by K. S. Adkins
Ah, to be young again...
As for me, I was waiting to be released.
And my mom was still laughing.
“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Diva,” I said fighting my own laugh. “Meanwhile, I'm still nursing a fire between my legs.”
“Happens to the best of us,” she said squeezing my hand. “Question?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you have so much makeup on?”
Throwing my pillow at her I groaned, “You're the worst.”
But I loved her more than anything.
'Oh Canada!'
So far, I loved everything about Vancouver.
Especially, the mountains.
God, they were spectacular.
It was almost too much to take. I had never seen anything like it before.
I was overwhelmed in the best possible way.
Tomorrow I had a whole day of touring planned but tonight, my fellow authors invited me to a local Goth bar called Faint that had rave reviews.
While I didn't know much about Goth in terms of dress, I played it safe wearing my tightest black body con paired with a gorgeous pair of gold sparkly stilettos. Basically, the universal outfit for clubbing. Or so Pinterest said. Honestly, when it comes to fashion, I don't have many fucks to give. My rule of thumb was if you pushed your tits up high enough, no one will look anywhere else. It's served me well this far...
So, how to describe the bar...
Dark.
It was dark.
Very crypt like.
And drafty.
However, the music was loud, drinks were strong and I was too busy fangirling over my favorite hometown author, K.S. Adkins, to care about the club’s atmosphere.
Seriously, this woman was my kind of nuts.
Where I like telling anyone that will listen that I'm an author, she actually seems to forget that she has twenty more novels under her belt than I do.
Then again, if I had her rack, I wouldn't remember my own name if I could stare at those babies all day long.
Finally making what I hoped was a long term friendship, I found out several interesting things about her. Such as, she can drink a lot of vodka but doesn't do shots, acquired an egg allergy at forty-three, bought a tattoo out of a machine for sixty bucks, of a Winnie The Pooh's honey pot no less and had it inked onto her mound, which she proudly showed me, her and her best friends are middle-aged trouble seekers and she's madly in love with a man named Dustin, who along with Porn Hub, inspires all of her sex scenes.
I loved her immediately.
Though, I should also note she's not into hugs like I am.
An hour or so later, she excused her drunk self to call her husband before passing out leaving me to plot my next move. Stay here? Crash? Sneak into her room? Watch Canadian porn? Run a search to see if Canadian porn is a thing? I like that I had options.
I was mid-thought when literally out of nowhere, a man appears in front of me.
Wearing a blood red cape, too much grease in his hair and from the smell of it, bathed in a bottle of patchouli, he says, “My name is Vlad.”
It's Canada and I love Canadians so I offer him my hand, “Diva.”
Taking it, he turns it over exposing my wrist and proceeds to sniff my skin.
“What are you doing?” I ask trying to take my hand back.
“Your scent is addicting.”
Uncomfortable, I mumble, “Thanks, it's soap from the hotel.”
“May I?” he asks gripping me tighter and before I could argue he sinks his teeth into my skin.
Yelping, “Fuck!” I tear my arm away, trip over my own feet, thus landing on my ass with both legs in the air. Classy.
Vlad The Cannibal, closes his eyes, smiles as if he's in heaven and announces, “I've always wanted to do that.”
“You bit me!” I shriek, struggling to get my footing so I could Mike Tyson his ear. Once prone, I repeat loudly, “You bit me!”
“That is what vampires do,” he shrugs carelessly. “It is our nature.”
“You better be up to date on your shots, blood fucker!” I shrill loudly and then pause just long enough to think about this rationally. After a ten count I ask, “So, how do I taste?”
Vlad The Thirsty, licks his lips, looks down at my wrist, notices the blood and before answering, I watch his eyes roll back, his knees buckle and he's out.
Taking stock of my night, I step over Vlad The Unconscious, slam my drink back and mutter, “Guess that's why they call the place Faint.”
And then proceeded to take myself to the clinic.
'Three hots and a cot'
It's been a month since Vancouver and now that I'm back in LA and I can honestly say, I'm lonely. Outside of stalking, I mean sharing texts with K.S. Adkins, (who I should mention is my shero with a very active social life) I literally have nothing to do. I hate having nothing to do.
My muse is on hiatus, refusing to take my calls, my blog is up to date and the novella I finished last month is with my editor.
So yeah, bored.
I moved to Los Angeles because I figured if there was one city that would keep my social calendar full, it would be this one. Sadly, I was mistaken. Because outside of meeting my new bestie who lives back home in Detroit, I had no friends here.
No connections.
Zero.
However, the benefit of condo life is sharing a floor with people half my age with twice the money (which is saying a lot since I'm loaded now), that know where the party's at.
Unable to stare out at the ocean another second, I grab my bag, order a car and ten minutes later find myself inside the hidden bar called The Varnish.
Instantly, I fall in love with the hidden speakeasy because it reminds me a place called Legends that my pal Drew owns back home. It's dark, sexy and...
“Hello.”
Craning my neck, I look up and nearly groan at the handsome specimen handing me a cocktail I likely can't name. But lord was he sexy. Think Hemsworth. But taller.
“Hi,” I smile extending my hand. “I'm Diva.”
“And I'm the luckiest man in the room.”
“Join me?” I ask motioning to the stool next to me.
Taking a seat, he swivels facing me and asks, “How are you here alone?”
“I could ask you the same,” I say biting my lip.
“My name is Donte,” he smiles knowingly. “I own the jewelry store down the street.”
“Well Donte, I'm an author who knows literally one person in LA and you are he so, it was sit home and watch Stranger Things for the sixth time or try something new. Here I am.”
“Here you are,” he says with the sexiest smirk.
For the next hour or so, Donte feeds me the most amazing crafted cocktails while we share our life stories. His wild life as a jewelry store owner for the rich and famous and my wild story of barely getting by to not able to spend it all in this lifetime.
Finishing my drink, I push my glass forward when he says, “I'm not ready to part ways, Diva.”
“Neither am I,” I confess because duh, Donte is a dime.
“I need to stop at my store and grab my deposit bag so, how about you come with me and then I take you to the best Italiano in Los Angeles?”
Grabbing my bag, I fit my hand in his offering, “Lead the way, Donte.”
Now, I'm standing at the back exit of his store watching him fight to open the door.
As in literally trying to kick the door’s ass and losing.
“Did you forget your keys?” I ask wondering why the owner couldn't get into his own business.
“Keys,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I must have. Luckily, I know a way around it.”
Upon entry, he disarms the alarm, ushering me behind a row of cases that housed the most stunning sparklies I have ever seen.
Transfixed, I was caught off guard when he bumps me to ask, “Let me see your bag.”
Holding it up, I turn it this way and that when he says, “Open it.”
Giving me his back I watch his muscles bunch in appreciation when he begins stuffing large amounts of cash into my designer bag. Fine. It wasn't designer. It was a knock off. I was still poor at heart, dammit!
“Yeah so, Donte?” I say slowly piecing it together. “Pretty sure they make deposit bags for this.”
Ignoring to grab more loot, I clear my throat asking, “You said you own the place, right?”
“Right,” he says shoving even more in.
“Then why does it look like you're robbing it?”
“Because I am.”
“Hold the fuck on,” I squeal. “I wear accessories, I'm not supposed to be one!”
And then it was chaos.
Sirens, police, guns, and piss in my pants, I was literally a screaming lunatic spinning in circles.
The police, not appreciating my hysterics, likely assuming I was in cahoots since I was flinging my cash bag around, zapped me.
Twice.
In the ass.
I did not go down gracefully. Nothing about my splat was graceful.
In fact, thanks to the volts zinging through my nerves, likely frying my neurons, I was a flailing spaz who emptied her entire bladder on the jewelry store floor.
Cuffed, miranda'd and led to a squad car, Donte calls out, “Any chance I can get your number?” And I swear to god if the cop would have turned his back I would have killed that man.
On the bright side, once I was led into a cell, I saw three women, all wasted, all struggling to stand, and throwing my fist in the air I announce, “Aw shit, I found my tribe!”
And then I bargained for some wet wipes.
'The house call I didn't ask for'
Fresh from the clink with all charges dropped, thanks to Donte's honesty, I mean, Kevin's honesty. (Yeah, his real name was Kevin) He admitted to setting me up because I was “Gullible looking” and the security video also showed I was, in fact, gullible, so I was released the next day and after a long shower, quickly bought a plane ticket.
Needing familiar, I went back home.
While Detroit had its fair share of haters, I'd lived here my whole life and never robbed a jewelry store or got zapped by local law enforcement.
I certainly never peed all over public property either.
Craving my city and coney dogs, I booked a week’s stay.
Two days ago, I updated my blog with a poll for my next adventure to be completed while I was back in town.
What did my lovely, sadistic fans come up with? Speed dating.
Oh yes, it's still a thing.
But don't cry for me margarita, it wasn't a total bust.
Because I just so happened to hit it off with a doctor.
I didn't care that he was a doctor. I'm just pointing it out because he really liked being called doctor.
He led with it and ended with it on calls and text messages. It was kind of endearing actually.
I mean the man went to medical school so if that was his thing? I wasn't going to make an issue out of it. Remember when I said if I ever wrote a novel that I would introduce myself to everyone, even strangers, as an author? Spoiler alert: I do.
His name is Doctor Kent Kilgore.
Yummy right?
Anyway, we hit it off and our date tonight was at one of my favorite spots, Prime + Proper.
After writing all day, I was excited for adult conversation and eager to get to know him a little better.
Sipping my drink at the bar, I was scanning the room at the very same time he walked in.
My breath caught. Because god he was handsome.
When he found me, he beelined straight to me, dipped me right there in my seat and kissed me.
“Why hello, doctor,” I moaned against his warm lips.
“Diva,” he says licking the seam of mine. “You look good enough to eat.”
“My hotel has room service,” I say taking him in from head to toe.
Reaching into his pocket, he tosses cash onto the bar for my drink, slips my (now small) bag on to my shoulder and together we walk the short distance to my hotel. In the elevator, he sniffs my neck and groans, “I can't wait to taste your pussy.”
Okay, that's hot and blunt.
Once inside my room, he sheds his jacket and I toss my small bag on the table. “I was serious about room service if you're hungry.”
Rolling up his sleeves he says, “Oh, I'm hungry,” and pulls me to stand between his legs. “For you. I've been fantasizing about you all damn day.”
One-second I was upright and the next I was on my back with my legs in the air. “Doc,” I try slowing things down.
“Doctor,” he says tearing my skirt and panties off. “Call me Doctor. Legs over my shoulders, Diva.”
I mean, if this man didn't require a pregame warm up, I wasn't going to suggest it. I mean, the sooner we finished this the sooner I could order room service. Doing as he said, I placed one leg on each shoulder and gasped when he leaned in to sniff me, down there.
I swear the man was inspecting me.
Without warning, he ran his tongue along my bare pussy and I arched up in ecstasy. I hadn't been with anyone recently thanks to the nightmares Ian, Vlad, and Kevin left me with; so needless to say, I wanted this.
I needed this.
At least I did until he said, “You have a lovely labia.”
“Pardon?”
Licking me again, my brain shorted when he sucked on my clit. God that felt good.
However, I was mid grind on his face when he stopped to ask, “When was your last period?”
“Did I hear you right?” I ask sitting up.
As if I hadn't spoken he asks, “Methods of birth control? Number of partners?”
Trying to squeeze my legs shut I ask, “What kind of doctor are you?”
Nestling his nose against my core felt great but when he said, “Gynecologist,” I was done.
So done, I used my feet to push him away. “You need to go.”
“I'm extremely good with my mouth,” he says trying to lure me back and while it was tempting, I had to draw the line.
“You're elbows deep in vagina all day and while I respect that, immensely in fact, this is one of those times that you shouldn't bring your work home with you.”
“I thought you wanted to fuck,” he says with confusion and a rock hard dick.
“Uh yeah, I did. Until you went medical on me.”
“Then I'll do my best not to mention it.”
“Sorry,” I say sitting up and grabbing a blanket. “You're going to scrutinize my reproductive system, I just know it.”
“I know women's bodies very well, Diva.”
“Which is why I don't want you inside mine, doc.”
“You're serious.”
“Deadly,” I say firmly. “I know full well what my body does and I don't need you reminding me of it.”
“I assumed a novelist who wrote about sex would be more open minded,” he tsks me.
“Oh she is,” I sass back. “But my vagina shut down at labia.”
“Well, this was a complete fucking waste of my time.”
He no sooner slammed the door that I uncorked a bottle of pinot and mainlined it.
Once my buzz kicked in, I grabbed the mirror and straddled it.
Staring at my own pussy I tell myself, “Wow, he was right. I do have a lovely labia. Who knew?”
With no one to answer me, I set the mirror down and went to bed.
'Technology scares me'
Six weeks later...
“Unh,” I moan as he bottoms out inside of me. “Fuck, I'm so close.”
“Get there,” he orders slapping me on the hip. “Come for me.”
“Trying,” I say gripping his ass. “Maybe you could-oh my god, yes!” I screamed in ecstasy.
Thrashing in bliss, I raised my hips to give him more access when he grates, “Gonna come, baby.”
“I want to see your face when you come.”
I don't know what happened but one-second he was shifting to look at me and the next his eyes closed with his body slumping into mine. Dead weight.
“Tim?” I ask trying to adjust his weight but having no luck or response. “Tim?”
Fuck, not good.
“Tim, wake up!” I scream for all I'm worth. “This isn't funny!”
Digging my nails into his shoulders I try unsuccessfully to get him off of me.
“Fuck! Tim! Wake up! Don't die on top of me!”
Then I hear ringing.
Searching for the source, I see his phone on the nightstand light up but can't move him to grab it.
“God dammit Tim! Wake up and tell me if you're dead! Oh god, I can't breathe!”
Then I hear ringing again.
Yelling, “Help!” I was shocked when I saw the screen was still lit. While I couldn't see if the call was live, I continued rambling just in case. “You have to help me! My date crapped out on top of me! I can't get him off! Literally and figuratively! I mean, I'm god’s gift to dick but he shouldn't have to die for it! I'm being smothered for fuck’s sake!”
For the next several minutes, I lie there covered in Tim whose last name I don't know, whose cock was still inside of me, in an apartment that was not mine, taking stock of my life. I promised myself that if I got out of this, I would do better, be better. Hell, I'll even establish a vetting process. No, I decided I would go big!
I wouldn't have sex again until I'm married.
Ha!
That's what's up!
You got this, Diva.
Happy with the upswing my life was about to take, a split second later, Tim's door is blown open, a half dozen of medics and cops flood the room and Tim picks that moment to start fucking me again.
With an audience.
And a lot of tenacity...
“You're not dead!”
“Just closed my eyes, baby.”
