Page 18 of 3 Daddies to Go

Of course, it features Tanner, Tag, and Trace because my time with them was so good, and I only want more.

8

Kendall

The sun streams in through my window. Oops. When I fell asleep last night, I forgot to close my blinds.

It doesn’t matter. My alarm is supposed to go off in five minutes, anyway. I turn it off so it doesn’t blare, and sit up.

I’m immediately flooded with memories of last night. My nether parts tingles because I had three tongues inside me yesterday. Oh wow, that really happened. It wasn’t a dream.

My breathing quickens. The sensation of three men with their hands and lips on me was overwhelming. I remember every moment of what we did, and to be honest, I want to relive it over and over again.

My hands travel down to the waistband of my pajama pants. I really need to get up and get ready for brunch, but the temptation is too strong.

I force myself not to go there. I might see the guys later, and I don’t want to be spent in case they want a repeat of last night.

Instead, I grab my laptop from my side table and open up a new document. Reading theSmexyarticle about virginity last night gave me an idea. Maybe if I write an article about hooking up with a guy at a wedding, I can show it to my boss, and she’ll publish it. I feel like I should try. I’m wasting my time if I don’t at least give it a go.

The cursor blinks at me.

I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote something though. It was probably for the last issue of the school paper before I graduated. I wrote a “Goodbye College” piece that got more clicks than anything else we’d ever published. Granted, that meant like a hundred people saw it versus the fifty who usually read our paper, but it felt good at the time.

My fingers hover over the keys, but inspiration doesn’t strike. It should be easy to write about having sex at a wedding. I did it yesterday! Sure, I’d need to embellish a bit, but the basic gist is there.

“Screw it,” I say. “Just type something, girlfriend.”

I listen to myself for once and force my hands to connect with the keyboard.

“If you’re single at a wedding, chances are you’ll find a single guy looking to score.”

I stare at the first line. It’s not bad, but it’s not that good either. I start to hit the backspace, but it’s not worth it. I’m not feeling the passion for writing that I used to have. Coming up with stories was my only goal in college. It was all I cared about. I went to parties to get the scoop. Every event on campus, I attended with an eye on my journalistic ambitions. How could I turn this into a potential story? How could I do some investigative journalism even, and get a scoop?

Now, I just don’t care. It was fun then, but I think more than anything, being a journalist made me feel like I was a part of something when I was in college. But now, it’s different. The people atSmexymay chat about their sex lives without fear, but they don’t hang out after work. No one knows anything personal about anyone else, not really. They’re all just looking for the next big story. It’s really lonely, to be honest.

I shake the thought from my head. The first line isn’t that bad, and journalism doesn’thaveto be a solitary pursuit. I’m sure everyone atSmexyhas friends outside of the company. I’m just used to finding friends in the workplace because I’m not very social otherwise.

The next line I type comes slowly:“Love is already in the air at the wedding, so you don’t need to look for that. But if lust is what you want, then the guest list is the perfect place for you.”

It reads like anything else we would publish. I could keep writing and share it with my boss. She’d probably agree to publish it, or at the very least, offer me cash for the idea and give it to someone else to write.

But I don’t want that, I think, startling myself.I’m onto bigger and better things now.How strange. This is the first time that the idea of my name in the magazine doesn’t give me joy. It doesn’t even make me anxious. I don’t feel anything at all, frankly. How can this be happening?

When I published stories for my school newspaper, seeing my byline gave me a rush of excitement that I couldn’t get anywhere else. Now, I feel like I would just roll my eyes and move on to the next thing.

I exit the document, not bothering to save it, and open up my email instead. The first thing to pop up is a message from the organization with whom I volunteer called the Sunshine Program, and my heart swells with happiness. This is the feeling I’m talking about. I don’t get it from writing anymore, but I’ve discovered how to get it elsewhere.

“Hi Kendall,” the message begins. “We missed you at the camp out yesterday! The kids wanted to wish you luck with your maid of honor duties, and they wanted you to see how much fun they had without you. I believe Damian’s exact words were, ‘Show her how much fun we had so she never wants to miss out again.’ Lol! Anyway, enjoy the photos. Hope you had fun at the wedding, and we’ll see you back here soon! The kids miss you! Vanessa”

My eyes water. I open the folder and find pictures of my kids and teens proudly showing off their campfires, smores, and crafts. Camping out with the Sunshine kids is my favorite weekend of the month, and I hate that it fell on the same night as Trudy’s wedding.

For the camping trip, all of the underprivileged kids who come to the day program get to stay overnight in tents. We rent out a huge space and sing songs and eat amazing food. It’s one of the only stress-free nights these kids get every month, and I like to be a part of it.

I save the photos to my program folder. I make a huge slideshow at the end of the summer before the kids go back to school. Most of them still come after school, but the summer is when we’re busiest. The program caters to kids with nowhere else to go and kids whose parents are struggling to make ends meet. We have a huge party before school starts, and the slideshow lets everyone see what fun things we do. It’s great for sharing memories, but we also invite potential donors, and the slideshow always gets us a few hundred dollars more.

I email Vanessa to let her know I’ll be back soon and to tell the kids I miss them too. Then I climb out of bed. I desperately need a shower before brunch. I have half an hour before I absolutely need to leave, or I’ll be late and Trudyhatespeople who are tardy. Truthfully, I don’t like it either, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. At least I don’t get all angry like Trudy does when people show up late.

Under the spray of the shower, I’m unable to resist the sexy thoughts in my brain. I have to touch myself, thinking about how it felt to have Tag, Tanner, and Trace’s tongues inside of me. Oh, oh, oh! The memory is so good that within seconds, I’m soaring to the heavens and bursting with pleasure.