Page 1 of The Fed Sex Man

1

Jo

A well-written bookallowed me to experience the character’s hardships, joy, and pain no differently than if I was at their side. When I read, I was transported out of Allen, Texas, and into the book’s setting. Depending on the author’s ability to craft an artistic tale, my thoughts often remained with the book’s characters until long after I’d finished reading.

With my focus being independently published romance novels, I opened a small bookstore after graduating college. The location was in a run-down strip mall flanked by a cut-rate hair salon on one side and a seedy massage parlor on the other.

Hoping to share my passion of reading with others, I filled the shelves with books written by the industry’s most colorful authors. I developed a stream of loyal customers, most of which – at least initially – came from the hair salon.

The massage parlor offered no walk-in business from the unhappily married men who snuck in through the back door, but late afternoon entertainment seeped through the paper-thin walls that separated Cum-N-Go Massage from the bookstore.

My income wasn’t much at first, but the satisfaction I received from being surrounded by something I was passionate about was priceless. Two years later, my growing success demanded that I hire a co-worker to aid me with my endeavors. After a painstaking process of interviewing two-dozen well-qualified housewives and one twenty-three-year-old high school dropout, I chose the high school dropout, Jenny.

Hoping the distance between her birthplace and her new home would be enough to deter her overbearing parents from monitoring her every move, she relocated to Texas from Phoenix, Arizona.

She was young, passionate about reading, and provided all-day entertainment by voicing her opinions without filter or fear of repercussion.

“BB Easton is a badass.” She carefully placed BB’s newest book, Star, at the top of the four-book display. “I would love to be her for a day. Not now. But, like, when she was in school. When she was with Knight. If we had guys like that in my high school, I would have stayed.”

“I didn’t like that guy at first” I admitted. “He was the first anti-hero that I warmed up to.”

“Anti-hero?” Her nose wrinkled in opposition to my statement. “He wasn’t an anti-hero, he was a man who was misunderstood and under-loved.”

“In the end, I really liked him.” I added, gesturing to the book in question. “Getting to that point wasn’t easy, though. A wannabe skinhead with a penchant for kicking guys in the kidneys with his steel-toed boots isn’t my typical hero.”

“I like the thought of a guy who’s willing to stand up for himself much more than a guy without a backbone.” She twisted her long blonde hair into a quick bun, revealing her underlying brunette roots in the process. “Nothing turns me away quicker than a man who isn’t willing to protect what he loves.”

“There’s a big difference between protecting what one loves and blindly beating anyone who opposes you,” I quipped.

“Whether we feel threatened or not,” she traced her fingertip along the cover of the book on BB Easton’s display. “Women find value in hiding under the umbrella of belief that our man can protect us from the demons that wander this earth.”

Jenny had a strikingly beautiful face and an equally gorgeous body. Her personality was magnetic, and she was easy to talk to. Discussing matters with her never turned into an argument, leaving the conversations enlightening and fun.

The resting bitch face she often wore was enough to ward off many potential beaus. The few that remained were often turned away by her foul mouth and unfiltered manner of spewing out her beliefs.

Wearing a denim skirt, embroidered cowgirl boots, and a sleeveless white Chris Stapleton concert tee, she looked the way she always did.

Cute.

“If you found a guy who was protective and handsome would you date him?” I asked.

She thought for a moment, and then shrugged as she turned away. “I doubt it.”

I giggled. “Why not?”

She faced me. “You asked me if I’d date him. I might fuck him, but I wouldn’t necessarily date him. For me to date someone, I’d have to be interested in him. For me to be truly interested in a man, he has to have three things.”

“Just three?” I leaned against the book shelf and gave her a curious look. “What are they?”

She extended her index finger. “One. He’s got to be sexy.”

“What’s your definition of sexy?”

“Not what you’d think. Sexy can be the way he walks, carries himself, or if he’s a really good storyteller.”

“A storyteller?” I’d never thought of a good storyteller as sexy. “You think that’s sexy?”

“You know the kind of guy that uses his hands when he talks?” she asked, waving her hands as she spoke. “I think it’s sexy when they wave their hands around to make a point.”