Blue Balls Read online

  BLUE BALLS

  RC BOLDT

  BLUE BALLS

  Copyright © 2017 by RC Boldt

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 13: 9781635760033

  Editor: Editing4indies.com

  Proofreader: Judy’s Proofreading

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton, jdproofs.wixsite.com/jdeaton

  Cover design: RBA Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by trademark owners. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features in any media form are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if one of these terms are used in this work of fiction.

  If you upload this work to any site without the author’s permission, it indicates piracy which is stealing. Both are ridiculously uncool and if you do so, then you understand that you’ll forever be labeled a pirate (and not the super hot Johnny Depp kind) and the Book Loving Gods will be watching you. And when I say that, I mean they’ll be watching EVERYTHING you do. Especially when you do those kinds of things. Just a heads up.

  Visit my website at www.rcboldtbooks.com.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Note From The Author

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Epilogue

  Note to the Reader

  Also by RC Boldt

  Preview of Clam Jam

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  DEDICATION

  Matty,

  Thanks for not being the inspiration for this story. And for giggling with me like we were two school girls every time I said the title of this book.

  P.S. I still love you more.

  A,

  You are—and will always be—my favorite girl in the whole, wide world. Never change—except for that whole temper tantrum thing. For real, though.

  And, don’t forget, I love you “more than the world and the universe”.

  This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever dealt with blue balls.

  May you find your relief soon.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Since this is a fictional story, some liberties have been taken and names have been changed to protect the innocent.

  Just kidding about that last part. Kind of…

  Okay, the truth is that some of the incidents in this book might have occurred in real life to my friends. Or myself. But mostly my friends.

  Enjoy the crazy shenanigans ahead. ☺

  BLUE BALLS

  Truth: A painful condition caused by a prolonged state of sexual arousal without release.

  Myth: Only affects males.

  SARAH

  I’m beyond frustrated with the man who’s left me high and very far from dry. Multiple times. But, somehow, even though I’m not interested in a relationship, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome keeps me coming back for more—one crazy, sexual debacle after the next.

  Come hell or high water, the stars will align, and the release will be out of this world.

  JACK

  I’m captivated with the woman who’s left me sixty-nine shades of blue, and she’s only in this for one thing. The first time, I blew it—and not in the good way—but I’m going to ensure we finally see it through. I need to put an end to this “plague” of sexual calamities and prove to Sarah that we can have more.

  It’s time to grab the universe by the balls and show it who’s boss.

  PROLOGUE

  Sarah

  I know you’re wondering what the hell you’re getting yourself into. I mean, I can practically hear you thinking to yourself. Blue Balls? What in the holy hell is this?

  I get it. I really do. If anyone had told me I’d be faced with this dilemma, I would’ve laughed in their face.

  Hold up! Where are my manners? Sheesh. If we’re going to discuss blue balls, I should at least introduce myself properly.

  My name is Sarah Matthews. I’m a nurse, my favorite movie is The Princess Bride, I love chocolates (the ones that come wrapped in foil with special messages printed on the inside), I love men, and I love sex.

  Wait just a minute before you go all Judgy McJudgerson on me. I simply happen to like sex—safe sex, mind you—and I’m particular about who I sleep with. I consider my vagina to be more of the free-range variety. You know, like those chickens who lay better eggs without all the hormones and crap. Or at least that’s what the packaging claims when I pay nearly five bucks for a dozen eggs. (And seriously, how do those people sleep at night, charging that much for twelve damn eggs?)

  Basically, my vagina’s picky and doesn’t like restrictions on where it can, uh, “graze.”

  This is getting weird, isn’t it? What I’m trying to say is, I have requirements. I don’t consider myself a slut—my vagina isn’t open to the public nor does it experience high volumes of, ahem, “traffic” like Times Square in New York City. My vagina is selective.

  Besides, I don’t do relationships; not only because of my childhood, but also because I’ve been far too busy. I’d decided being a physician assistant wasn’t for me and switched gears to become a nurse anesthetist. Studying for my certification while working my full-t
ime job didn’t leave time for much else. Sure, my best friend found the guy of her dreams, but me? Meh. It’s not in the cards. I just want a guy who’s fun to be around and happens to have the gift of burning up the sheets with me.

  When Maggie and Ry first became roommates, I met Ry’s best friend, Jack. The two were pretending to be gay lovers—long story there—but Jack always intrigued me.

  Jack’s different. I’ve been interested in him from the start, and I’m almost certain he reciprocates that interest. Sure, circumstances threw up a few roadblocks, but once the stars aligned and we could act on our fierce attraction, I figured it would be smooth sailing. We’d get a little hot and sweaty, a whole lot of naughty, and I’d get to experience whether he would live up to my expectations.

  Except that’s not the way it turned out. Instead, we fell prey to a terrible illness, so to speak. And this “illness” wasn’t minor. Nope. It veered more into the realm of a plague.

  What you’re about to read is our journey—and attempted battle—of the blue balls plague.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sarah

  Saratoga Springs, New York

  Tall, dark, and deliciously handsome. That’s Jack Westbrook.

  I’ve known him for over a year now, and ever since the mutual acquaintance of our best friends thrust us together, I’ve wanted to include other types of thrusting in our equation. However, we’d been tiptoeing around the attraction with neither of us making any moves—until now—for multiple reasons:

  I can finally say I am a nurse anesthetist and at the point where work and school won’t nix any existence of a social life.

  Jack had been seeing someone in Boston, and it’d been casually mentioned in passing that they’d amicably ended things. (And I can neither confirm nor deny this news made me do a hearty fist pump. Okay, fine. I confirm it.)

  Do I really want to date the best friend of my best friend’s fiancé? And does that question sound as incestuously confusing to you as it does to me?

  Let’s just say I’m certain I wouldn’t scoff if his penis were to get “busy” with the inner workings of my vagina. In fact, my anticipation of this is at an all-time high. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a guy. My poor hoo-ha basically has cobwebs—that’s how long it’s been. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if the next guy who parts my legs to go “downtown” hears a crypt opening, complete with dust and bats suddenly flying out.

  That was pretty graphic, actually. Especially with the bats. I think that’s what pushed it overboard. Sorry about that.

  Since it’s Maggie and Ry’s engagement dinner party, I went above and beyond to ensure that I look presentable for my best friend’s special night.

  It has absolutely nothing to do with a tall, dark, and handsome six-foot-plus of sexual manliness. Nope. Not at all.

  Lieslieslieslieslieslies. That’s what you chanted, right? Don’t worry; you’re not alone. I called bullshit on myself, too.

  Can I just have a quick moment, please? Because Jack Westbrook is one hell of a freaking hot male specimen. He’s one of those guys who looks phenomenal wearing a sexy as hell business suit and just as delish wearing some jeans and a Henley. Jeans that cup him in all the right places. Allllll of them. Especially his ass and that other place.

  Don’t shake your head at me. I can’t help that I’m a perv. I was born this way, just like Lady Gaga’s song. Yeah, I know. Now you’re pissed because you’ll have that song stuck in your head all day.

  Anyway, back to the topic of Jack. Just saying his name makes me do that swoony sigh—the one all us ladies make fun of. But trust me when I say this swoony sigh is one hundred percent warranted.

  I feel the doubt pouring off you in waves, so let me explain. Picture this: Dark hair that’s artfully tousled with enough length that you can imagine gripping it while he’s “downtown” and going all out in an “I’m eating you like it’s my last meal on earth” kind of thing.

  Hey, now. I warned you that I’m a perv.

  Then there’s his body. While I admittedly haven’t seen it uncovered—yet—I can tell he’s rocking some seriously hard muscles from playing racquetball with Ry at the gym. Racquetball is something I just don’t get, though. Who wants balls flying at their face at Mach speeds? Not this girl. In fact, I’m not a big fan of balls in general. They’re not nearly as interesting as penises.

  Whoops. There I went—off on a tangent again.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not entirely superficial. More than just Jack’s good looks enamor me. He happens to have a wicked sense of humor and can be a perv like me, too. I appreciate that in a guy. He’s also smart as hell and is an independent business consultant. From what I can tell, he’s in high demand and nearing the point where he may have to turn some jobs down because of his jam-packed schedule.

  Maggie and Ry’s engagement dinner party gave me the perfect excuse to get beautified…and show Jack what he’s been missing. I pulled out all the stops with my hair, makeup, and attire to ensure I’d hold his rapt attention.

  Surrounded by the family and friends of Ry and Maggie, we’re sitting in the large banquet room of the historical restaurant, Longfellows, situated in downtown Saratoga Springs.

  Jack’s deep voice carries over the audience. “Maggie and Ry met in an unconventional way. Their story is unique, filled with endless shenanigans, laughter, and most importantly”—he breaks off to smile down at the couple seated to his right—“love.”

  Shifting his gaze, it dances across the rest of the audience before resting on me an extra beat, and he continues.

  “These two are perfect for one another because they’re the best of friends who know each other inside and out and love each other, not in spite of their imperfections but in addition to them. They love one another for the good qualities as well as the not so favorable ones.

  “They savor every quality the other has because that’s what makes each of them unique. That all those qualities combined have made the person they’ve fallen in love with. That those qualities have come together to make that person real. Imperfect, flawed yet…” Jack smiles down at Maggie and Ry before his voice lowers a decibel, becoming softer, more intimate. “Two imperfectly, flawed individuals found their other half. Together, their imperfections, their flaws, disappear. Instead, all you can see when you look at them is simply love.”

  Raising his champagne glass to toast, he appears to have a slight sheen in his eyes. “To love, laughter, and happily ever after. To Maggie and Ry!”

  “To Maggie and Ry!” we all chant in return before taking a sip of our champagne.

  To love, laughter, and happily ever after.

  Huh. Apparently cute guy rhymes, too. Not to mention, he totally showed me up. Damn it. My speech pales compared to his.

  Not that I’m bitter or anything, but geez. Can’t a girl have a moment to shine?

  At least I’ve got this fancy strapless dress. It’s blue and satiny, fitted, and I’m pretty sure my boobs look great with this new push-up bra I’m wearing. Who knew these things could be so amazing? I’m not gonna lie; I’ve totally been sneaking peeks at my own chest tonight because I think I’m falling in love with these girls and the way they look.

  The blue of this dress matches my eyes, so I’m working that angle because I figure it’s worth a shot. If my chest doesn’t mesmerize Jack, then maybe my eyes will do the trick. Aside from my phenomenal personality, of course.

  Yeah, I think I rolled my eyes at myself on that last one.

  After the toast, the wait staff places a dessert at each seat, and I make my way to the restroom. As I head off to the quieter section of the restaurant—Ry’s dad rented it out for this particular occasion—my eyes take in the authentic, rustic feel of this place given by the ceiling’s large crisscrossed wooden beams and the stonework.

  After washing, I reach inside my small clutch to retrieve my little guilty pleasure and quickly take a tiny bite of chocola
te. I swear these suckers are the best after some champagne. As much as I love Maggie, her choice of dessert—red velvet cake—is not my favorite.

  I check the foil wrapper for the little message written on the inside—Chocolate cures everything (Isn’t that the truth?)—before replacing the remainder back in my purse.

  Exiting the restroom, I only make it two steps before someone snags my wrist, and I’m tugged over to a small alcove. My back against the smooth, wooden accent wall, I’m instantly caged in by one hundred percent, USDA choice male. And when his gaze drops to my chest before returning to my eyes, I mentally high five myself while uttering a gracious thank you to my bra.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.” His deep blue eyes flicker to my lips for a moment. “To properly say hello and…congratulations on everything.”

  God. Not only is his voice pure sex, but the fact that he’s congratulating me on becoming a nurse anesthetist, the fact that he’s clearly paid enough attention to know this, sends warmth running through me. Also, in case you’re wondering if it’s possible that he made me orgasm simply by speaking to me, the answer is yes.

  Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn’t a full-fledged orgasm, but it was definitely a mini one. Like a tiny little jolt, not a full-blown one that would leave me an embarrassed and sweaty mess.

  “Thank you.” Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I try to play it off like my panties aren’t damp as hell. “So is it true?”

  He cocks an eyebrow and… For the love! How is practically everything he does so damn sexy? It’s just not fair.

  “Is what true?” His tone is playful. “That Maggie’s realized she’s planning to marry the wrong guy?” He scoffs playfully. “Of course.”

  With a smirk, I swat at his chest. “As amusing as your response is, no, not that.” I pause, tipping my head to the side inquisitively. “Is it true that you’re back on the market?”