Free #TripleX by Christine Zolendz, Angelisa Stone Page A

everything I’ve written. You know, for research. But now he doesn’t ever want to. He doesn’t even look at me like he wants me anymore.”
    “I want someone to look at me the same way I look at cupcakes,” I whispered.
    “Cupcakes.”
    “Mmm cupcakes,” I sang.
    “I’m so hungry,” she sighed.
    “Me too.”
    “What’s the possibility rate of finding a cupcake restaurant in Ohio?” I asked.
    “Unrealistic.”
    “My imagination is so much better than my reality. So much better.”
    After a hundred or so miles and three bags of chips each, we were still in Ohio. “How big is this state? It’s not ending. I want it to end.”
    “You’re getting cranky, because you’re hungry,” she said.
    “I was hungry two hours ago. Now I’m in a state of complete nutritional deprivation. Let’s stop somewhere,” I said.
    I played with the extensive GPS system installed in the dash of the Jaguar, pushing buttons and giggling to myself. “Why in the world would a man need a car like this?” I waved my hands across the GPS screen. “Look at what I just did on his GPS! I found all the restaurants in the area. What are you in the mood for?”
    The GPS beeped and made these cute little noises. Apparently, the brother must be some sort of technological hornball, because the entire GPS system spoke in a low seductive, female voice that chuckled and called us Jakey-Poo. I mean who programs cars to do that stuff?
    “Ohhhhh! Look! An All-You-Can-Eat buffet!” she simultaneously swerved and squealed.
    “All you could eat buffet? That’s like food porn!”
    Swerving across four lanes of traffic, she pulled off the highway and followed the provocative voice of the GPS toward the restaurant. “My God, your brother must be a real character, huh? This GPS. This car. I think I hate him already.”
    “He’s a piece of work. That’s for sure,” she said, turning onto a narrow street and into the parking lot of the restaurant. “Oh man, I’m so hungry that they are going to need one of those hoist thingies or the Jaws of Life to get me to leave this place!”
    We both climbed out of the car, stretching and yawning. Turning my back to her, I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Does my butt look like the shape of that seat? It feels weird.”
    “No,” she chuckled, “But you do have potato chip crumbs all over it.” She started whacking at my bottom, helping me get all the crumbs off and added, “They’re kind of in the shape of a big penis, too. Looks like you’re taking it in the rear tonight, Chris,” she laughed, still wiping the chips from my astronomical ass.
    Just then, two women walked past us to go into the restaurant. They both wore expressions of disgust and shock. One gasped dramatically. Angelisa and I both froze in our positions. Her hands grasped at my ass while I bent over, thrusting my giant, rectal globe in her face.
    The two women stopped walking dead in their tracks and stared at us with mouths agape, wrinkled noses, and eyes the size of fish bowls.
    I heard Angelisa giggle behind me, and I knew she was about to say something to cause the girls even more shock. “No, honey. I don’t think anyone could tell you’re wearing your strap-on.” Then, she smacked my ass and moaned. The two women quickly averted their gaze.
    “Wait,” Angelisa said, grabbing her phone and sidling up next to me. “We need to get a selfie before we go in.”
    “Isn’t it an usie if two of us are in it?” I questioned.
    “Whatever, just get over here,” she ordered, taking a picture of us and posting it immediately to all of our social sites. “And never use the word ‘usie’ again. It’s so stupid,” she complained. Then excitedly, we stumbled quickly through the door to the restaurant. This feeding event was going to be epic.
    The place was packed. Silverware clinking and a steady hum of people talking filled the room. Angelisa and I looked over toward the enormous buffet and smiled mischievously at each