𝐌i𝐫a’s L𝐚k𝐞 𝐃a𝐲 𝐰i𝐭h K𝐞m𝐚r: 𝐆u𝐧s, 𝐅i𝐬h, 𝐚n𝐝 𝐅u𝐜k𝐢n𝐠

It’s a Sunday morning, and the weather’s fucking perfect—mild, sunny, a light breeze that doesn’t make you wanna die for once. I’m sprawled on my shitty couch in my tiny apartment, the kind of place where the walls are so thin you can hear your neighbor jerking off. I’m wearing a tight white crop top that hugs my small, perky tits, the fabric so thin my nipples poke through, and denim shorts that cling to my plump ass, leaving my long, toned legs bare. My dark, wavy hair spills past my shoulders, a little messy from sleep, and I’m scrolling on my iPhone—a gift from Darius after I won him that Slut Showdown—thinking about dragging my ass to the rehab center to visit Aiden, my junkie friend who’s been trying to get clean. I’m Mira, 18, 5’6”, 125 pounds of pure, slutty chaos—a trans girl who’s been owning this body for two years, with pale ivory skin, brown eyes that glint under long lashes, a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full, pouty lips that scream trouble.

My phone buzzes, Kemar’s name flashing on the screen, and I smirk, my full lips curling. Kemar’s that massive Jamaican dude I hooked up with once—fucked me raw and relentless, but still had this way of talking to me like I was some kinda princess, his thick accent making me laugh even when I barely understood him. We clicked hard, and I’ve been itching to hang with him again. “Wah gwaan, likkle gyal?” he says when I pick up, his voice deep and thick with a his Jamaican accent, all patois and rhythm. “Yuh free today? Mi wan’ yuh come chill wid mi.”

“Hey, Kemar,” I reply, tossing my wavy hair, my brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, I’m free. What’s the plan, big man?”

“Mi got a cabin out by de lake, yuh zeen? We can go dere, have a good time. Yuh down?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m down,” I say, already feeling my tiny cock twitch in my thong at the thought of a day with him. “Where we meeting?”

“Rasta Roadhouse, de bar mi always at. Yuh know it.”

“See you there in an hour.” I hang up, grab my purse, and head out to my silver E21, the engine roaring to life as I peel out toward the bar. The city’s quiet for a Sunday, just a few early birds and churchgoers on the streets, the sun climbing higher, casting long shadows. I pull up to Rasta Roadhouse—a dive bar downtown with a neon sign flickering “OPEN,” reggae music thumping through the walls, the air outside thick with the smell of weed and fried food. Kemar’s leaning against his ‘67 DeVille, looking like a goddamn king. He’s 6’4”, mid-30s, Black as midnight, built like a linebacker—broad shoulders, thick arms bulging under a black tank top, dreads spilling past his shoulders, dark eyes sharp behind a blunt hanging from his lips. His cargo shorts sag low, sneakers scuffed, a silver chain glinting at his neck.

“Wah gwaan, Mira?” he calls, grinning wide, his teeth flashing as he steps toward me, his dark eyes raking over my body—my perky tits straining the crop top, my juicy ass hugged by denim, my long legs catching the sunlight. “Yuh lookin’ sexy as fuck, likkle gyal.”

“Thanks, Kemar,” I purr, strutting over, my ankle boots clicking on the pavement, my wavy hair bouncing with every step. “You’re looking pretty fuckin’ hot yourself.”

“Mi always hot fi yuh,” he says, his accent rolling over me like a wave, making my thighs clench. “Come, we haffi roll out. De lake waitin’.”

We climb into his DeVille, the leather seats warm against my pale thighs, and he cranks the engine, the V8 growling as we peel out. The drive’s an hour, and we chat the whole way—his patois thick but I’m getting better at catching it. “Yuh eva been to a lake cabin before?” he asks, glancing at me, his big hand resting on my thigh, squeezing my shapely flesh.

“Nah, not really,” I say, leaning back, letting my long legs stretch out, my brown eyes locked on him through long lashes. “I’m more a city bitch. But I’m down for anything with you.”

“Yuh a wild one, Mira,” he laughs, deep and rumbling. “Mi like dat ‘bout yuh. We haffi shoot some guns, fish a likkle, drink some beer. Yuh gonna have a time, zeen?”

“Sounds fuckin’ perfect,” I reply, smirking, my full lips curling as I adjust my crop top, letting him catch a glimpse of my flat stomach.

We pull up to the cabin around midday, the sun high and blazing, turning the lake into a shimmering sheet of glass. The cabin’s a rustic little thing—wooden, weathered, with a slanted roof and a small porch overlooking the water. A wooden jetty stretches out into the lake, creaking softly in the breeze, surrounded by tall pine trees that fill the air with their sharp, clean scent. The water laps gently at the shore, birds chirping overhead, and the whole place feels like a secret hideaway—peaceful, but with Kemar’s energy, I know shit’s about to get wild.

“Dis mi spot,” Kemar says, killing the engine, his dark eyes glinting with pride. “Nice, eh?”

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” I say, stepping out, my boots crunching on the gravel, the breeze teasing my wavy hair. My pale skin prickles in the sunlight, my shapely thighs flexing as I stretch, my plump ass popping in those tight shorts.

“We haffi have some fun, likkle gyal,” he says, popping the trunk of the DeVille. My jaw fucking drops—guns, a whole goddamn arsenal. Pistols, revolvers, rifles, shotguns, all gleaming and dangerous, packed in like he’s ready for a war.

“Uh, Kemar, what the actual fuck?” I say, my brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering as I step closer, my pale hands on my hips.

“Target practice, yuh zeen?” he laughs, pulling out a pistol. “Yuh eva shoot a gun before?”

“Nope, never touched a fuckin’ thing like that,” I admit, my full lips pursing as I eye the weapons.

“Mi haffi teach yuh, den. It’s a vibe, yuh see.” He grabs a handful of empty cans and bottles from the cabin, setting them up on a rickety fence about twenty yards away, the aluminum glinting in the sun. He hands me a pistol—cold, heavy, the grip rough against my pale fingers—and steps behind me, his big body pressing close, his hands guiding mine. “Hold it firm, likkle gyal,” he says, his breath hot on my neck, his dreads brushing my shoulder. “Aim straight, squeeze slow, nuh rush it.”

I nod, my heart pounding, and pull the trigger. The kick jolts my arms, the bang echoing across the lake, and a can flies off the fence, spinning into the grass. “Holy shit!” I squeal, laughing hard, my perky tits bouncing under the crop top as I turn to him, my brown eyes bright. “I fuckin’ hit it!”

“Yuh a natural, Mira!” Kemar claps me on the back, his big hand lingering on my pale shoulder, his grin wide. “Try dis one now.” He hands me a shotgun, showing me how to brace it against my shoulder, his rough fingers adjusting my grip, his body so close I can feel his heat. We spend the next hour blasting shit to pieces—cans, bottles, even an old tire he drags out. I’m laughing my ass off, adrenaline pumping, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck, my long legs steady as I aim. Kemar’s a good teacher, patient but firm, his patois flowing as he cheers me on. “Yuh bad, likkle gyal! Buss dat shot, zeen!”

“Fuck, this is fun!” I shout, unloading the shotgun, the recoil making my pale arms ache, my plump ass jiggling as I shift my stance. Kemar’s dark eyes are on me the whole time, roaming over my perky tits, my juicy ass, my shapely thighs, and I know he’s thinking about fucking me just as much as I’m thinking about him.

By the time we’re done, my stomach’s growling like a bitch. “I’m fuckin’ starving,” I say, wiping sweat off my forehead, my pale skin flushed from the sun and the thrill.

“Mi haffi feed yuh, den,” Kemar says, tossing the guns back in the trunk. “Come, we haffi hit a diner nearby.”

We drive to this little spot—red vinyl booths, checkered floors, the air thick with grease and coffee. We slide into a booth, and I order a burger and fries, Kemar getting the same plus a side of jerk chicken. “Yuh haffi try dis, likkle gyal,” he says, pushing a piece toward me, his dark eyes glinting. I take a bite, the spice hitting hard, and moan loud, my full lips wrapping around the meat.

“Goddamn, that’s good,” I say, licking my lips, my brown eyes locked on his through long lashes.

“Yuh look sexy eatin’ dat,” he says, his voice low, and I smirk, leaning forward so my perky tits press against the crop top, giving him a show.

“Keep lookin’, big man,” I tease, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

We finish eating, the food heavy and perfect, and head back to the cabin. Kemar grabs fishing rods and a cooler of beer from inside, and we set up on the jetty, the wood creaking under our weight. The lake’s calm now, the sun dipping low, painting everything gold and orange. We cast our lines, sipping cold beers, the bitter taste cutting through the day’s heat. “Yuh eva fish before?” Kemar asks, his big hand resting on my thigh, squeezing my shapely flesh.

“Nah, first time,” I say, leaning back on my hands, my long legs stretched out, my pale skin glowing in the fading light. “But I’m good at handling rods, if you know what I mean.”

He laughs, deep and rumbling. “Yuh a nasty likkle gyal, Mira. Mi like dat ‘bout yuh.”

We catch a few fish—little shits we toss back—and the vibe’s chill as fuck. Kemar’s easy to be around, no clingy bullshit, just good company. “Yuh a real one, Mira,” he says after a while, his voice softer, his dark eyes warm. “Mi enjoy yuh company, yuh zeen?”

“Same, Kemar,” I reply, smirking, my full lips curling. “You’re fuckin’ fun to hang with.”

The sky darkens, stars popping out, and the air cools, making my pale skin prickle. Kemar slides closer, his arm brushing mine, and I feel that heat building between us. “Yuh cold, likkle gyal?” he asks, his hand sliding higher on my thigh, fingers grazing the edge of my shorts.

“A little,” I say, turning to him, my brown eyes locking on his, lashes fluttering. “But I bet you can warm me up, big man.”

Kemar’s dark eyes blaze with heat, his big hand tightening on my thigh, fingers digging into my shapely flesh as he leans in close, his dreads brushing my pale shoulder. “Mi haffi warm yuh up, den, likkle gyal,” he growls, his Jamaican accent thick and raw, sending a shiver down my spine. I’m Mira, 18, 5’6”, 125 pounds of slutty chaos—a trans girl with small, perky tits, a plump ass, a tiny cock and balls, and long, toned legs that make men drool. My pale ivory skin glows in the fading light, my dark, wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck, my brown eyes locked on his through long lashes, my full, pouty lips parted as I smirk.

“Fuckin’ do it, big man,” I purr, and he’s on me in a heartbeat, his lips crashing into mine, rough and hungry, tasting of beer and weed. I kiss him back hard, my pale hands gripping his thick neck, my perky tits pressing against his tank top as his tongue shoves deep, claiming my mouth. His hands roam, one clamping my juicy ass through my denim shorts, squeezing ‘til I gasp into his mouth, the other yanking my wavy hair, tilting my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring—so he can devour me deeper. “Goddamn, Kemar,” I moan, breaking off, my brown eyes half-lidded, my pale skin prickling with heat.

“Yuh taste so fuckin’ good, Mira,” he grunts, his voice a low rumble, and he pushes me down onto the jetty, the rough wood scraping my back through my crop top. My long legs splay wide, boots dangling off the edges, my shapely thighs trembling as he yanks my crop top over my head, baring my perky tits to the cool evening air, nipples hardening instantly—pink and stiff against my pale skin. “Look at dem likkle titties,” he mutters, his big hands cupping them, thumbs brushing my nipples, making me arch and moan loud, the sound echoing over the lake.

“Fuck, suck ‘em, Kemar,” I beg, my voice raw, and he does, his hot mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make me squirm. My pale hands fist his dreads, yanking him closer, my tiny cock twitching in my thong as he works me over, his other hand pinching my free nipple, rolling it rough ‘til I’m gasping, my plump ass grinding against the jetty. He pulls back, his dark eyes wild, and moves to my shorts, unbuttoning them fast, yanking them down my long legs with my thong in one rough tug, the denim snagging on my boots before he rips them off completely, leaving me bare, my pale body trembling under the stars.

My tiny cock and balls spring free, hard and leaking, and Kemar pauses, his gaze flicking down, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yuh a special likkle gyal, eh?” he says, his patois dripping with lust. “Mi love dat likkle cock, yuh zeen?”

“Fuckin’ glad you do,” I smirk, my full lips curling, my brown eyes defiant. “Now eat me out, big man.”

He doesn’t hesitate, lifting my long legs high, spreading me wide, my pale thighs quaking as he hooks my knees over his broad shoulders, my plump ass lifted off the jetty, exposed to the evening air. His thick tongue dives in, hot and wet, lapping at my tight hole, circling slow then fast, making me moan loud, my pale skin prickling, my perky tits heaving as I claw the wood, my wavy hair splaying out around my head. “Fuck, Kemar—eat that ass,” I gasp, my voice echoing, the lake quiet except for the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue fucking me, spit dripping down my pale ass, soaking the jetty beneath me. He shoves his tongue deeper, stretching my rim, his dreads brushing my shapely thighs, his big hands gripping my hips, bruising my pale skin as I buck against his face, my tiny cock leaking a steady stream onto my stomach.

“Goddamn, yuh taste sweet, likkle gyal,” he growls, pulling back, his face slick with spit, and he spits a thick gob onto my hole—hot, slick—then shoves two rough fingers in, twisting slow, stretching me wide, the burn raw and needy. “Yuh like dat, eh?” he says, pumping them deep, curling against my spot, making me scream, my long legs trembling in his grip, my plump ass quivering as he finger-fucks me, adding a third finger, stretching me obscene, my hole gaping around him. “Fuck, finger that ass harder,” I moan, pushing back, my pale body trembling, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet with sweat as he works me over, his fingers relentless, spit dripping everywhere, pooling on the jetty.

“Mi haffi fuck yuh now, Mira,” he snarls, pulling his fingers out with a wet pop, my hole throbbing, needy as fuck. He stands, yanking off his tank top, his thick chest gleaming in the moonlight, abs rippling, dreads swinging as he shoves his cargo shorts down, his cock springing free—10 fuckin’ inches, thick as a beer can, dark and veiny, the head fat and glistening, balls heavy and swinging low. He kneels between my legs, hoisting them back over his shoulders, my pale thighs trembling, my plump ass lifted high, and presses that monster against my slick hole. “Take dis big dick, yuh nasty likkle gyal,” he grunts, slamming in balls-deep, raw and brutal, splitting me open with a force that rips a scream from my throat, my pale skin flushing red, my shapely thighs quaking as he fills me, his heavy balls slapping my ass loud and wet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yell, my voice raw, feeling every inch of that beer-can-thick cock stretch me obscene, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the jetty creaking under his weight. “Yuh love dis, eh?” he growls, his big hands gripping my hips, bruising my pale skin, his dreads swinging as he pounds me, his thick cock hitting my prostate, making my tiny cock leak steady, smearing pre-cum across my pale stomach. “Harder, yuh fuckin’ beast,” I pant, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping the air as I claw his arms, my full pouty lips parted, moaning loud, my wavy hair sticking to my sweat-slicked face.

He pulls out slow, his cock slick with my heat, glistening, and flips me onto my stomach, my long legs splaying wide, boots scuffing the jetty as he straddles my shapely thighs, pinning me. “Mi haffi pound dis ass flat,” he grunts, spreading my plump cheeks with his rough thumbs, spitting again—hot and thick—right on my gaping hole, then slamming his 10-incher back in, deep and relentless, my pale body rocking under him, my perky tits pressed into the rough wood, nipples raw from the friction. “Take it, yuh greedy fuck,” he snarls, his weight crushing me, his thick cock drilling me into the jetty, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the sound wet and filthy—slap, slap, slap. He spanks me—crack—left, then right, then both, my pale skin burning red, my juicy ass quivering as I sob into the wood, my wavy hair tangling around my full pouty lips.

“Flip ova, likkle gyal,” he orders, pulling out slow, his cock slick and throbbing, and I roll onto my back, my long legs shaking, boots dangling as he lifts me by the hips, my pale body dangling, my shapely thighs wrapping around his waist as he stands, holding me up, my plump ass pressed against his gut. “Hold mi, yuh nasty fuck,” he growls, slamming back in, fucking me upright, rough as hell, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping his chest, my tiny cock smearing pre-cum across his abs with every brutal thrust. “Fuck, wreck mi, Kemar,” I moan, my voice hoarse, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his dark skin, my brown eyes half-lidded, lashes fluttering as my wavy hair swings, my pale thighs trembling around him.

“Mi haffi fill yuh up,” he roars, dropping me back to the jetty, my long legs shooting up high, boots dangling as he kneels, shoving my knees to my chest, my plump ass lifted high. He plunges in again, deep and fast, the angle fuckin’ raw, hitting something wild inside me, my pale body bucking, my perky tits heaving, my tiny cock pulsing between us. “Goddamn, give it to me,” I wail, my full pouty lips drooling, my wavy hair plastered to my face as he pounds me relentless, his balls slapping my ass, the jetty shaking. The pressure builds, hot and tight, and I explode—my tiny cock spurting hot ropes onto my pale stomach, soaking my skin, my plump ass clenching hard around him. He bellows, slamming in one last time, his thick load flooding my ass—hot, pulsing, spilling deep, dripping out as he grinds against me, panting heavy over my neck.

We collapse on the jetty, my pale body trembling, cum dripping from my ass, my wavy hair a sticky mess, my perky tits heaving, my plump ass throbbing. “Fuckin’ hell, Kemar,” I pant, smirking, my brown eyes glinting through the haze. “Yuh a wild fuck, yuh know dat?” he says, his voice rough, pulling me close for a quick, sloppy kiss.

“Damn right,” I reply, sitting up, my long legs shaky as I grab my shorts and crop top, tugging them on over my cum-slicked skin, my thong a lost cause. “Let’s get inside, big man. It’s fuckin’ cold out here.”

We stumble into the cabin, the living room cozy as fuck—big leather couch, stone fireplace, a couple of Jamaican flags on the walls, the air warm with the smell of pine and weed. We crash on the couch, Kemar grabbing the remote to flip on the TV—some random action flick with explosions and shitty dialogue. He lights a joint, the flame flickering as he takes a deep hit, passing it to me. “Smoke up, likkle gyal,” he says, and I take a long drag, the weed hitting hard, making my head buzz, my pale body relaxing into the cushions, my shapely thighs brushing his.

We pass the joint back and forth, getting high as fuck, laughing at the dumbass movie, trading jabs about the day. “Yuh a good shot, Mira,” he says, his dark eyes glinting, his hand resting on my thigh again, squeezing my pale flesh. “Yuh haffi come back, do dis again.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m down,” I reply, exhaling smoke, my brown eyes half-lidded, my full lips curling. “You’re fun as shit, Kemar.”

The weed’s got me loose, and I can see his cock stirring in his shorts, the bulge growing. I lean over, my pale hand rubbing him through the fabric, feeling him harden. “Yuh gettin’ hard again, big man?” I tease, my voice low, my wavy hair falling over my shoulder as I press closer, my perky tits grazing his arm.

“Yuh haffi make mi hard, likkle gyal,” he growls, grabbing my face, pulling me into a sloppy kiss, his tongue shoving deep, tasting of weed and beer. I kiss him back, hard, my hands roaming his thick chest, feeling his muscles flex under my pale fingers. “Mi haffi fuck yuh again,” he mutters, breaking off, his dark eyes blazing.

“Then do it, yuh horny fuck,” I purr, and he scoops me up, carrying me to the bedroom—a big bed with soft sheets, moonlight spilling through the window, casting shadows on the wooden walls. He drops me on the bed, my long legs bouncing, my plump ass sinking into the mattress, and yanks my crop top off again, my perky tits bouncing free, nipples hard as fuck. He kisses my neck, my collarbone, sucking hard, leaving marks on my pale skin, his hands roaming, cupping my tits, pinching my nipples ‘til I moan loud, my wavy hair splaying across the sheets.

“Mi haffi taste yuh again,” he says, moving down, kissing my flat stomach, his dreads brushing my skin as he peels my shorts off, leaving me bare, my tiny cock hard and leaking. He wraps his lips around it, sucking slow, his tongue swirling the tip, making me gasp, my pale hands fisting the sheets, my shapely thighs trembling. “Fuck, Kemar, suck that cock,” I moan, thrusting into his mouth, his dark eyes locked on mine, his big hands spreading my thighs wider.

He pulls off, smirking, and strips fast—tank top and shorts hitting the floor, his 10-inch cock springing free, hard and ready. “Gimme dat mouth, likkle gyal,” he orders, kneeling over me, his thick thighs straddling my chest, his cock hovering over my face. I open wide, my full pouty lips stretching around his girth, the salty taste flooding me as I take him deep, gagging hard, my throat spasming as he thrusts, his fat head hitting the back, drool spilling fast, dripping down my chin onto my perky tits, soaking my pale chest. “Fuckin’ choke on it, yuh dirty bitch,” he snarls, his thick hands tangling in my wavy hair, yanking me forward as he fucks my throat rough, hips bucking, his balls slapping my chin loud and wet. I suck him hard, tongue swirling the veiny shaft, lapping the pre-cum, my lips stretched obscene, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as I claw his thighs, my tiny cock twitching hard, leaking onto my stomach.

“Good likkle cocksucka,” he groans, pulling me off with a wet pop, spit stringing thick from my swollen lips to his dripping tip, leaving me gasping, my pale face flushed, my perky tits heaving. He lays me on my back, spreading my long legs wide, my pale thighs trembling as he presses his fat head against my hole, sliding in slow, letting me feel every inch stretch me again, my plump ass lifting off the bed, my tiny cock flopping on my pale stomach, leaking a steady stream. “Take it, yuh tight likkle cunt,” he grunts, thrusting deep, slow and deliberate, his hands gripping my pale ankles, holding them high, my boots dangling as he fucks me, my perky tits bouncing with every thrust, my wavy hair a sweaty curtain over my face.

“Goddamn, fuck me slow like that,” I moan, my voice breaking, feeling him hit deep, his balls brushing my ass, the bed creaking softly. He leans down, kissing me messy, his tongue shoving deep, his dreads brushing my high cheekbones as he grinds into me, his cock filling me completely. “Yuh feel so good, Mira,” he mutters, his voice low. “You too, Kemar,” I gasp, my pale hands roaming his back, nails scraping his dark skin as he fucks me slow, passionate, but still raw.

He pulls out, flipping me onto my side, spooning me from behind, his thick arm wrapping around my waist, his hand stroking my tiny cock as he slides back in, his cock easing into my ass from the side, the angle tight and deep. “Yuh like dis, eh?” he growls, his breath hot on my neck, his hips rolling slow, fucking me gentle, his fingers tight around my tiny cock, stroking in rhythm. “Fuck yes, keep goin’,” I moan, my pale body trembling, my plump ass pressing back against him, my perky tits heaving as he fucks me, his cock hitting my spot, making me leak more, pre-cum dripping onto the sheets. We move together, slow and hot, the pleasure building, and I cum hard, my tiny cock spurting onto his hand, my ass clenching around him, milking his cock. He groans, low and deep, and unloads inside me, his thick load filling me up, hot and pulsing, dripping out as he grinds against me, both of us panting, sweaty, spent.

We crash out, tangled in the sheets, my long legs draped over his, my pale body marked with bruises and cum, my wavy hair a mess, my brown eyes heavy. Morning comes fast, sunlight slicing through the window, and we drag ourselves out of bed, my plump ass sore as fuck. I tug on my crop top and shorts, my pale skin still flushed, my boots scuffing the floor as we head out. We hit a diner for breakfast—pancakes, coffee, the works, the air thick with grease and chatter. Kemar’s grinning at me over his plate, his dreads pulled back, his dark eyes warm but not clingy. “Yuh a good time, Mira,” he says, his patois smooth. “We haffi do dis again.”

“Fuckin’ count on it, big man,” I reply, smirking, my full lips curling as I sip my coffee, my brown eyes glinting. He drives me back to Jack’s Used Cars, the DeVille purring as we roll into the lot. I lean over, giving him a quick, sloppy kiss before hopping out, my plump ass swaying, my wavy hair bouncing. “Later, Kemar,” I call, strutting toward the office, ready to hustle, my body still buzzing from the best kind of fuck-buddy day.