Made in America by Jamie Deschain

to make his cock hard, gets me horny as fuck.
     
    RAVEN: Prove it.
     
    GRANT: Is that a dare?
     
    I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide how far I want to take this. I have no doubt that he’d send me a dick pic if I asked him to, the question is am I really ready for that? We’ve been non-stop flirting with one another since the day we met, and while sending him a little skin dressed in my undies could be construed as just some harmless fun, seeing what he has to work with in all its glory might be taking it a bit too far.
    Then again, I have been dying to see his cock, and if I’m not going to fuck him, now’s as good a time as any for a peek.
     
    RAVEN: Yes. I dare you to prove it.
     
    Moments pass. A minute. Two. The pulsating ache growing between my legs is almost too much to bear. Then, three little dots appear, signifying he’s finally responding.
     
    GRANT: Okay, you asked for it.
     
    I open the attached image, but instead of seeing Grant’s manhood on display, there’s a picture of a rooster staring back at me. A fucking rooster. It’s quickly followed by another text.
     
    GRANT: What do you think of my cock?
     
    I belly laugh. Hard. So hard I nearly drop my phone in the bath water, so I shift my position and lean over the edge of the tub, making sure my phone is safe.
     
    RAVEN: Now who’s the tease?
     
    GRANT: Serves you right.
     
    I roll my eyes, feeling slightly disappointed Grant didn’t show me his goods, but there’s also a feeling of relief to go along with it. I don’t know how I’d be able to look him in the eye tonight if he actually went through with sending me a dick pic.
     
    RAVEN: I’m wearing jeans tonight. It’s totally casual, so don’t go getting all gussied up for me.
     
    GRANT: Wouldn’t dream of it.
     
    RAVEN: See you at eight, Mr. Huffman.
     
    GRANT: I’ll be there, Miss Young.
     
    I run a damp hand through my hair and place the phone back on the toilet before slipping into the tub for a quick release, and with thoughts of Grant’s cock—his real cock—running through my mind, it definitely doesn’t take long before I shudder with delight.
     
     
    The party room at Drake’s is full by the time I get there at 7:30. Tito and Frankie are casually working the area, having fun with their friends, co-workers, and family. I look around, searching for Grant, but he isn’t here yet. Instead, Tito catches my eye and he slaps Frankie on the arm to get his attention.
    “Rave!” he shouts from across the room. They both saunter over and we exchange hugs.
    “Hey guys.”
    Tito puts me at arm’s length, giving me the once over. “Damn, girl. You look good.”
    To go with my jeans, I chose a fringed halter top that ties in the back and around the neck, and a pair of strappy black sandals.
    “This old thing,” I joke. “I just pulled it out the rear of my closet.”
    “Honey,” Tito chides. “I’ve been in your closet, and I ain’t never seen that.”
    “Where’s Mr. Huffleupagus?” Frankie asks.
    “Not here yet.”
    “I still can’t believe you invited him,” Tito adds.
    I shrug. “Honestly, I didn’t think he’d come.”
    “Seems you underestimated him.”
    “Yeah,” I mumble. “That’s been happening a lot.”
    Tito cocks a cautious eyebrow at me, trying to do his best Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson imitation.
    “Relax,” I laugh. “I haven’t shagged him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    “It is, and why not?”
    I shake my head. “God, you guys are worse than he is. I haven’t fucked him because I said I wasn’t going to, and I meant it. He’s my boss.”
    “And a friend,” Frankie says, snatching a bottle of Twisted Tea from a nearby table.
    “ And a friend,” I add, “but that’s it. There’s something…weird about him.”
    Tito and Frankie eyeball one another, turning back to me with confused looks on their faces.
    “I need a drin—”
    “Got it,” Tito smiles, handing me a bottle of watermelon punch that