“Joe was too drunk at first to notice that the cock in his hand wasn’t his.”

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It’s game seven of the World Series and all the meatheads are out in full force, stirring shit up at the local bars. Joe couldn’t care less who won the game—mostly due to being so shitfaced that he didn’t even realize his friends had left already.

While Joe scanned the loud, poorly lit bar in an attempt to find his friends, he caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman in the place. It’s like God was shining a light on her from the heavens. Normally, Joe’s not confident enough to start-up a conversation with a beautiful woman. But on this night, he’s just the right kind of fucked up to give it a shot.

Through soft, plump lips, she said her name was Francis. And as the clock hit midnight—and a dozen or so empty shot glasses rattled in front of them on the bar—Joe couldn’t believe this goddess was still talking to him. He was shocked. Even more so when she asked him to come back to her place for a night-cap. And Joe, doing what he said any “blue blooded heterosexual male” would do, accepted her offer and hoped he wasn’t too drunk to “perform.”

Things got hot and heavy before they even made into her apartment. Their tongues thrashed wildly together as they stumbled through her front door. Joe couldn’t contain himself. And as they tore the clothes off each other, Francis tried to tell Joe something—something she’d been trying to tell him all night—but he wouldn’t stop—he wouldn’t listen. He became a wild animal.

Once they made it to her bedroom, Francis became more reluctant to go along with Joe’s advances. He was far more drunk than her and way too aggressive. She tried easing him off her, but his groping, eel-like hands slid down to her jeans and unbuckled them. With one swift motion he yanked them down, leaving her in just her underwear. She froze.

Joe went in for another aggressive embrace, but Francis gave a little push to stop him for a second. But it wasn’t enough. Like a thief in the night, he sneakily reached down and went for the prize. If he would’ve been a gentleman, it would’ve saved him a lot of pain.

Joe was too drunk at first to notice that the cock in his hand wasn’t his. It took almost a full minute for him to fully understand what happened. The horror that washed over his face was enough to make Francis cry. She tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t respect her boundaries.

He started to throw up and cry on the floor next to the bed. He couldn’t handle the situation or his emotions. After the weeping, he staggered to his feet and started screaming at Francis—calling her the most horrible names. Then he bolted out of the apartment in a rage. In his drunken dash he didn’t even notice that he left his phone behind.

She immediately noticed the phone sitting on the nightstand and decided to let Joe’s friends know exactly how he spent the rest of his night via group message. And for the icing on the cake, she made sure to add a certain picture attachment to ensure his friends—who she assumed were just as bigoted and hateful as him—would shame him for the rest of his life.

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If you liked this, check out these other great flash fiction pieces.


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