by Sarina Bowen
Seriously. Which TV genius decided that operating a table saw with your dick hanging out is a good idea?
“You don’t need to worry about me. I promise,” I assure her.
She puts her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand. It’s a pose of feminine reflection. “This idea sounds terrible. But I’m actually considering it. I don’t want to be unhireable. College deans aren’t as forgiving as TV.”
I put a hand on her back. “I don’t want you to be unhireable, either.” The fact that she was even considering this crazy scheme lifts me in a way that surprises me. Last year I’d asked Chandra to marry me, and she’d said no. That stung a lot. For Brynn to claim me publicly seems incredible. Even if it’s not real.
Gently, I rub her back. She’s warm and solid under my palm.
Happy to take over, my dick offers.
You wish, pal.
“My blog got a record number of hits today.”
“Really?” I laugh. “Of course it did. People are crazy. Your next blog post should be a spoof. Like, plate up two long slices of cake, one on top of the other. So it looks like they’re…”
Brynn snorts and then giggles. I start laughing too.
“Or a carrot rising from between two potatoes.” She laughs.
“Lots of melons!”
We lose it. And the sound of her laugh makes me hard. I pull her closer, my arm around her body.
Mine! shouts my dick, like a cranky toddler.
She’s not, though. Reminding myself that our engagement is fake will be the hardest part. Okay, not the hardest part. That’s in my shorts. The greatest challenge, then.
“Well, if we really tried this crazy scheme, how would this work?” she asks when we eventually stop laughing.
“Publicist Becky will put out a press release. We’re very excited to announce our engagement, blah blah blah. Please respect our privacy.”
“As if,” Brynn grumbles.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to go to New York next week. You would come with me. We’ll let some nice photographer snap our picture eating at a trendy restaurant.”
She sits up a little straighter. “Which trendy restaurant?”
“You could pick,” I say quickly. “Some place classy. We rehabilitate our image over food I can’t pronounce. Whatever.”
She smiles at me. “Won’t they know it’s a scam, though? I just met you.”
“We have mutual friends,” I point out. “The story is that we’ve been secretly dating since I arrived in Michigan.”
“Which was…?”
“May.”
“Good to know.” She takes a deep breath and then sighs. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Really?” I feel a lift in my heart that I’m going to have to examine later.
“Yeah. It’s going to be weird, though.” She gives me a sideways glance.
“Sure. Of course.”
“We shouldn’t have sex,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “That will just complicate things.”
“Right,” I agree quickly.
My dick bursts into tears.
“It would be confusing,” she says slowly. Her gaze is locked on mine. “To go at it like rabbits when we know it’s, uh…”
“Throbbing,” I offer.
“What?”
“Temporary,” I correct.
“Right,” she whispers.
“Right,” I agree.
Then we lunge at each other anyway.
22 Today’s Top Ten
Top Ten Reasons I Shouldn’t Kick Off Our Fake Engagement by Sucking Face with Tom
I’m newly divorced. Like, the papers were finally signed just a few weeks ago.
I need to work on my self-worth.
Unbuttoning his shirt is taking time away from polishing up my résumé. But he looks really good bare chested on my sofa, his big legs spread…
Gah!
Other people are at work right now. At desks, with computers and pencil cups.
I need a real job.
Blogging about dips and balls is not a real job.
Because when I say the words “dips and balls” I giggle and think of Tom’s dips and balls and I want more of them.
I am emotionally immature.
I’m unfocused and I need to fill my life with more things besides chocolate and fucking.
Omigod, I really want some chocolate and fucking. Not in that order.
When he plays with my boobs, I can’t think.
There are reporters outside right now hoping to get this on camera.
But I have sturdy window treatments. I made them myself.
I can’t even commit to writing a simple Top 10 List without fucking it up.
I’m a basket case.
I don’t know Tom very well at all. What makes him tick? Is there anything in his past which should scare me away from being his pretend fiancée? Like, how did he get to be such a good kisser?
What the fuck am I doing? What number is this? What happened to my list? Why do I consistently start something, make a commitment, and then go all ass-askew on it and do my own thing? Why can’t I focus? I want a better life, and a better life does not mean a better man
27) But why can’t I have a man in my life? Don’t I deserve that? I have to admit that there is something about him. About Tom. About his hands and his scent and the way he says “Molasses.” Okay. He hasn’t actually said “molasses,” but I bet if I get him to say it, he’ll chew that word. He is a man who loves to chew.
A) I totally want a real relationship, not a fake one.
TOP TEN REASONS I WANT TO BE IN A NOT-FAKE RELATIONSHIP
1) Because I don’t want to die alone.
2) …
23 I'm a Big Boy
Tom
One time we filmed a “speed episode,” where we renovated a house in a single weekend. It was a special project for a woman who was going into the hospital for amputation surgery. She needed a nice, safe, accessible house to come back home to. The pace was insane—my crew ripped out the kitchen cabinets and the bathroom fixtures all in the same hour. No breaks, no pauses to take a breath. It was the fastest, craziest thing I’d ever done.
Until today.
Brynn and I strip each other down on her couch at frantic speed. No lie, the Roadrunner would be envious. Before I know it, I’m sitting on her sofa, buck naked and lip-locked to Brynn. She’s in my lap. We’re still working on the last of her clothing, but it’s hard to focus because of all the kissing. And the grinding.
Even through my lust fog, I realize Brynn was wrong about one thing. She said that sex would make things confusing right now. But I’m not the least bit confused. As I help untangle her from her leggings, the world makes more sense than it has all week.
Her creamy skin slides against mine, and then we’re kissing again. I do my best impression of an octopus, touching her everywhere at once. Wherever my hands go, I find a new curve to cup, another smooth expanse of soft skin.
Our tongues tangle, jousting for control. I pull her further into my lap, and our hips lock together, her panties against my aching cock.
Yaaas, he gloats. Finally.
“This is a bad idea,” she murmurs against my lips.
“No,” I whisper, my mouth seeking her neck. “This is the best kind of idea.”
“We’re… It’s just stress relief,” she says, pressing closer.
“Of course,” I babble as she grinds against me again. Fuck. I need her. Stress relief. So much stress. And I need so much relief.
I stroke my fingers across her belly, just above the elastic of her panties. But then she pulls away. Why? Dear God, why?
“Why?” I pant.
“Don’t laugh. There are kittens on my underwear. I got them off of Mod Cl…”
Pussies on her pussy! my dick says, at least I hope it’s my dick saying that and not me, because too much. The very idea of her themed panties does me in. Brynn is so cute and quirky. I just can’t take it.
Our bodi
es collide again. I’ve never met anyone whose body lights me up like Brynn’s does. We are closer together than fresh paint on primer, but somehow I get a hand between us. My fingertips slide down, down. I breech her kitten panties and tease her until she lays her head on my shoulder and shivers.
She makes me feel like a sex god.
“I went for years without this,” she pants into my neck.
“Ten and a half days, honeybunch.” But who’s counting?
“No, b-before…” She can’t finish the sentence because I tuck two fingers into her pussy and she moans. She’s so soft and wet for me. “T-Tom,” she gasps. “Do you have another condom?”
I am not a stupid man. “Of course.” I take my hand back from its new favorite place and she curses under her breath. Quickly, I fumble for my shorts, which were cast aside on the sofa cushion. “Here.” I hand her the condom just to see what she’ll do.
She takes it with shaking fingers, tears open the packet. Then she slides off my body to give herself room to work. Now she’s staring at my penis.
Come home, he says.
“Hey, sailor,” she says. “Excuse me, I just really need to…”
She leans over and sucks the head of my dick into her mouth so quickly that I moan like a wildebeest. But, goddamn. She cups my balls and hums. And when she lifts her gaze to look me in the eye, it’s a challenge not to humiliate myself. I wind her hair around my hand and quietly convert carpentry fractions into decimals. Three eighths is .375. Five eighths is…
She gives a good, hard suck.
“POINT SIX TWO FIVE!” I bellow.
Her mouth makes a popping sound as she releases me. “Come again?”
“I’m trying not to,” I gasp. “Where’d that condom go?”
Now Brynn sheds her kitty panties. But somehow the break in the action makes her tentative again. Her eyes are wary, even as she hands me the condom and watches while I roll it down over my dick.
“Come here,” I rasp, tugging her beautiful, naked self down onto my thighs. “You’re too far away.”
She sits up on her knees, and I position myself right below the door to heaven. She puts her hands on my shoulders and hesitates, her gaze bashful. “Should we go upstairs?”
“What?” My brain is gone. I’m millimeters away from sex. There is no question I could answer correctly right now unless the answer was supposed to be YES YES YES NOW.
“My bed is upstairs,” she says.
I’m really not sure how that’s relevant. “Honeybunch, I’ll do you in your bed later. First you’re going to bounce on my cock right here. So get busy.” I slap her on the ass gently.
Her eyes widen, and she shivers. Her nipples are so erect they’re practically weaponized. We’re both as turned on as two people can be, so I palm both her hips and ease her down onto my ecstatic dick.
“Oh god.” She throws her head back. “Oh fuck.”
“That’s the idea,” I gasp. She’s tight and hot, and I’m in heaven right now.
“Tom,” she pants as she bottoms out onto my lap. “You make me say crazy things and do even crazier ones.”
“I don’t make you,” I point out. “But I do encourage.”
She leans in and kisses me. It’s a good one, so I have to take control of her mouth, pushing my tongue inside until we’re both breathless. “I don’t usually…” She sighs into my mouth.
“What?” I cup her breasts. They’re so soft and pretty. “You do live alone, right?” I chuckle because it didn’t occur to me to check before.
“Mmm hmm,” she says, rocking her hips. It’s amazing. “I…I’m not usually the aggressor.”
“Pretty sure this was mutual,” I mutter against her lips. “Ride me, honey.” I roll my hips impatiently. But her eyes are wide, and I finally realize what the issue might be. It’s the cowgirl position that’s freaking her out. “Hey,” I say, and my voice is a scrape. “You’re doing great. You know that, right?”
She blinks, then gives me a bashful smile. Not for the first time I wonder about this Steve she used to be married to. Seriously, dude. What were you thinking? If Brynn was my wife (for real), I’d never put clothes on when she was around. Just in case. We’d have tried every position in the Kama Sutra. Even the silly ones.
Especially those.
She lays her head on my shoulder and takes a deep, steadying breath.
“Talk to me,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “What do you need?”
“Can I ask you some questions?”
“Uh, sure?” I want to ask if it can wait until after I come, but I don’t. I’m polite like that.
“I don’t know anything about you.” Her breath is soft against my neck. “But I just hopped right on your dick,” she says. “Again.”
“Mmm. And I am so grateful. But what do you need to know?” I ask this in an almost normal voice. But I can’t resist a little thrust. It just happens.
She moans, her lips grazing my jaw. “Okay,” she pants. “When’s your birthday?”
“January fourth,” I gasp as my hips roll again.
“Capricorn…ungh,” she says, beginning to ride me in small thrusts.
“Yeah.” Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Dogs or cats?” she asks.
“Dogs,” I say automatically. Because doggy style leaps into my brain.
She sighs as we find our rhythm. Her soft breasts brush my chest, and it’s making me insane. “Favorite…color?”
That’s a tricky one, because it really depends on the placement and the available lighting. “For what? I prefer warm neutrals in large rooms…” I kiss her so I don’t have to answer the rest of the question, which could take all day. She whimpers when I stroke her tongue.
This is bliss. She’s riding me like a champ, her soft curves rubbing me everywhere. My brain takes another vacation while she urges my body toward release. I’m not ready for it to end, though. I fight off my orgasm as her breathing kicks into high gear.
“Tom,” she moans, and I brace myself. When she goes, I’m going with her.
“Yeah, baby?”
“How do you feel about white chocolate?”
What? The question penetrates my sex fog, because white chocolate is ew. “It’s an abomination.”
“Oh, yes!” she gasps, moving faster. “You are so…”
Whatever I am, it must be good, because she sobs out my name again as she comes, squeezing my cock and shuddering.
And I lose it too.
Two hours later we’re curled up in her bed after round two, which followed a nap. I’m stroking one of her perfect breasts, and she’s purring like a cat.
“So,” she croaks, because we’ve been too busy fucking to speak. “We’re just going to go at it like rabbits during our fake engagement?”
“If I have any say in it,” I mumble. “Think how convincing we’ll be.”
She’s quiet for a second. “This is a harebrained scheme.”
“I never said it wasn’t. But it’s just dumb enough to work.” And I really want to spend more time with Brynn, even under dubious pretenses.
“I want to help you.”
“Don’t do it for me, though. I’m a big boy.”
Brynn blushes.
“I didn’t mean my cock, but I’ll take the compliment.”
She rolls her eyes. “I should get up and make dinner. I’m hungry, so you must be starved.”
I pull her onto my chest and take a nice long look at her naked body, and her cute little half-embarrassed smile. “We can just order pizza,” I suggest. “Like the boring married couple my publicist is trying to make us into.”
She smiles, and then kisses me.
24 Tits and Tots
Brynn
“I’m definitely not ready for a real relationship,” I tell Ash and Sadie the next morning over breakfast.
I’d already had a nice sexfast with Tom. (That’s breakfast after sex.) But I’d promised to meet my friends and a good girlfriend always sticks to her word. We hav
e a Code of Honor. No matter what’s happening in any of our sacks, we still show up when we say we’re going to.
That doesn’t sound quite right. Whatever.
At any rate, I kissed my fake fiancé goodbye a half hour ago and told him to lock up after he left. Then I snuck out the back door, just in case any photographers spent the night under my boxwood shrubs.
Now I’m at Marie Catrib’s. It’s a very granola kind of restaurant, but they have this breakfast that is tofu and zucchini and kale. And if you add a side of bacon, it’s the perfect vegetarian meal. Except for the meat part.
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” I say again, trying to convince myself.
Ash and Sadie don’t answer me at first. They’re feeding the babies. Not with their boobs. Sadie has sore nipples or something so she’s bottle-feeding today. She has Amy in her arms and they both look so content. Ash is holding Kate, and they look like they’re having a Spaghetti Western stare down.
It makes me laugh how uncomfortable Ash is with being maternal, but she helps out anyway when Sadie needs a hand.
I’d have fed the baby, but Ash and Sadie took one look at me and told me to eat. “Because you got the dick,” Ash said. Even though I’d showered, she knew. And I was so hungry I was shaking.
So I am shoveling tofu and zucchini in my mouth, waiting for one of them to say something about this latest mess I’ve gotten myself into.
“I think it’s done,” Ash says.
“Kate,” Sadie says. “The baby’s name is Kate.”
“It’s looking at me. I think it wants something.”
“I’m just going to go out on a limb here and guess that you and Hunter are never having children,” Sadie says, her voice wry.
“Hunter can’t actually get Ash pregnant,” I point out. Since he doesn’t actually exist.
“Which is incredibly convenient,” Ash agrees.
Baby Kate makes another grumpy face at Ash.
“It hates me,” she says.
“Try burping her,” I suggest. A burp is a terrific idea, actually, so I let one rip. Daintily. Into my napkin.
