbing in rhythm with her head, and I’m thinking this is great, this is really great, this is the best wedding I’ve ever been to, this is so good. And that’s when I gently shift a little away from her mouth, gently push her away from me because I don’t want to just come and make her have to wait for me to get hard again, and I find my pants and I’m reaching in my pants pockets – Do I have a condom? Of course I have a condom. I’m a thirty-three-year-old single man. I’ve always got a condom, and no, it’s not the same one I kept from senior prom thru college – and now I’m sliding it on, and it keeps rolling back from the base like condoms sometimes annoyingly do, and the annoying rolling gives me a moment to look at the woman who’s supposed to be the object of my desire, at least right at this moment, and she’s slouched on the ground, her naked back barely propped up by the side of the bed, her updo’s somehow become a downdo, a thick hank of hair stuck to her cheek by what looks unpleasantly like drool, her eyes are at half-mast and she’s starting to nod, and I’m thinking, NO! Do not pass out! Please, do not pass out! I want to get laid! I may not be a virgin, but it has been a very long dry spell! I don’t say this out loud, of course I don’t, but I’m patting her on the cheeks, trying to get my date to be more, um, alert. And now she is alert! And she’s saying, “Don’t worry, I still want to do this. That speech, my God, that speech,” except that she’s really slurring now, even worse than before, so it sounds more like “Don ree, ill wanna da-dis. Thaspee, mygah, thaspee,” which I’m only able to decipher because I flunked Spanish but I do speak Drunk, and I’m going to go for it anyway when it suddenly hits me: No, this really is too easy.
    Why is it that it’s just the somehow-impaired ones who ever go for me?
    Three Sheets is too drunk, reminding me of another girl in another place and time. She may think she wants to do this but she’s not capable of making a decision right now.
    And that’s when I force myself away from her.
    “But – ” she says.
    “You don’t