Page 60 of The Fed Sex Man

“What’s the world become?” He crossed his arms and looked me over. “T. J. Neese is spoken for.”

“I’m not spoken for.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m choosing to slow down a little. Until my cock recovers.”

“You can’t perform with anyone else. You’re impotent.” His brows shot up. “Might be the onset of love.”

The words impotent and love caused me to cringe. “Fuck you,” I spat. “I’m not impotent, and it’s not love. For right now, I’m enjoying fucking Jo. It’s that simple.”

“It’s much more complicated than that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“That chick with the tits. The one you told to stick the dildo in her twat.” He folded his arms over his chest. “How hot was she?”

Before I could respond, he shook his head. “Strike that, counselor. If you hadn’t met Jo, how hot would you say she was? If you met the platinum-haired seductress three months ago, what would you be telling me about her?”

“She’s okay.”

“Okay?” He laughed. “Just okay, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s alright.”

“Compare her to someone. Alright like Katy Perry, or alright like Emily Ratajkowski?”

“I think Katy Perry looks like a weasel. Who the fuck’s Emily Ratajkowski?”

“Baddest bitch on the planet. Did that video with Robin Thicke.”

“Who the fuck’s Robin Thicke?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped his finger against the screen, and then shoved the phone in my face.

“Blurred Lines,” he said. “I know you’ve danced to this motherfucker in private.”

The song was familiar. The woman dancing naked in the video reminded me more of Jo than anyone else. “That’s the Ratajkowski chick?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Reminds me of Jo.”

“Dude, you need medical attention. Your problems aren’t limited to your cock, Jo’s got your eyesight fucked up, too. You’re a goddamned mess.”

In my eyes, the resemblance was uncanny. “If her hair was darker and she was wearing glasses, she’d look just like her.”

He rewound the video, played a few seconds of it repeatedly, and then turned it off. “I can see that. So, which one is it? Katy Perry, or Em-Rat?”

“She’s built like that Sofia Vergara chick, and looks like Christina Aguilera, if Aguilera is having a good day and her hair isn’t one of those shades of weird orange.”

He went bug-eyed. “And you couldn’t get it up?”

It seemed strange the more I thought about it. “Maybe I was dehydrated, or something.”

“You didn’t just get done fucking Jo, did you?”

“Now?”