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Prologue
My name is Story, or you can call me Co-commander of The Literary Fortress Known as “DNF,” A Bright and Shiny Tomb of Used and Beloved Books in the Heart of Salem, Massachusetts.
But, if that’s too much of a mouthful, I’ve been known to answer by just about anything.
One time, a guy I met on Tinder called me his slutty little Pringle puff, and demanded I come for him while he flicked my bean like a coked-up DJ spins a record.
And do you know what I did?
I creamed all over his womb broom with the force of a volcano—and I do mean that literally. I was on Satan's waterfall, and it all just kind of went boom. It gave a whole new meaning to redwings.
In all seriousness, my name is actually Story and I co-own the DNF bookstore with my bestie, Lyric. DNF is the place where once dnf’d books can go for a second chance at love, laughter and the hereafter.
No. Seriously.
Some of our books have been known to cause death. One was even buried with its victim.
Poor Mrs. Peebody. The smut just smutted too smuttily for her bad ticker. Or maybe she just diddled her fiddle too hard, if you know what I mean. Her clamshell couldn’t stand the motion of the ocean. The old cave was out of wonders. She let the wrinkle-beaver swim a bit too far upstream.
I smile at the thought. What I wouldn’t give to come so hard, I actually croaked. Oh well. Maybe someday. You know what they say. Dreams exist for a reason.
Anyway, back to me. This story is mine, after all.
Sit down, shut up, and buckle in. What you’re about to experience isn’t for the faint of heart or the serious souled.
It’s cringe. It’s chaotic. It’s dramatic af.
It’s the story of how I met the love of my life, and it all began when things got a shit ton creamy….
