by Lisa Ferrari
Eventually I throw Kellan onto his back on the flat bench and ride him for all I’m worth for almost an hour. I am surprised by my own stamina. But it feels so could I simply want to keep going. Wearing my athletic shoes helps, too. A lot. My feet have good traction on the rubbery workout mats and I can grab onto the flat bench with both hands. It gives me leverage so I am able to pump my hips up and down hard and fast, impaling myself on Kellan’s beautiful erection. He stays hard without finishing, allowing me to ride him; I have no idea how.
I’m sweating my ass off. My whole body is covered in perspiration. Rivulets trickle down my shoulders to my elbows and drip on the floor, where small puddles are forming. Sweat drips from the tip of my nose onto Kellan’s perfect abs.
We’re both completely lost in the lovemaking.
Kellan explodes inside me at last. Sometime during “Classic Girl”.
I feel him ejaculating, his penis flexing and pumping, the heat spreading inside me, and the sound of his moaning and gasping as he comes so hard he can’t breathe. This puts me over the top at once and I’m coming again with him.
I collapse on top of him, both of us slick with perspiration and breathing heavily. Kellan does his best to enfold me in his arms, but I can tell he’s exhausted because his arms slip off of me several times.
It’s some of the best, most powerful, sweaty, soul-searing lovemaking of my life.
EVERY DAY, WE eat, sleep, breathe, poop, pee, and in every way LIVE our training.
Kellan doesn’t schedule any guest appearances. He stays home with me and we train together.
“The couple that trains together, stays together,” he says.
A couple of weeks later, a local morning TV talk show invites us to be guests.
We agree. Somewhat reluctantly. But Kellan says we’ve got a movie to sell. So we go.
It is exciting, being on television for the first time. It’s not exciting getting up at 3:30 a.m. to be at the studio by 5:00 for hair and makeup in order to go on the air at 6:00.
But we each drink an entire stevia-sweetened energy drink from Whole Foods in the car on the way there and by the time we arrive I feel almost normal. I wear a baggy black sweater and loose black slacks and heels so no one can discern my figure. Kellan says I should stay covered up.
We’re there to promote the movie, of course. We discuss the movie and my role and how I’m going up against Calista Roth, who they both adore. The hosts are both very nice and don’t pull any weird television bullshit.
Until we start talking about pot.
I’m not even sure how it comes up, but the next thing I know, they’re asking me about it, what I think of marijuana, medical marijuana, recreational marijuana, and if I have ever used it.
I have about two seconds to conjure an answer out my butthole because we’re on live television. I stall for an additional two seconds by taking a sip of water from my assigned coffee mug sitting on the coffee table in front of me.
Should I condemn it as drug use outright?
Will it jeopardize my chances of getting the role if I don’t? Look what happened to Michael Phelps when the pic of him hitting a bong surfaced. He lost a bunch of endorsements and was dragged through the mud. And he already had about a gazillion gold medals for swimming in Beijing.
I’m a tiny little nobody. If I piss off the powers that be, that’s what I’ll remain. Calista will get the role because she condemned weed, even if she went home and called Snoop Dogg and he came over and they toked a fat spliff, whatever the heck that means.
But if I lie, I won’t be true to myself. I then run the risk of changing my beliefs. Like Phoebe. Should I change my beliefs?
I decide to be honest. “Well, it’s an individual choice. This is a free country, right? If you want to have an honest and mature conversation about pot, I would say it’s probably no worse than alcohol. A lot of people say pot is a gateway drug, but so is alcohol. Alcohol lowers inhibitions. That’s why it’s called Liquid Courage. Think of all the stupid stuff people do when they’re drunk. Plus, consider domestic violence: how many people get drunk and hit their spouse? But how many people get high and hit their spouse? Probably none. You get high and all you want to do is make love to your spouse. I know I do.” I gaze fondly up at Kellan. He smiles back at me but I also see concern and amusement in his eyes.
“Does that mean you smoke?” the self-serving cockmongering slutwhore female TV show host asks. I’ve caught her eyeballing Kellan the whole seven minutes we’ve been sitting here. I thought it was nothing, but with that question, I can tell she’s an opportunist.
But I am the one who pretty much just told the world I’m a stoner.
Oops.
I decide to be casual-but-honest. “On occasion. Not a lot. All things in moderation. That includes pot, beer, wine, alcohol… But honestly, Kellan and I are so busy training and running our businesses and we’re so focused on our goals and especially our nutrition, which is crucial. So pot, wine, beer, et cetera, don’t fit into the plan. Beer and wine dehydrate you and act as sugar in the body, which increases insulin and decreases leptin, which inhibits fat burning. And pot, while non-alcoholic, can impact the lungs, the brain, the hormones. Plus if you get the munchies while you’re training, it’s easy to go completely off your nutrition plan. I don’t have anything against any of those things. We’ve all had those nights when we drank or smoked or ate a little too much. I’ve enjoyed those things in the past and perhaps one day I will again but for now we do our best to keep it clean.”
I hope I end on a positive note.
The segment wraps up and we’re thanked profusely by everyone and we eventually get out of there so we can go home and train.
All that day, the internet and social media are blowing up over our TV appearance. Sheila says I did well and fuck those people for bringing up weed and trying to trap me the way they did. But she says I downplayed it while being honest, and I came off as real and credible. Everyone likes that.
My first real television appearance is a success.
Chapter 3
THAT SATURDAY, WE attend a local fit expo. Kellan hasn’t been doing any appearances, but this one is only thirty minutes from home, down at the California State Exposition Center. It’s a good opportunity to sell some supplements and do a meet-and-greet because we have a movie to sell. So we go.
On Friday, I grudgingly, reluctantly, uncertainly and with great trepidation inform my family and friends that we’re going to have a booth at the expo and that Kellan is guest posing and they should come check it out.
A few people I used to work with show up late Saturday morning, including Nancy, my former boss. She acts a little crazy when she lays eyes on Kellan, as it’s been awhile since they’ve seen one another. The last time was at the Turtle, the night we sang karaoke and I drank too much Jagermeister and projectile vomited in the parking lot.
Ah, good times.
Similar to our television appearance, Kellan has me wear baggy sweats and an oversized hooded sweatshirt so no one can see how much weight I’ve lost. And I wear my hair down to hide my face and neck. Part of me wants to wear a g-string and pasties and fuck-me shoes, so I can prove to everyone how good I look. But Kellan convinces me to stay covered up just a bit longer, and that it will be worth it in the end.
It works, because everyone ignores me and goes ape over Kellan, who is wearing black cargo pants and a little red tank top, what bodybuilders call a stringer.
I find myself staring at his nipples. I want to take off this stupid sweatshirt, which is really warm, by the way, and rub my nipple on Kellan’s nipple. First one and then the other.
Claire, focus.
Nancy is asking me if it’s okay to squeeze Kellan’s bicep.
I say sure.
She asks if she can feel his pecs.
I say sure.
She asks if she can see his abs.
I say sure, but I’m almost ready to kick her in
the vagina.
Kellan lifts up the front of his shirt and flexes his abs.
Nancy gawks and guffaws and bites her bottom lip. I swear she has a tiny orgasm. “I’m on a diet as of now,” says Nancy.
“Here.” Like magic, Kellan whips out his card. “I do personal training through Skype. Call me.”
“Can you make me look like Claire?” Nancy asks.
“Absolutely.”
Nancy titters and says goodbye. “He’s a keeper,” she whispers as she hugs me prior to leaving.
Her compliment makes me feel bad about wanting to kick her in the vagina. A tiny bit.
MONDAY AFTERNOON, KELLAN and I are in the kitchen having lunch after my noon-time cardio. I’m slowly pickling in my uber-gross sweaty sports bra and tights because I’m sick of taking showers and sick of doing laundry. I can work out three times a day but do I really want to bathe and change three times a day? As long as Kellan doesn’t try to go down on me I’ll be fine. Kellan is reading his copy of Half-Blood Prince and I’m tinkering on my laptop. Kellan removed the book’s slipcover so it wouldn’t be damaged while he reads; I love that; I do the same with my books; I cherish them. I’m wondering if Kellan has any idea yet who the half-blood prince is.
There is a knock at the door.
Kellan opens the door, revealing a uniformed delivery man holding a gift basket. He hands it to Kellan and departs.
“It’s addressed to you.”
“Me?”
Kellan sets the basket on the kitchen island. The same island we made love on that one night before our Maui trip… The night I pretty much almost passed out from all the sex.
I read the little card attached. “It’s from Roger Nemeth.”
“Really?”
“You know him?”
“Not really. But he’s probably Hollywood’s biggest comedic actor right now. As well as being a notorious stoner and a very outspoken marijuana legalization activist. He has a Ph.D. in biochemistry and did his dissertation on the biochemical differences between how the brain and body are affected by weed, alcohol, nicotine, caffeine, sugar, and heroin.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I read an article about him in Wired a couple years ago. And I met him once at a party at Rami’s house.”
“Wow.” Once again I’m amazed and dwarfed by Kellan’s past.
“What’s the card say?”
I read it aloud. “ ‘Dear Claire, loved your morning show segment. Fuck those people for setting you up with that cheap-shot about cannabis. Pot is here to stay. Say high,’—‘high’ is in quotes—‘to Kellan. Hope to see you both soon. Love, Roger and Hera.’ Who’s Hera?”
“Hera Hawkins. She’s his wife. Remember, she was in Stinkyleaf with him? I think they actually met on that shoot. What’s in the basket?”
The basket is wrapped in thick green cellophane. I can’t quite see inside. I untie the twisty thing at the top and open it like a big green flower. Inside are six glass jars about three inches tall, each containing what can only be marijuana. There is also a glass bong, a tiny little bag of screens, and a bunch of candy bars and cookies and other treats, all of them edibles containing THC. The smell is unreal, like a marijuana forest. There’s also a black tee shirt with a big green pot leaf on the front. Taped to the front of it is a micro SD card.
“Holy crap,” says Kellan.
“Yeah. No kidding.”
“Look at all this.” Kellan inspects each of the jars. They’re labeled, each with a different type of pot. “O.G. Kush, Bubblegum, Blueberry… those would be Indicas, which do what?”
“Put you in da couch.”
“Very good. And these…” Kellan examines each of the other three jars, “Northern Lights, Juicy Fruit, and Amnesia Haze. Smoked that in Amsterdam once. These three are all Sativas. Wow. This is quite an assortment.”
“How much do you think all this stuff cost?”
“I don’t know. Five hundred bucks, maybe.”
“What about this?” I hold up the little micro-SD card. “What do you suppose is on it?”
“Let’s see.” Kellan removes the memory card from his phone and inserts the new one. He scans through the list of files. “Wow.”
“What’s on it?”
“Movies. Lots and lots of movies. Stinkyleaf… Pineapple Express… Twenty-five-twenty-five… Bongrip… How High… Cheech and Chong… Dude Where’s My Car?... Fast Times at Ridgemont High… It looks like pretty much every stoner movie ever made. It even has Meatballs, Stripes, Ghostbusters, What About Bob, Steve Zisou, Zombieland, and Lost in Translation. I guess he’s a Bill Murray fan. Wow.”
Both of our phones ping. We each receive an alert that we’ve been tagged in an Instagram photo. It’s a picture posted by Roger Nemeth. He and Hera are standing in their kitchen wearing Ritual de lo Habitual tee shirts. Black ones with the cover art, just like mine. They’re pointing at the clock on the microwave, which reads 4:20.
Kellan and I laugh.
I remove the black tee shirt Roger and Hera sent and put it on, and Kellan and I stand in front of the microwave in our kitchen. Kellan positions the basket on the counter behind us, so they’ll be able to see it. We each hold one of the THC candy bars; Kellan holds a Buddafinga and I hold up a KeefKat. They smell good, like chocolate and weed. I start to salivate. We point to the microwave. It says 1:17. It’s not exciting but at least they’ll see what time we received it.
Kellan takes a couple selfies and we pick the best one and post it for them.
It starts getting likes and comments almost immediately, including from Roger and Hera.
“Cool,” says Kellan, “they saw it.”
“Can you send pot through the mail?”
“No. Why?”
“How did this stuff get here?”
“That’s a good question. I think Roger and Hera must’ve gone out and bought all this stuff, including the micro-SD card, copied all those movies onto it, packed the basket, and then paid that poor bastard to drive six hours up here, drop it off, and turn around and drive six hours back to L.A.”
“He drove up here all the way from L.A.?”
“I guess. His shirt had a dispensary logo on it.”
There’s a knock on the door.
Kellan goes to the door. He opens it.
The delivery guy is back. “Um, I’m sorry to bother you. But Roger wanted me to take a pic of you with the basket, just to make sure you got it okay and I didn’t steal it or anything, and I forgot.”
“Oh, okay. Did you drive up here from L.A.?” Kellan asks.
“Yes.”
“You want to come in and rest for a little while before you drive back?”
“Yes, please. Desperately.”
Kellan escorts the guy in. He looks like he’s about twenty-five. His name is Tanner.
Kellan gets him one of our favorite energy drinks out of the fridge. Tanner drinks half of it. “Oh man, that hits the spot.” He quickly takes a pic of us and texts it to Roger.
Kellan heats up a ready-meal and we all sit at the kitchen island while Tanner slowly eats and rests.
“That’s a pretty sweet basket,” Tanner says.
“I’ll say,” I agree. “Do you know Roger?”
“Um, a little. He comes into our shop a lot. Pretty much every week. I’ve been to his house a couple times for barbecues and stuff.”
We chat a bit more and Tanner finally says he has to get going or it’ll take forever to get home.
Kellan gives him two additional ready-meals, some plastic cutlery to eat with, a box of Kellan’s very own brand of Signature Protein bars, and another energy drink.
Tanner is very grateful. We all take a bunch of selfies together and he leaves.
Kellan takes all the edibles and puts them inside a giant gallon-sized Ziploc freezer bag, then puts that bag inside of another bag, and shoves it way in the back of the refrigerator, out of sight.
> I ask if it’s so we won’t get busted with weed.
He says it’s so we won’t eat them all in three days and blow our diet and be high from now until the Fourth of July.
Chapter 4
THE NEXT DAY, I suck it up and go visit my parents. My dad is playing golf, so it’s just my mom at home. Her icy reception at the front door is icier than usual. Something’s up. I brace myself for the inevitable onslaught. Will it be my weight, my hair, my fiancée, or a full-frontal assault on my very existence?
“I understand you’re using drugs now,” she says, stating it outright. The front door hasn’t swung fully shut behind me yet. At least she doesn’t waste time.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for your father to learn that his little girl is a drug addict from our friends at church yesterday? Me, I can take it. I’ve learned to expect this sort of… behavior from you. But your father, God bless him, likes his blissful ignorance. Claire, this is not acceptable. I won’t have it. Don’t you see? He’s got you taking drugs now. Claire, you have to leave him. He’s leading you down a dark path.”
“Okay, you’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you get smart with me, young lady. My friends Judy and Esther both saw you on television dressed like a whore and going on and on about”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“marijuana.”
“Okay, first, don’t call me a whore. I’m your daughter and I demand respect. Second, I absolutely was not dressed like a whore. I was wearing a loose black sweater that was not low-cut, and some black pants. I was actually quite conservative. You should’ve seen the cleavage on the woman interviewing us. Which brings me to point number three: they brought up marijuana. I have no idea why. I had to answer the question so I did my best to provide a cogent but honest response. What would you have done? Lied through your teeth?”
“My daughter… admitting that she’s a drug addict on national television. How will we ever be able to show our faces in church again? We’re going to have to find a new church, Claire. Do you realize what you’ve done?”
