Ball Peen Hammer Read Online Free PDF Page A

just so happens to be the biggest star on my baby brother’s new record label. (Hot damn , I’m proud of my rock-star baby brother!)
    “Ma’am,” I say to the brunette at the door, spreading my legs a bit and subtly tilting my package toward her.
    Okay, that dick-tilting thing I just did? Totally on purpose .
    Hey. Quit rolling your eyes at me, baby doll. It’s not a good look on you.
    It’s my job to make women want me, sweetheart—and I’m damned good at my job. I may not be in the business of professionally fucking women, but I sure as hell am in the business of making women want to fuck me. Which means that, right from the word go of every job, through everything I do—including that subtle dick-tilt maneuver I just did—I’m serving up what women want most from their walking fantasy: an alpha male. That’s right, baby, with every little thing I do, I make sure the horny ladies know I’m a guy who’d dominantly lead their naturally submissive asses to the Promised Land, if ever they were lucky enough to get a piece of me.
    Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t get your panties in a twist, babe. When I say women are naturally submissive , I’m talking about sex, okay? Obviously, I know women run countries and corporations and kick ass and take names every which way. Have you met my mother and sister? Dude. I know . What I’m saying is that, when it comes to sex , women are wired through biology and physiology and probs a bunch of other -ologies to crave total domination. I’m not talking about dom/sub shit like doggie collars, whips, and chains here—though I’ve got no objection to any of that shit, if that’s your bag—I’m talking about something way, way more fundamental than any of that. I’m talking about the basic fact that virtually every red-blooded woman, whether she admits it or not, no matter how independent and ass-kicking she might be outside the bedroom, secretly wants a man to own her ass inside it.
    Oh, you wanna fight me on this? Okay, sure. Can’t wait to hear your analysis on the subject, perhaps over tea and crumpets. I tell you what, sweetheart. What say we schedule a time to chat about the issue right after I count the five hundred or so bucks the horny women at this bachelorette party are gonna stuff into my crotch, two inches from my dipstick?
    Yeah, that’s right. I make about five hundred C-notes per night in tips, when every other chump in the biz makes two-fifty tops, if he’s lucky. How can this be, you wonder? Is it ’cause I’m so fucking pretty? Well, yeah, I am, actually—way prettier than your sister. But that’s a given in this biz. You gotta be pretty to get a decent agent and book the jobs. Is it ’cause my dance moves are extra filthy? ’Cause they are. And it certainly doesn’t hurt my cause that I genuinely love making horny women scream. I love it . But none of that stuff is my secret sauce—that one special ingredient that gets me twice the tips as any other guy.
    So what’s my secret? Okay, I’ll tell you, but only ’cause you’re so pretty and sweet: I’m awesome at sex and women can smell it on me .
    You know how dogs can sense an earthquake just before it happens? Yeah, well, this confidence-thing with me and my sexual prowess is just like that. My dominance in the bedroom (and wherever else the mood happens to strike me) is an earthquake and women are my horny little bitches.
    Hey. Ho. Whoa. Calm down.
    Quit with the eye-rolling thing again, babe.
    I’m using the word “bitches” to mean “female dogs” ’cause I’m making a clever pun here. I didn’t just call women “bitches” in a hip-hop kind of way. Calm your tits.
    But anyway, what I’m telling you is the God’s truth—no bluffing or exaggeration, whatsoever. Just good old fashioned verisimilitude . (Oh, dude, if Z were here, he’d fist-bump me for that one.) Bottom line? I fuck like a motherfucking god.
    You doubt me?
    Well, don’t.
    I might be just a baby at twenty-three, but