Pucked by Helena Hunting Page A

my mom’s overnight bags to the house.
    Charlene clearly used her spare key since I find her sitting on my couch, watching hockey highlights.
    “ Why haven’t you messaged me? What the hell is going on? You need to explain this.” Charlene holds up a full-color printout of two people playing tonsil hockey.
    I grab it out of her hands. “Where did you get this?” It’s not one picture; it’s an entire stack.
    “ From the Internet, where else? I can’t believe you made out with Alex Waters and didn’t bother to text me or send an action selfie.”
    I flop on the couch. My glasses don’t seem like such a big deal anymore, not compared to this. I’ve been in the paper before. I’ve even inadvertently appeared in magazine spreads. Until now I’ve always been in the background—a vague blur of female form. Not this time. Me and my tongue are front and center in Alex’s mouth.
    Booze is the only way to manage this. I go straight for the liquor cabinet. I have two bottles to choose from: vodka and Sour Puss Apple. Vodka tastes terrible straight, so I opt for the Sour Puss. I set up three shot glasses and pour the electric green liquor before downing two and passing one to Char.
    “ What in the world happened at the game?”
    “ The pictures are pretty self-explanatory. We were mouth fucking.”
    “‘ Mouth fucking ’ ?”
    I grin despite the mess of a situation. “Like that?”
    “ I think you should try to slip it into casual conversation tomorrow.” Charlene tips her shot glassand makes a face as she swallows. “What else happened?”
    “ I had sex with him.”
    “ You’re kidding, right?” Her shock is reasonable; it’s totally un-me.
    “ Twice.”
    “ You’re not kidding.” She holds out her shot glass, so I pour her another and two more for myself. “Were you drunk?”
    “ Not so drunk I didn’t know better.”
    “ Holy shit.”
    “ Yeah.”
    “ So? Are the rumors true?”
    “ What rumors?” My stomach turns. I’m not so sure I want to hear Alex-inspired rumors.
    “ The ones about his junk.”
    The hockey hooker discussion I overheard regarding the size of the teams’ man units comes to mind. Usually rumors are a bunch of crap. This time they’re true.
    I keep my face impassive. “He has a finger penis.”
    “ Liar. You wouldn’t have had sex with him twice if he had a finger penis.” Her eyes light up. “It’s huge, isn’t it?”
    I turn away and pour more shots to avoid her excitement. “Alex’s junk is not up for discussion. It’s not like I’m going to see it again anyway.”
    “ Look, Violet, if these kinds of pictures turned up of me with, say, Darren Westinghouse, I’d tell everyone how awesome he was in the sack, even if itwas only a partial truth.” She points a finger. “Except you. I’d tell you if it sucked, so don’t you think for a second you can hold out on the details.”
    I sigh. “Fine. He has a monster cock.”
    “ I’m sorry, what?” Charlene sputters.
    “ It’s a monster.”
    Her nose scrunches in disgust. “You mean it’s deformed?”
    “ No. I mean it’s huge.”
    “ How huge?”
    “ Unnaturally huge.”
    “ Like a porno dick?”
    “ Exactly.”
    She holds out her shot glass. “I need another one of these.”
    We polish off the bottle of Sour Puss while surfing the Internet for pictures of Alex and me mouth fucking. There are a shitload of images, including thousands of Alex with various women. It appears the magazine spread I encountered on the plane and this weekend’s adventures aren’t isolated events.
    Alex Waters is popular with the ladies. Based on media reports, he’s been with a hell of a lot of them. I find a two-minute long YouTube montage of him making out with various women. He’s stuck his tongue in a lot of mouths. I also discover Alex has been in several promotional ads beyond the milk one. I know with certainty he isn’t storing a sock in his boxer briefs.
    Sometime around midnight, my phone rings. Charlene