So, we've all been knobs at some point in time. Come on...you know you have! How about we have a Knob competition? You think about the dumb things you've done that would win you the Outstanding Knob Award. Comment below and the dumbest will receive a virtual Knob Award and a shout out on my blog.
I'm not shy to share a few of my highlights of being a knob. And trust me, I have plenty.
1. Breaking my kitchen light because a piece of paper got caught under my mouse and I whipped it good, my hand smashing the light.
2. Having a bit too much Jack while trying to finish my latest menage story and *somehow* sent the contents of the glass flying all over my computer case. At least I had the sense to knock it away from the laptop. I did finish the story btw and an excerpt is below.
3. Being far too animated at dinner one night and using my hands to elaborate, knocking a wine glass over but being swift enough to set it right but not before a blast of red wine hit the wall and everyone wondered just wtf happened and how the wine got there. Led to much hilarity.
4. Not learning that my Croc flip flops are slippery on mud. Twice.
.... and the list could go on.
Anyone that can top these boner moves I bow down to and will happily bestow the Knob Award upon thee.
An unedited mini excerpt from Double the Pleasure (working title)
Heat flushed her cheeks and her nipples hardened whenever she thought about him. He didn’t even have to touch her and she wet her panties for him. Her pussy throbbed and she nearly swallowed her tongue when he glanced at her.. Had she moaned or something?
His blue eyes, so like the tropical sea across the beach, imprisoned her and she didn’t move. A slow, lazy smile widened his lips.
“Thinking about me?” His voice was just as slow and sultry as his smile, with a deep timbre that wrapped around her like hot honey.
“Uhm, maybe.” Faye squeaked and then tried to clear her throat gracefully.
“Tell me. If you were thinking about me and all the things you want me to do to you, I’d like to hear them.” Vance carried on slicing the papaya in front of him as if they hadn’t even spoken. His hands, large and tanned, handled the soft flesh with just as much care as he handled her.
She watched him, licked her lips and boiled inside. The Florida heat, only slightly tempered by the Gulf breeze blowing in off the sparkling waters, swept over her skin like a soft wet tongue.