Triple Love - An Erick Chaplain story 1 - Sex Stories

Triple Love - An Erick Chaplain story 1

"What I need from you," I say as I glance her way, "is for you to leave it alone." Chels tosses her blonde and black and purple layered hair back over her shoulder and pulls it into a loose bun. She waves the heat off her face and sighs at me. "I mean it. I'm fine." "He's going to be here, though," she says with drawn out vowels and places her hands on her hips. "It's been three months, yes, but he's bringing another guy." I shake my head and start to walk away. A glance to my left exposes a rainbow colored bounce house filled to the brim with kids, both inside and out. A couple of the elementary kids tell me, “Hey, Erick!,’ and I return the gesture with waves and a smile and she pulls on my arm. "I have no faith you'll make it." I snatch my arm away and she looks hurt. But the truth is that I'm not in the mood for her temper-tantrums because she doesn't get it her way. She can't call the shots on my heart. No way, no how. Not this time. Chels sticks out her bottom lip and I actually laugh. "You realize that he and I go the same school? And so does his boyfriend. I implore you to listen just this once and give a rest, Chels. I'll. Be. Okay." "Will you at least consider calling my guy?" I knew it! This was all a ploy so that she might play matchmaker. She’s been trying to get me to contact a friend of hers for a few weeks now. Well, mostly ever since my ex and I broke things off three months ago. But in the last few weeks she’s gotten so much worse. It’s become her complete ...

... obsession. And it frightens me. I back away from her and she stamps her foot on the ground. “Seriously?” I walk away shaking my head and it’s everything for her not to snatch my arm again. “Erick, can you please just try?” “No, Chels.” “WHY NOT?” Her voice reaches a decibel I’ve never thought possible, even from her, and people are starting to stare now. The elementary kids gawk at us and I wave back shyly. She’s becoming unbearable. Chelsea Carmichael, Chels for short, has always been one to reach for attention. I look at her now in her triple-colored hair and golden cheetah tights and black shirt and flats. Giant gold hoops swing from her ears and her wrist are covered in golden bangles. If the color was any more real you’d swear she was rich, and not just the “trailer park trash”, as she calls herself. I, on the other hand, think she’s foolish to say so. Chels has never lived in a trailer, let alone a trailer park, and she definitely isn't trash. To save further embarrassment, I'm lurching forward and pulling her hands into mine and leading her away. She sort of calms by me doing this and I metaphorically wipe the sweat off my brow, say a low, "Whew!" to which she slams her hips into mine as we walk. "Chels," I say her name calmly, "I'm not calling your guy." "Why not?" "Because I Googled him." She stops dead in her tracks. "You. Did. WHAT?" "If you scream like that one more time I'm slitting your throat and ripping out your vocal cords," I promise her and she giggles before ...