Size King

by S. C. Adams

  “Hi, Katie,” I say to her as I begin purchasing my fire extinguishers.

  “Hi, Mason,” says Katie. “Putting out a fire?”

  “Not yet.” I chuckle. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “How’ve you been?” she asks.

  “Pretty good,” I answer. “You?”

  “Eh, been better.”

  I nod, smiling politely while trying to get the register to scan the damn barcode.

  “You still doing Dunn Deliveries?” she asks.

  “Sure am,” I answer. “Did you get into UCLA?”

  “I didn’t end up applying,” she says.

  I bag my extinguisher as quickly as I can, and I head for the exit.

  “Take care, Katie,” I say.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks.

  I smirk, unsure of what provoked that question. “No.”

  “Huh,” she says as if she didn’t believe me. “I thought maybe you had one.”

  “I don’t. Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “I’m seeing someone, actually. His name is Sal. He’s really funny. You’d probably like him.”

  “I’m sure I would,” I say, refusing to play her game.

  “I hope you find someone good,” she says.

  “Katie, I’m not really looking at the moment to tell you the truth.”

  “What’s new?” She scoffs.

  “But,” I persist. “I’m glad you’ve found someone you like being with. I’m just going with the flow and hoping I’ll find my way. You never know what’s coming for you. Take care, Katie.”

  I head back to my house, feeling safer and more secure with my fresh extinguishers, and content with the idea of resting easy during the next many cold nights.

  25

  Jillian

  I wake up on Saturday morning—hot, bothered, and unable to go through my day unless I do something about it.

  My robust and sexy mountain man starred in a dirty dream of mine. It wasn’t a replay of the suite we performed together a few weeks prior; in fact, we were up in the mountains. In the dream, we were naked and in a forest—dirty, ravaged, and rolling through the grass as we conducted a new suite.

  I check my phone, worried that I’ve slept the day away. I’ve been absentminded and forgot to set an alarm.

  Luckily, I wake up in time. And as it turns out, I have minutes to spare:

  “Shoot starts at 11, not 10” a text from Emma reads.

  “Awesome,” I say happily to myself. “I have time to think about my dream.”

  Sadly, when I’d awakened, it was right at the point in the dream when I was about to climax. I was on top of him in the forest, and I was riding him while he pulled my hair and played with my breasts. I gasped, feeling the climax approaching. Then, I could see the morning light, and my fantasy was gone.

  I’ve thought of Mason every day since we parted ways. In the three weeks since our night together, I have been picked up by K-Plus, and Christina ended up signing as my agent. I am getting modeling shoots at least twice a week, and I am expecting the workload to increase. I found an apartment that I love—it was close to work, less than a mile from Emma’s place, and I am near so many great things. I can walk down the sidewalk and find whatever I am looking for.

  Yet, through all of these amazing things, the one constant that remains is Mason. When I’m not dreaming of him, I think of him and what I want us to do next. Ideally, he will take me to his house in the mountains and fuck me in the forest. I want to feel his big boner drilling into me as I ride him, screaming loud enough for all the trees in California to hear me.

  I grab a small vibrator from my box of toys under my bed. I put the vibrator firmly against my clit, rubbing it up and down, causing the toy to get wet. It becomes even wetter after I begin to stick all of my fingers in and out of my wet cunt during the masturbation. I want my fingers to be his.

  I am thinking about what I want to do to Mason the whole time I pleasure myself. Just to fuck him again at all would be a gift. He was, quite possibly, the best lover I’ve ever had. He is certainly the most attractive lover I’ve ever had, and he definitely has the biggest dick. Plus, he doesn’t just have length and width. He really knows what he is doing with it, and he knows exactly how to make a woman scream louder than she’s ever screamed in her life. I never thought men like him existed, but he is real.

  I imagine hearing my screams echoing through the mountains while I hear his intense, carnal growling in my ear. I want him to be rough and to come at me hard. I imagine him playing with my clit as he takes me from behind, spreading me wider with each inch of his dick I take.

  I manage to finish myself off twice in one sitting, much to my relief. I put my toy back in its proper place and proceed to take a shower and get ready for the modeling shoot later that morning.

  When I get to K-Plus for the shoot, I immediately know that something isn’t right.

  On the walk from my car to the studio inside where we are shooting, I become unnaturally tired. I feel fatigued like I’ve been carrying something heavy on my shoulders. I only ever feel those things when I am sick.

  Then, I go from lethargic to aggravated once the cameras are going. The lighting in the room is driving me crazy and seems unusually bright. The flashes from the cameras are also a disturbance, sometimes causing me to stop dead in my tracks like a deer. Being in those elements long enough causes me to have a vicious migraine, and my head is pounding. I am having difficulty simply keeping my eyes open, let alone bringing my A-game. I can’t understand where it is coming from. There isn’t any illness going around that I’m aware of.

  After the shoot, Emma and I change together backstage. We are both eager to get our makeup off, our regular clothes on, and our asses out the door.

  “Please tell me I’m not the only one suffering here today,” says Emma.

  “You’re not, believe me,” I tell her. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  “Don’t worry, you were still good out there,” she says reassuringly.

  “What is it you have?” I ask. “Is there a flu or cold going around?”

  “No, dude, I’m on my fucking period,” she replies. “I thought that was what was slowing you down. It’s really kicking my ass today. I want to get back into bed.”

  “We haven’t shared periods in like four months,” I remind her. “Mine’s before yours now, right before.”

  “You had your period last week?”

  Typically, during my periods, I only really feel like crap for one day. During the other days, I barely notice it at all. It is easy for me to forget that I’m even on it at times or on some occasions.

  This time, it just didn’t happen. I didn’t start my period on time. Upon reflecting, I feel confident that I didn’t have my period the week before, and I know for certain that I’m not on it at that moment. I’m not going through my normal monthly symptoms. I’m a week late, and I instantly freeze at that realization.

  “You didn’t have it, did you?” she surmises.

  “Please don’t tell me I feel like shit because I’m pregnant,” I say with a hearty chuckle. “I wore a condom with that guy.”

  “Condoms break,” she retorts, filling my head with doubt.

  “Not with me, they don’t!” I defy. “We only slept together once. We only had sex a couple of times! I couldn’t be.”

  “All it takes is one time, sweetie,” Emma states matter-of-factly.

  “Holy fuck, I’m pregnant.”

  “No, you’re not!” says Emma, dropping her demeanor. “You’re fine. You really are probably just sick. It’s January. It’s cold.”

  “I could’ve missed my period because of stress,” I say. “Big move, new town, new apartment, new job. I probably scared it off. It’ll come back. One time in high school, I went two whole months without having a period. I wasn’t even having sex at the time. I was just stressing about finals and what I was going to do with my life. No big deal!”

  “You
’re probably right,” she agrees. “Just ignore the idea of being pregnant. Don’t even think about it.”

  “You don’t think I’m pregnant, right?” I ask her with desperation.

  “Jillian, I don’t know!” she says. “The only way you’re going to know for absolute certain is by getting that pregnancy test and peeing on that stick.”

  “That’s not ‘ignoring the idea of being pregnant,’” I say.

  “I’m telling you not to even think about it,” says Emma. “You’re the one that won’t stop thinking about it. Either ignore it or learn the truth—those are your only two options. What do you want to do? If you want to go get a test, I’ll go with you and be there every step of the way.”

  “Let’s do that,” I say, wanting to put ideas of pregnancy immediately behind me.

  We drive to the nearby CVS and pick up one of their quick, cheap pregnancy tests. Unfortunately, because it is midday on a weekend, every checkout line is long and slow moving.

  At first, I’m more disappointed than anything. Having to spend such a sizeable portion of time waiting in line for anything always seems like a waste to me. However, the longer we wait in that dreadful line, the worse I feel.

  Each minute that slowly passes feels like an eternity. I just want to pay for the damn test and be out of there. Get the answer right away, throw the test in the garbage, and go on with my budding L.A. life.

  By the time it’s our turn to check out, my patience has fully evaporated. I’m not going to wait for another second to know the truth. I’ll learn my fate in a CVS bathroom, just like many others that came before me.

  I pee on the stick alone, but once my pants are back on, I quickly usher Emma in to join me. We huddle around the pregnancy test, anxiously awaiting the results.

  “I don’t even know his last name,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “The potential father of my unborn child,” I explain. “I know his first name, or at least, the name he used at the bar: Mason. I can’t believe I might be pregnant with some guy’s baby that I don’t even know!”

  “I think you’re freaking out over nothing,” says Emma. “You’re probably just sick, or maybe you’re about to be on your period, you know?”

  “I guess it’s possible,” I say. “I never really feel like this when I’m on my period. I feel off. I can’t remember another time where I felt quite like I do right now.”

  “I think you’re panicking yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t you be freaking out?” I snap. “It’s been three weeks. A lot of pregnant women start showing signs right about then. It’s possible, right?”

  “Well, yeah, of course, it’s possible,” says Emma. “But he wore a condom! Just wait the three minutes. Chill out.”

  “Oh, chill out,” I whine. “I don’t know why I wasn’t doing that before! It was the best sex of my life. Of course I would get pregnant. Just when everything is finally going right for me.”

  I burst into tears, unable to contain myself. She grabs some toilet paper for me to wipe my nose and my eyes with. I need the momentary lapse, and I have to cry. I know it’s been building up, and I know that if I stifle it, it will come back to haunt me at a much worse time, likely when I’m alone. I’m grateful to have my closest companion beside me through the worst rollercoaster ride I’ve ever experienced.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Emma.

  “Don’t be, babe,” she tells me. “This is scary. I’m scared for you. But you have to stay tough. Remember who you really are. You’re a bad bitch that doesn’t get conquered by anyone or anything. So what if you’re pregnant? You’ll have a shitty nine months, then you can put the little bastard up for adoption.”

  “Emma!”

  “Jillian, you know there are a lot of women out there who would love to adopt your unborn baby. It’s not a bad thing. You’d be giving some happy person or couple the greatest gift they could ask for. Especially if they can’t have kids. It’s even a blessing that you can have kids, honey.”

  I laugh, shocked that her pep talk somehow works. I’m still crying, but I’m no longer tumbling down an endless chasm. I have a team with me in this darkness, and it is Emma. She is my best friend, and she is proving it.

  “We have so much in common,” I say.

  “Hell, yeah,” she concurs. “We’re very much alike. We’re cut from the same cloth, as the kids say.”

  “You understand me and always give me the best advice,” I continue. “You know I’m not that close with my brother, and I never had a sister.”

  “Come on, hon, I know,” she says, taking my hand in hers.

  “I need you to tell me what I’m going to do if this test says I’m pregnant. What’s the first thing? The first five things that I do?”

  “Right, let’s bring us into reality,” says Emma. “Well, the first thing you’d want to do is see a doctor.”

  “What if a doctor can’t see me today?” I worry. “What if I’m not able to make an appointment for like a month? Are there medications I need to be on?”

  “You’re asking a lot of questions,” she says with love. “Don’t worry about medications right now. The doctor will tell you what you need to be on. And the doctor will be able to see you right away, I’m sure. If worse comes to worst, I know we will be able to find a place that would see you tomorrow morning. There are doctors everywhere here in L.A. We have a lot of choices.”

  “That’s good,” I say, feeling sweat collecting on my forehead. “What else? What are other things I need to do?”

  She gives me a knowing look, one that conveys “hard truth.”

  “You need to decide what you want to do about the baby,” she says. “I say adoption, but hey, no one would judge you for considering getting an abortion. At least, I wouldn’t judge you. I’d be with you every step of the way if that is something you think you might want.”

  “I don’t think I would do that,” I say with assurance. “It’s not for me, I think. I’d rather deliver the baby than abort it.”

  “All right then,” she says.

  She looks down at the pregnancy test. I cover my face with my hands, unable to face the truth.

  “Just tell me,” I say into my hands.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  I know it is the truth, but it doesn’t stop my heart from coming to a screeching halt. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Perhaps it is the developing newborn letting me know that they are there. For all I know, at that moment, there could be multiple babies inside of me. I am tall, and all of the women in my family are quite fertile. I am running through hundreds of other crazy thoughts at a thousand miles an hour. I almost feel like hyperventilating.

  “Okay. Okay.” I pant. “Go to a doctor. That’s what I’m doing next.”

  Emma whips out her phone and begins to frantically click and swipe her screen. There is no telling what she is doing, but she is moving at an unbelievably fast rate.

  “Where’s the fire?” I ask her.

  “There’s one other thing we need to put on the board,” she explains. “We find out the I.D. of the daddy. Then, you decide whether or not you even want to tell him you’re pregnant. This baby is being cooked in your oven. You’re the one that has to carry it for nine months. You decide whether you want to include him in this baby’s life or not. Finally, if he’s interested in being there for support, and that’s something you’re interested in, it might not hurt to go on a couple of dates with the guy.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say through hearty laughter.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a true detective. I’m CSI-ing this guy. I’m looking him up online right now.”

  “What?”

  I watch over her shoulder as she goes to town on her phone. She is on Facebook, looking through a variety of people’s profiles at practically the speed of light.

  “I found Luke’s Facebook, and I am hoping I can creep on and find Mason on there,” she explains. “No luck there. Google didn’t come up with anything w
hen I searched ‘Mason Wrightwood CA,’ but there has to be a detail we can use. Did he say what he did for a living?”

  “He did. I’m blanking on it right now, but I think maybe he ran a restaurant? No. Actually, I think he said he did something with deliveries.”

  “Deliveries?”

  “Deliveries,” I repeat. “I can’t get any more specific than that. Deliveries.”

  She is typing away at her lightning fast speed. I can’t stop looking at my pregnancy test, seeing that bright blue line printed on my stick feels like the kiss of death. I fully expect my modeling career to live a short life, and I’ll never get to see my full potential.

  “If this doesn’t work, I have a direct connection to the source,” says Emma. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll use our emergency distress signal.”

  “I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

  She looks somewhat guilty upon revealing her information, but I want to be totally on her wavelength.

  “Uh, funny story,” she says. “Luke actually found me on Facebook about a week ago and added me.”

  “Shut up, really?”

  “Yeah, he messaged me right away when I added him,” she confesses. “He gave me his number the day we started messaging each other.”

  “You guys are still messaging each other?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

  “We’re just talking, no big deal,” she says dismissively. “Anyway, if all else fails, we should ask Luke how to get in touch with him. I’m sure he’ll want to help out once he knows you’re carrying his best friend’s baby.”

  “No, I don’t want his best friend to know that I’m carrying his baby before he knows,” I say. “That’d be weird. Plus, I don’t want to make things awkward or whatever between those guys. No, if we don’t find him organically, we don’t find him at all.”

  Like clockwork, a broad, satisfied smile forms on her face as she nods her head. She turns her phone around so that I can see it.