The Reality O

by Candy Sloane

  “Double orgasm?” Allie asked, sliding her sunglasses down her nose.

  “Shut up, Allie,” I hissed.

  “No, that’s funny.” He glanced at Allie’s fitted, hot pink sundress. “Keep it up. That’s exactly the kind of humor we’d love to see on-camera.”

  I heard the crew mumble their agreement.

  “Why don’t we just worry about the twelve episodes for now,” I said, attempting to cool my face and neck, they were scorching, hotter than any sunburn.

  Everyone but Allie seemed to have forgotten why we were here: to get me an orgasm, on film. Not literally on film. It was network TV, but yeah, The Orgasm Virgin—oh yes that’s what they decided to call it— was basically a reality show about getting me laid well.

  “Fair enough. It’s just that based on some of the notes from your trip over here,” he eyed the production team, “I’m going to need you to be a lot more sexual. Take your usual level and increase it by a hundred percent.”

  Super, so instead of being a one in the sexy department I’d need to raise that to a two.

  “Nod if you understand,” Garrett declared when I didn’t respond.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “And if not, I’ll be here to help,” Allie added.

  A crew member ran up with two wooden boxes and placed them on the ground in front of us.

  “We’ll need your cell phones, iPads, iPods, Kindles, newspapers, magazines, books—anything that might distract you,” Garrett said.

  “Books?” I clutched the handle of my suitcase. My books were the one thing I counted on having as solace here. I’d packed quite a few of them, along with loading my Kindle.

  Books were my escape, my comfort, my religion. What the hell was I supposed to do without them?

  “We wouldn’t want you hiding in your room reading all day, now would we?”

  Yes, please, that actually sounded like heaven.

  Garrett waited, crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Allie opened her suitcase and started unloading electronics. I sighed and followed, stacking books, my phone, my Kindle.

  The crew carried the boxes away. I was wordless, stripped bare. It wasn’t at all the naked I’d been prepared for.

  “Once you get settled,” Garrett said, shielding his hazel eyes from the sun, “We’ll film your first meeting with the guys and girls.”

  “Girls?” I asked, still reduced to one word responses. This development did nothing but escalate my unease.

  “Well,” Garrett explained, “since you’ve never had an orgasm, we can’t leave out the possibility that might be the reason.”

  “Holy shit,” Allie said, unable to control her laughter.

  I wasn’t laughing. I was trying not to faint.

  “You can eliminate the girls first if you want,” he cautioned, “but it will make for much more interesting television if you keep at least a few of them around for a while.”

  “I’ll say.” Allie laughed again.

  “Shut up, Allie.” I elbowed her. “I’m not gay.” My words came out like a person who’d just tripped on something. “I mean, I would admit it if I was,” I checked to see if the cameras were on, “but I’m not.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t have sex with a woman, does it?” Garrett asked.

  I heard Allie stifle yet another laugh. At least one of us was getting enough oxygen to her brain.

  “This is MTV,” Garrett continued, “The Real World practically invented twenty-something bisexual experimentation.”

  I guess that meant The Orgasm Virgin was just following tradition. If that was the case I had some very big stripper-heels to fill.

  He gestured for us to follow him inside. We entered an air conditioned foyer with marble floors and a chandelier the size of a small country hanging above our heads. A guy in a red The Orgasm Virgin T-shirt that hugged his muscles effortlessly leaned against a wrought iron spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

  His blond hair was shaggy and bed-headed, his sun bronzed face speckled with stubble. His blue eyes reminded me of a husky’s and were enough to possibly end production of the show completely. If I looked into them long enough, I might just say, that’s a wrap.

  “Are all the contestants as hot as he is?” I blurted. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but if so, this was going to be a lot harder, literally, than I thought.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Allie asked, her eyes radiating her challenge.

  I guess she was taking Garrett’s request for my sexuality adjustment seriously.

  It was now or never. I cleared my throat and strutted toward him, as much as I could strut in flip flops. “Is everyone waiting for me behind door number two as sexy as you are?” I brushed my fingers against his shoulder, lightly. He felt as muscular as he looked.

  His face reddened and he smiled, but he didn’t respond. His eyes, those eyes, traveled from my flip-flops, to my jean skirt, to my black tank top, to the frames of my glasses, to my eyes, my hair, my lips, and down again, slowly, ever so slowly, like I was a blank color-by-number and he was painting me.

  “This is Scott, my production assistant,” Garrett said with a tight expression that clearly also meant off-limits.

  My stomach spun, my skin strained. He wasn’t a contestant. Way to go, Chris.

  “At your service.” Scott bowed, his thick arm at his waist, his hair falling into his eyes. “Let me start showing you to your rooms.”

  “I know one thing he can show me,” Allie whispered.

  I didn’t bother elbowing her, because I agreed. Too bad I had just completely humiliated myself.

  He grabbed our bags without even expelling a grunt and led us up the stairs. The apple of an ass in his jeans might have been the most perfect thing I’d ever seen, aside from his eyes. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it, literally or figuratively.

  “This place is awesome,” Allie said, her voice echoing through the huge mansion. “I could get used to this.”

  “Maybe you should try going viral,” I mumbled.

  “Speaking of,” she said, “I hope this place has as many condoms as it does bedrooms.”

  “Shut up, Allie.” I had a feeling that might become my catchphrase.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who’s going to be having sex with tons of different guys and who knows how many girls.”

  “I don’t have to have sex with all of them,” I whispered, hoping Scott couldn’t hear.

  But maybe I was supposed to. When someone offers you fifty thousand dollars you don’t always read the fine print. I probably should have had a lawyer look over the terms, but it was humiliating enough knowing the whole world was going to be present when I had my first big O. I didn’t think I could bear having to sit across from some balding, paunchy dude as he read my contract with a magnifying glass.

  Of course if I had, he might have told me to demand payment up front. There were only twenty-five thousand dollars in my bank account right now. I’d get the other half after production successfully wrapped. I couldn’t even think about what that really meant.

  “I don’t think sleeping with everyone is a requirement,” Scott said, clearly having heard what I’d hoped to hide, “but you do have to at least act like you want to.”

  “How much vodka do you have?” Allie asked, seriously.

  “Russia would be jealous,” he replied.

  I hoped it was true. I was a librarian with one goal, a mind-blowing orgasm. For once in modern history this story line was not for a porno, but was my life, which meant I’d need all the liquid courage I could get.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, liquid to…well, you know.

  We reached the top of the stairs, and Scott kicked open the first bedroom door. He set down Allie’s luggage. “This one’s yours. It’s miked and there is a little camera in the lamp. You’ll know when it’s on because the red light will be blinking. It uses motion detection.”

  “It’s pointed right at the bed,” Allie smirked
.

  “There’s an identical one next door,” he replied, by not replying.

  “They’re not going to be like actually taping while I’m…” I managed to choke out, my throat was so dry “…doing it, right?”

  “Nothing explicit, but maybe some night vision and sound. People will want to see the man or woman who wins ten thousand dollars,” he explained.

  Ten thousand dollars? Rewind please.

  “They get paid, too?” I asked.

  “Only if one of them…” he started.

  “Delivers,” Allie interrupted with a face-slicing smile.

  Forget turning red, my face was a color that hadn’t even been discovered yet.

  “I mean, you’re cute…” Scott looked down at his sneakers like he hadn’t meant to say that,“…but it’s not really enough to get people to participate in a show like this.”

  “Isn’t that prostitution?” I asked.

  “You’re not paying them,” he said.

  I didn’t have to tell Allie to shut up again because, instead of coming back with a quip, she headed into her room and tossed her bag on the king-size bed. She had come to support me because she was the one who had gotten me into this. But I also knew she was here selfishly. Her career was in television, and you couldn’t buy exposure like this. You could just totally embarrass your best friend into participating in it.

  Of course, I was the one who signed on the dotted line. What did it say about me that I’d put my first chance at ecstasy in the hands of a network best known for making a three-way in a hot tub a rite of passage?

  Scott pulled open the door for the room across the hall. “This one is yours,” he said, setting down my luggage.

  I followed him inside. It had a king-size bed like Allie’s, but also included a sitting room with a red velvet couch and a huge master bath in marble with a whirlpool tub and double shower.

  “You should try to use the space,” Scott said.

  Allie laughed from my doorway, craning her neck to take it all in. I understood her amusement. This was ridiculous. Use the space only meant one thing.

  “Why don’t you go get settled, Allie?” I said, glaring at her.

  She shrugged and walked back across the hall to her room.

  I sat on the edge of my bed with my face in my hands. I felt woozy.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Scott said.

  His words left no doubt he could sense the voice in my head screaming, What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  “I’ve worked on a ton of these shows. Before you know it you won’t even notice the cameras.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve never worked on a show like this,” I replied, glancing up at him through my fingers. His eyes made my chest ache.

  “No.” His nose crinkled. “This is definitely a new one, but isn’t every reality show about blowing your load, eventually?” He smiled. His teeth were as white as his eyes were blue and just as arresting.

  I laughed. My first true laugh since all this started. “Do you think I’m gross for doing this?”

  He watched me for a moment, the air between us seemed to thicken, turn sticky.

  I slipped off one flip-flop and scratched at the back of my calf with my foot. My whole body was itchy. I was clearly allergic to attention. This did not bode well for the whole camera thing.

  “I think it’s pretty damn sexy, actually,” he said finally, his eyes resting on my chest, where the word “ORGASM” would have been if I were wearing a shirt identical to his, “but what do I know, I’m just a production assistant.”

  I guess that meant I hadn’t totally humiliated myself. Not yet, anyway.

  “How many shows have you worked on with Garrett?”

  “Too many.” He shook his head. “But he’s promised to do his best to make this one my last. I’m finally getting paid for paying my dues.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” I asked. I couldn’t help it.

  A grin overtook him, like he couldn’t help it either, “No, an executive producer credit on my very own show.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Don’t plan the party just yet. We need to get through your show first.”

  My show. Fuck. All my blood seemed to drain down into my toes.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a truthful answer,” he paused, his eyes studying me, then, as if remembering he shouldn’t be, he knocked on the doorjamb. “Well, if I can do anything to make you actually okay, let me know.”

  The only thing I could think as he left me in the room that would be ground-zero for my first big O was: how can we get you cast in the show?

  Allie and I sat in chairs adorned like golden thrones on a red-carpeted stage. Cameras were fixed on us and on the pool complete with waterfall and slide in the enormous backyard of the mansion. It shone like a sapphire in the dark.

  Eleven guys and four women stood in a line offstage.

  Only ten lucky contestants would still be in the running after this first cut. Garrett had suggested once again that I keep at least one girl, so I didn’t look homophobic and for overall sex appeal, which to me seemed epically homophobic.

  I felt bad about keeping just one. I didn’t want her to be all alone like she was part of a litter of kittens or something, so I’d decided before I’d met any of the contestants to keep two. I could surely find eight guys who were hot enough to hopefully finally be able to rock my world.

  Allie was going to be with me throughout the selection process, even come on some of the dates. When things got hot she would be instructed to leave. It was pretty much exactly like our rule on any night we’d go out to a bar in real life—except this time there would be cameras watching, or rather, recording.

  And I might actually have an orgasm.

  In a basket next to me were condoms to give out to the guys and dental dams to give out to the girls. The basket was enormous. The kind an absent, guilty parent gives their kid at Easter— but filled with candy, not with Trojans. This token was to let them know they had been chosen to stay. Prophylactics in place of the standard rose. MTV wasn’t afraid to put a show about sex on the air, but it needed to be safe sex.

  “Okay,” Garrett said from beside one of the cameras, “each contestant will step onstage and explain to you how they plan to bring you to—”

  “I get it,” I interrupted, holding up my hand. I decided not to mention it was a weird way to meet a person, because, really, what about any of this wasn’t?

  Wardrobe had dressed me in my red glasses, a short plaid schoolgirl skirt, white knee-highs, and a tight button-down shirt. I looked like a sad imitation of Britney Spears from her first video.

  They put Allie in a tight red satin dress, her breasts popped up to her chin.

  “How come they’re showing off your rack?” I asked, pulling on the bottom of my button-down.

  “Your sex appeal is all about being fastened up,” she explained.

  “Maybe they should have put me in a turtleneck and a parka.”

  Behind me, Scott stifled a laugh. I turned to him. An open, friendly smile greeted me.

  “You need some water or something?” he asked, morphing quickly back to PA from amused bystander.

  “Vodka,” I said.

  “And keep them coming,” Garrett added from his perch off-camera.

  Garrett was right about one thing, the vodka definitely needed to keep coming, if I ever had any chance to.

  The contestants already had drinks. It seemed they had been partying for hours. And why wouldn’t they? I wasn’t the only one about to talk about private sexual stuff in front of the whole world.

  I studied the prospective Gasms waiting in line to share their fantasies with me. Some of them wore what appeared to be bathing suits, the rest what I’d describe as casual wear, except for one guy in a three-piece suit.

  I wondered if wardrobe had dressed them, too, or if they were allowed to pick out their own clothes for our
first introduction. My guess was that nothing about this night was put to chance besides how drunk someone might get. And even that was somewhat orchestrated.

  Scott came back with my drink. I swigged it down quickly, and Garrett sent him rushing off for another.

  “I’ll bring you some water, too,” Scott said, touching my shoulder, “remember to try and pretend the cameras aren’t there.”

  I couldn’t tell if Scott was being so nice because it was his job or because… I shook the thought away. It was silly to even think about. He wasn’t a contestant.

  “We’re going to start rolling. You guys need to piss before we start?” Garrett asked.

  Garrett was the King of Class, which I guess made sense considering the show he was producing.

  Ugh, my show.

  “No, let’s get this over with,” I replied. There would be time for peeing later. Peeing and sighing up at the ceiling fan in my huge marble bathroom, grateful to finally be free of cameras.

  Allie touched my wrist, her eyes seemingly asking as much Do you need to use the bathroom? as Should we grab as much vodka as we can carry and get the hell out of here?

  The contestants glanced at us, waiting for their cue. The camera team and production crew were positioned all around us like sentries. We were way beyond getting out of here.

  Scott came back with more vodka. I gulped it down yet again even though it burned my throat and froze my lips.

  “Don’t forget to drink this, too,” he said, his fingers brushing against mine as he handed me a bottle of water. I couldn’t tell if the charge I felt was from his touch or the stage lights flicking on.

  I squinted, my skin seemingly singeing in their artificial light.

  “I don’t know how you do this every day for your job,” I whispered to Allie. I used my hand like a visor to block the sun-hot light.

  She smirked. “Now you see why I can’t get glasses.”

  Sad it took this to make me finally understand. The light coming through each lens was practically burning my retinas, like cruel kids would do with a magnifying glass to ants. At least it basically blinded me, so I didn’t have to see the guy staring at me across the way in a bright aqua banana hammock that was barely big enough for his resting banana.