by Lane, Arie
We’re laughing as I recall the stories of previous Valentine’s Days to Maddie. She can’t wait to meet Dante, and I can’t blame her. I really miss my bitch lips. We finish our grocery shopping after wiping out three different stores of all their chocolate. It’s when we’re walking past the florist that Maddie stops to look.
“I wonder what it’s like to actually get flowers,” she says with a sigh.
I look at her with a puzzled expression, thinking surely she must have gotten flowers at some point. Maddie is only a few years older than me. “Hold up,” I reply. “Are you telling me that you’ve never gotten flowers? Like ever?” I ask.
“Nope. My last boyfriend didn’t believe in gifts, and he thought holidays were just another useless day where people tried to con each other out of their hard earned money.”
“Wow! Well I can understand why you’re no longer with him. He sounds like a real winner,” I joke. “Seriously though, even from your parents? Like no one ever?”
“Nope. My parents aren’t really the sentimental type. For special occasions, they usually just give me cash.”
“I see. My parents, well my mother and Grant, never really gave a shit about me so I usually just got whatever they bought for my sister that she didn’t want. I did get flowers though. Dante always brought me wild flowers or lilies on my birthday and Valentines. That was until I told him how much I hate them,” I laughed.
“Really? You hate flowers? Or just those ones?” she questions while we load the car.
“I don’t really hate flowers per se. I hate cut flowers. They always end up dead after a week and then you throw them away. So when I was fifteen, I made him promise no more flowers. He still buys me them of course except now he buys me ones that are potted or can be planted so they don’t die.”
“Oh well, that makes sense. I guess I never really thought about them dying. I just like that idea of being special enough to someone that they would buy them in the first place.”
I feel like shit on the ride home. I have lived through some really shitty things, but I’ve always had Dante to make sure that I was remembered and to make me feel special on days that he deemed important in a woman’s life. I never realized how important a little thing like flowers is. I just always took for granted that on those two days, I would have them.
I slip away after helping put away all of the groceries and call that florist we had passed. I know from back home trying to order flowers this close to Valentine’s is hit or miss. The florists are typically sold out or don’t have shit left for a selection. I get lucky though, they have enough pink roses for a couple of arrangements and I order some to be delivered to both Mrs. Anders and Maddie. They are the only two females that will be at the house, and I’ll be damned if they are going to have a shitty day too.
I wake up this morning a lot happier than lately, especially since Dante will be here any minute. I don’t even bother changing out of my fuzzy pjs as I dart out the door and am met with a most awesome fucking surprise. Sitting in my driveway is my baby, my beloved Mustang! I may have been whining about having left it behind, and have talked about flying back to get it. Marco had blasphemously suggested I just replace it with a newer model, and I damn near chewed his head off. Most things I can accept replacing, my Mustang is not one of them! I have no idea how he got it here, and I could give a shit less. Dante and I would be driving around in all of its gloriousness, especially since the weather is mild enough that I can drop the top on it.
Pulling up to the house, Dante arrives in true diva fashion with three suitcases and a matching umbrella. Apparently it was drizzling and his drama queen ass didn’t want his perfect mane getting soggy. He hasn’t been here for more than ten minutes and he’s already demanding we go shopping for some glamorous new outfit for the signing. I don’t want to burst his bubble and tell him I’ll be wearing jeans and a tee ensemble, so I just get in the car and start driving.
“So what the fuck is going on with you and Tristan? And don’t tell me, Nothing,' sweet cheeks. I’m not fucking blind. He didn’t keep tabs on you all of this time just so he could walk the fuck away.”
I keep my eyes on the road as I reply, “I don’t know what to tell you Dante. One minute he was here, and the next he was gone. I had to practically beat it out of Marco.”
“Hmm...I don’t know, Baby B, sounds like something is up. Isn’t there anything else your father could tell you?”
“No Dante, I asked. Hell, I fucking begged. He just disappeared. Marco said he was expecting him for Christmas but he never showed. He did leave me a gift though,” I say, while holding my wrist out to show off my bracelet.
“Damn, and you think a man just buys something like that then walks the fuck away? No way in hell. He’s got it bad; I don’t give a shit what mixed up sort of shit happened. Nobody drops that kind of money, then leaves. He’ll be back. You’ll see,” he affirms.
I don’t want to talk about this shit anymore so I change the subject as we enter the mall. We spend the next few hours in predictable fashion. I’m talked into several sexy bra and panty sets, which have never been my thing. I’m more of a grab and go kind of girl. Then we try on a million different outfits that I either refused or Dante demanded I buy. Dante thought that was fair punishment for abandoning him for almost a year. I figure I’m getting off light, so I keep my mouth shut, and go along with it.
By the time we leave the mall, I can barely walk and my hands are numb from all of the bags cutting into them. Dante is the only person I know who actually lives by the motto, 'Shop till you drop.'
Maddie already has dinner waiting when we walk through the door. She has been spending most of her time at the house since her breakup and I feel bad about her going home to an empty apartment. She seems to have hit it off with Dante so it doesn’t bother me in the least if when she asks if she can stay and hang out with us. I take it one step further and invite her to join in on planned shenanigans for the following days.
Her excitement is contagious as he jumps up and down in the kitchen, and adds her own opinion on tomorrow's event. She thinks it’s hilarious that men will be dressing in nearly nothing and prancing around with fake bows and arrows shooting unsuspecting women with toy darts, and I agree. Dante, on the other hand, is trying hard to suppress his drooling at the idea of several hot men letting their goodies show for a bunch of horny, underappreciated, undersexed, women who rely books to live out their sexual fantasies.
While pulling out my jeans and shirt for tomorrow, I’m informed there is no way in hell I will be wearing that, and instead will be wearing a vintage inspired red and silver sweetheart dress matching peep toe heels with which he managed sneak by me earlier. Something about dressing like a dolled up 50s sitcom wife makes me uneasy. I’ve never really been the girly girl type and I’m already uncomfortable about this event without him throwing this shit into the mix.
I argue with him relentlessly to pick something fucking else, but he just throws his hissy fit and demands that I owe him this. Even if I did, this is equivalent to torture. I vow that after tomorrow, we’re even. That is if I make it through tomorrow alive. If so, I will be kicking his cupid loving ass on Valentine’s Day.
Chapter 15
Tristan
I look fucking ridiculous. Whoever picked this shit out either hates men or has some sick fucking fetish for men who look like small boys. I planned on wearing white boxers under this tiny fucking loincloth, and a small pair of wings. Instead I’m wearing second skin tighty whities that cover more of my ass than the loincloth. My cock and balls are damn close to being shoved up my ass. These fucking wings nearly drag across the floor and are strapped on with a chest harness. To top it all off, I have to carry around a gold bow with pink plastic heart tipped arrows. If this isn't fucking degrading, I don’t know what is. My only saving grace is that I don’t have to stay in this getup the whole time and I won’t be the only one wearing it.
I listen as two of the other guys wearing th
is shit debate free-balling. While I’m inclined to like their train of thought, there is no fucking way I’m going commando when the only thing attempting to cover my dick is a tiny white cloth that wouldn’t even hide half my length flaccid. I don’t know how small these dudes are, but I doubt Bentley would appreciate having several hundred women staring at my package. I also wouldn’t appreciate the sick bitches that need to cop a feel like the last event. It’s going to be hard enough to keep my shit in check in this outfit; I damn sure won’t be adding to my humiliation.
I enter the room as the ladies are setting their tables up and look around for Bentley. She’s usually in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, but I don’t see anyone wearing that. Instead I find the most alluring woman leaning over a table with red seamed stockings, fuck me heels, and a dress that’s just begging to come off.
I try to find something else to look at when my focus settles on the banner behind her. It’s one of the photos I had taken with that photographer, Sarah. In print at the bottom of the cover is her name, Bentley Celeste. I have to bite back a fucking groan as she stands up and turns to Dante. Her chest is pushed up and peeking out of the heart-shaped neckline across her dress. Her hair was down and in loose curls. She’s wearing light makeup that highlights her lips and eyes, and a pair of glasses that have my dick throbbing.
It‘s painful to look at her; she so goddamn gorgeous. My dick is so squished in these damn micro underwear that even the smallest erection is torture as it pushes against this shitty fabric. I look around the room and see a few other guys that must be thinking the same as they stare between her ass and tits as she spreads her table out. A wave of jealousy crashes over me at the idea that these other guys might try getting a little too close to her.
I want to go wrap her in a damn blanket so no one else can see her like this. She’s a walking wet dream. She looks like something straight out of my wildest fantasy, and I can’t help wonder what the fuck came over her. Why on god’s green earth would she fucking wear that here? She hates being ogled by men. Has that changed since we were together? Did she suddenly revel in the attention of looking like a sex kitten? I know I’m not thinking rationally; I’m fucking pissed. I want to scream at her to go cover the hell up.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even notice anyone come up to me. It isn’t until some asshole literally has a handful of my cock that I damn near lose it. I’m ready to start swinging when I turn to find Dante standing there. “What the fuck, man? You know I don’t fucking swing that way,” I say through my irritation.
“I know. I’ve been yelling your name for the last three minutes. It’s like you were in a trance. So I figured the only surefire way to get your attention is to play a game of 'handle the hardware.' What the fuck has your panties all up in a bunch anyway? Other than those god awful underwear… Who the fuck thought those were a good idea? Nothing sexy about having your junk practically shoved up your ass.”
“Was I really that bad? Sorry, I was just raging at that fucking outfit Bentley is wearing. What the hell is she thinking wearing that shit? Is this some kind of fucking payback for something I don’t know about?”
“Chill out, sexy pants. Bentley didn’t choose her outfit. She’s paying penance for deserting my ass this past year. This is her punishment, to look and act all girly for the day. I doubt she has any idea you're even here, so I can promise you weren’t considered when I chose my payback.”
Dante seems so damn pleased with himself. Little does he know Bentley isn’t the only one he’s punishing. It’s going to take a fucking miracle to make it through today without beating the shit out of the two assholes hitting on her. I don’t know what the one ass licker said to her, but it has her turning beet red. No way am I going to make it six hours while staving off grabby hands and trying not to kill every fucker who even looks at her twice.
An hour into the signing and I’m ready to kill someone. I’ve taken at least fifty pictures. My ass has been groped more than a buffet table, and at least three women made an attempt to size me up. I now know how the animals at a petting zoo feel. I try to keep an eye on Bentley, but she’s been avoiding any male attention as much as possible and still hasn’t noticed me. Normally she’s all social and shit, talking to everyone around her, making conversation. Not here though. She has her head tucked down and her nose in a book unless she’s approached.
I don’t know if I want her to notice me or not. I mean I’m here for her, but I don’t think even she would appreciate seeing me in true man meat fashion. She’s always hated how objectified the models are at these events, so she might see me and think it’s some kind of slap in the face. I tuck myself in a corner of the room behind her. I want to know what she thinks of these guys. A part of me is still pissed that she’s dressed like a fucking pin-up doll and every guy in the room has noticed. She has brushed at least three guys off that I witnessed, and who the hell knows how many I didn’t. For the most part, the other cover models I know are keeping their distance. Not because of me per se, but because of the loads of women who can’t get enough of them.
My morbid curiosity gets the best of me as I try hard to hear what Dante whispers to her, whatever it is has her giggling like a school girl. I move a bit closer and listen as she talks about the poor fucks parading around in their costumes. Apparently one of these dudes decided to don a g-string and it has Dante tickled pink that he got to play grab ass. I don’t know the poor shmuck, but it’s hard to feel sorry for him. We’re here to meet and greet and hopefully help sell a few books, not fill our little black books and pretend we’re male strippers. At least I hope he’s pretending. Either way I thrilled she isn’t impressed by anything she saw. Although that also means she would be equally unimpressed seeing me looking like the mythical god of love.
Bentley
I feel sorry for the men walking around me. I'm trying so hard to keep my snickering to myself, but when one of them bends over and flashes the ultra-tiny, way too fucking tight, briefs that look like they are trying to shove his dick back inside of him, I can't contain myself. This has to fit under the definition of cruel and unusual punishment. These men will be lucky if they could even walk tomorrow morning. Dante and I took a bet as to whether they’d be able to pee standing up tonight or if the angles their poor dicks were bent in would force them to take it like a woman.
One of the models I have on another cover is dressed in said attire. I pick on him for even being willing to dress up like the notorious diaper draped flying bastard who is given credit for his flagrant matchmaking skills. That fucker is solely responsible for more broken hearts than a nymphomaniac housewife with a penchant for home wrecking. They say love is blind, but I’m pretty sure it was that pudgy bastard who is blind.
While joking around, he told me I have no right to be judging since my lover boy is a walking rendition of the fat little winged fucker. I have no idea what he was referring to since I don’t have a lover. I could only assume he’s referring to Tristan, but I haven’t seen him anywhere, nor can I ever imagine him wearing something so revolting and degrading. I am about to argue my point when another cupid wannabe bends over to pick up something some woman dropped and gives us the full Monte. Dante spent the next ten minutes talking about how perfectly symmetrical his ass cheeks are and how he wants to see how far a quarter would bounce off of them. I shake my head in laughter as he goes and grabs the guy’s ass cheeks to confirm they really are as firm as they look.
Needless to say, Dante’s confirmation was unexpected, but the guy had a good sense of humor about it. I’ve garnered by own fair share of unwanted attention and am ready to shove my size eight up Dante’s ass if one more man tells it’s his lucky day upon hearing that I’m now single. Not once have I mentioned my relationship status. However, seeing the woman from the photo with Tristan and the snarky smirk she keeps shooting my way, I think I know where all of the jerk-offs are getting their information.
After turning down the same guy three times, I�
�m starting to get really irked, enough so that I wish Tristan really was here. Even if we aren’t together, he knows how much I hate attention and would make sure it stayed at a minimum. Of course it’s just my luck, as I finish signing a book for someone, I look up and my jaw hits the floor. I swear, no sooner than I asked for him, he's appeared. He’s standing a few feet away from me. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together, forming that sexy smirk that on more than one occasion has made me forget all common sense, and his eyes are dancing. He is oozing a fuck me vibe and damn if I don’t want to oblige.
I have never wanted to throw myself at someone, but damn! He makes cupid look sexy as fuck, and he can pierce me with that arrow any damn day of the week. I’m practically drooling as Dante nudges me to get a hold of myself. As he walks over to my table, it takes everything in me to maintain my composure.
“I was under the impression cupid was supposed to be a fat little baby, not some near naked sex god in feathers and leather straps,” I say motioning to the leather harnessed across his chest.”
“Sex god, huh?” he replies, leaning across the table so he’s just inches away from me. “I might look like a sex god, but these death traps they have squashing my cock are neither sexy nor godlike since they are forcing my dick into places it was never meant to go.”
I laugh out loud at his admission. I don’t think before opening my mouth, “You could always just take them off, and give all these ladies a taste of what a real man looks like. I doubt that any of their wildest fantasies come close to comparing to what you’re like in real life.”
I instantly try to backtrack what I just said. I didn’t really mean to tell him that he should show all of these women how well endowed he is. It just came out that way and from the shit-eating grin on his face; I am so fucked when it comes to trying to correct myself. I stutter over my words, trying to fix my fuck up.
