The Reality O

by Candy Sloane

  It was clear that all the contestants fit a type. This guy screamed young mobster wannabe on the Jersey Shore.

  “Okay we’re rolling, let’s begin,” Garrett said, motioning to the contestants.

  “How about I start by pretending he’s not here,” I whispered to Allie, flicking my chin in The Situation, Jr.’s direction.

  “Looks like we’ve got our first elimination,” Allie yelled, standing up and pointing.

  I hadn’t meant for anyone else to hear, but maybe it was for the best. I wouldn’t have to try to figure out how he’d get all those inches inside me while he told me why I should let him even attempt to.

  “No nookie for you,” Allie yelled.

  The Situation, Jr. pointed a “Who me?” at his insanely chiseled and tanned chest.

  My mind reeled. This was actually happening. I would be having sex with one of the people standing in front of me in the next twelve days. If they could “perform,” they would win ten thousand dollars. They suddenly seemed as much like vultures as the cameras did.

  Two guys from the crew escorted him away. They practically slipped trying to grab onto his greased-up arms.

  “You couldn’t handle me anyway, bookworm,” he yelled with a heavy New York accent.

  He was right, I probably couldn’t.

  I didn’t think a fiending crack whore could.

  I covered my mouth and whispered to Scott still standing behind us, “Is that what they are calling me, bookworm?”

  Had I truly been awarded the nickname bullies used when they stuffed nerds into lockers?

  “Not officially,” he replied, “they just know you’re a librarian.”

  Given they also understood I’d never had an orgasm via sex with another human being meant they knew me better than most of the people I’d been on a first date with.

  “I tried to get them to call you V instead, but that hasn’t really taken off.”

  “For virgin, you mean,” I sighed.

  “Or vamp, vixen, va-va voom…”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Line up,” Garrett yelled, glaring at me, but directing his voice at the remaining contestants. The little red lights on the cameras blinked, indicating that we were still rolling.

  I was starting to feel a little blurry from the vodka. “How am I supposed to remember all their names?” I whispered to Allie.

  “Just try to identify one defining characteristic. Like how they are calling you bookworm.”

  Crap. I guess that was going to stick.

  “Worry about names when you get down to the final five.” She paused, a smile cutting across her face, “or when you have to yell one of them out in ecstasy.”

  “Shut up, Allie.”

  “I mean, unless you’re an Oh God girl.” Allie only shut up when she wanted to.

  My skin started to crawl. Luckily, that was just an expression and, as far as the cameras were concerned, there were no muscles or bones showing, even though inside every molecule of me expelled unease.

  Scott came close to my ear. “They’ll have their names listed underneath for the viewers, anyway.”

  I forced myself to smile for the cameras, but that meant he’d probably heard everything Allie had said. Maybe he was wondering what kind of girl I was, or would be when the time and I finally came? I didn’t even know yet.

  First up to the stage was a frat boy type with wavy brown hair and blue eyes. His devious, boyish smile could do as much damage as a roofie. I decided to call him Kappa.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, taking my hand.

  “Hellloooo yourself,” Allie said.

  “Hi,” I replied, trying to measure my heartbeat, to stop my hands from shaking. I know Scott said to pretend the cameras weren’t there, but they were all I could think about.

  Kappa looked me up and down. “You’ve got great legs, so I think I’d try the cowgirl on you.”

  I reddened, above and beyond the blush from the two shots of vodka. His hand was steady, but mine was still trembling.

  “You mean you on top?” Allie sighed. “She’s not a virgin. She’s just never had an orgasm. Next!” She waved him away.

  He shrugged and stepped off the stage.

  “I thought he was cute,” I whispered.

  “So keep him.” She sipped on her drink. “I just think you need more than some guy to act like a pogo stick under you.”

  She was probably right. I’d had more than my fair share of stick rides and look where that had gotten me—a fucking TV show.

  “Water, deep breaths,” Scott whispered.

  I reached for where he’d stashed it under my chair and took a long drink. I didn’t find his reminders annoying, they were sweet. He actually seemed to care about how I was feeling, unlike Garrett who just waved on the next contestant.

  It was a girl with dark brown hair as straight and thin as grass. Instead of saying anything she stuck out her long taffy-pink tongue to reveal a silver ball stud in the center.

  She let me take that in for a soundless moment before walking off the stage.

  “I’d keep the Tongue,” Allie whispered, “just in case.”

  I glared at her, but it seemed like an apt nickname, anyway.

  Behind Tongue was Tattoo, a rocker with spiky gelled platinum hair and colorful tattoos snaking all over the top half of his body, the bottom half of him was poured into leather pants.

  He stood above me, forcing my gaze at his navel. It was flat with just the right amount of hair directing my eyes down.

  “I don’t think the position has been your problem,” he said, flicking his chin over at Kappa. His voice was as slick as the gel in his hair. “It’s just that you’ve never let someone find your G-spot. I’m an explorer, baby,” he added, running his finger down along my cheek.

  His hands were calloused. Good for a guitar, bad for soft cheeks, but maybe good for other soft areas?

  “He can be my Columbus anytime.” Allie whistled as he walked away.

  I turned to look at Garrett thinking he might suggest a break. I was sweaty, jumpy, and exhausted already, but he kept waving the contestants on.

  I took another long drink of water. That bottle and knowing Scott was standing behind me were the only things anchoring me to the stage.

  Next up was a bare-chested hottie in camouflage shorts with dog tags around his neck. I decided to call him Private.

  He fell down into a push-up. “All day long I have a sergeant telling me what to do.” He grunted over the piston-like precision of his upper-body. “I’m thinking maybe you just need someone telling you what to do.”

  He leaped up, saluted, and yelled in soldier-speak, “Time to come.”

  Allie snorted.

  I couldn’t even respond. It was like my airway had been blocked. But maybe he was right. I’d hated getting the calls and texts, but I couldn’t deny that having a guy talk to me that way was something I felt right in the double fabric part of my panties. Private’s forceful voice, his order to come, was a shot that hit me like a lightning bolt.

  I refrained from saluting back, but managed to nod.

  Private marched away to reveal a guy in a tight white T-shirt that fit the lines of his muscles flawlessly, jeans, and a cowboy hat. His baby browns reminded me of the kind eyes of a horse.

  “I make my living on the rodeo circuit,” he announced with a syrupy Southern drawl. “There’s no doubt I can tame a filly like you into feeling pleasure.”

  “Nice accent,” Allie said.

  “I like your eyes,” I succeeded in spitting out.

  He tipped his hat, “I can make you like a lot more than that.”

  Once again, I had no response. My lungs ached as I stared at him. I wished this reality show had a script.

  “Cut,” Garrett yelled.

  I took another drink of water and breathed out, thankful for the break, until I realized it wasn’t a break at all.

  He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily. “Chris
tine, this show is about you and, so far, Allie’s got all the best lines.” His forehead was shiny under the lights.

  “Sorry,” I looked down.

  Allie beamed. “I’ve also already had an orgasm.”

  I glared at her and left my Shut up Allie internal.

  “I thought we talked about you being more sexual. I mean, you’re the star.”

  The star. My stomach lurched.

  Allie adjusted her breasts, pushing them up so her cleavage was even more prominent. It made me wonder if the laced-up character they were trying to highlight had been my real problem all along.

  It wasn’t the guys I had been with, it was me—reserved, unsexual me.

  “Maybe I should talk to her for a second,” Scott said.

  “Make it quick,” Garrett acquiesced, flicking his hand absently.

  Scott pulled me offstage—away from the camera, away from everything but his beautiful blue eyes.

  “I’m terrible at this,” I said, my lip trembling.

  “No.” He touched my shoulder. His hand was firm, warm. “You’re just nervous.”

  I nodded, even though I was starting to realize it had nothing to do with the cameras. I was always nervous around guys, scared to let myself go.

  “Don’t listen to Garrett. You don’t have to try to be more sexual. You are sexual. You are sexy. You are a woman who knows what she wants, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

  I tried to focus on his words, but all I could do was stare at his lips. If I were really a woman who knew what she wanted I would have kissed him—kissed those delicious waiting lips.

  “Let’s practice,” he said.

  “What?” I exclaimed, thinking he could hear my thoughts. I glanced around for cameras. We were alone.

  “I’ll pretend to be a Gasm and you respond.”

  He couldn’t hear my thoughts, he was just being nice. “Oh.”

  “What, you think I can’t act like a Gasm?” He wrapped his fingers around the fabric of my sleeve and tugged.

  Damn, he could do more than act like one. I wished he was one.

  “What’s your nickname?”

  “Director,” he said, leaning toward me.

  “Action,” I flirted.

  “I’ve been watching you,” his lips moved expertly around each word, “aimed on you. Wishing I could tell you how to touch me. Wishing I could tell you how to touch yourself.”

  My pulse throbbed, all the moisture in my mouth flowed down into my panties. I ran my pointer finger along my lips. Were his words real, or was he acting? All I knew was they made me want to act and not in a pretend way. I wanted to jump him right then and there.

  He swung his mouth to my ear. “I can’t stop watching you, wanting you.” His breath was as hot and sweet as tropical air.

  “You like what you see?” I closed my eyes, hoping he would take my subtle hint and slick his lips against mine.

  “Of course, but I want to see more. I want to see everything.”

  “Direct me,” I said, my eyes still closed, completely exposed and aching for him. Where were his lips?

  “See.” A formal tone to his voice stirred me from my fantasy. It sounded like he was miles away. I opened my eyes, and he had already stepped back. His demeanor completely changed, morphed into Production Assistant Scott. “Just be who you already are.”

  I stood speechless as he headed back onstage. What the hell was all that?

  When Scott was the one doing the asking, I had all the right responses. When Scott was doing the talking, I felt like all the things he believed I was. But had he really meant what he’d said?

  I had just enough time to get settled back in my chair and take another shot of vodka before they started rolling again. A guy in a fire hat, a stunning bare chest, and shorts held up with suspenders stood in front of me.

  “Usually I put out fires,” he said, biting his lip. “For you, I’m just going to let you burn.”

  “You look like you’d be good with a hose,” I said.

  I tried to picture just the two of us alone upstairs in my enormous bedroom together. It wasn’t hard. He was gorgeous, buff like he’d stepped right out of a calendar.

  “That’s not all I’m good with,” he replied.

  “Better,” Garrett said.

  Allie made the so-so sign.

  I agreed. I might have been more sexual, but it was completely obvious banter. Maybe that was good enough for network TV. Clearly, the deep, warm, wet part of me had only been revealed by Scott.

  After Hose was a guy with a police badge pinned to his blue shorts and a pair of handcuffs hanging off his finger. He twirled them like a stripper as he spoke. “It’s time for you to get punished like the bad girl you are.”

  “Lock me up and throw away the key,” I replied.

  “All night long.” He fingered my chin and slid his dark eyes over me as he walked away.

  After Cuffs was a buxom redhead. Before I could say anything, she moved her hands to the back of her neck and undid her bikini top, flashing me. “These can be all yours.”

  “Nice,” I managed to say, deciding I’d call her Tits. Truthfully, I did want her breasts. I just wanted them on my chest, not in my mouth or in my hands.

  “Those are totally fake,” Allie said, rolling her eyes.

  Maybe I could use my fifty thousand dollars for a set like that. Then I wouldn’t have to act sexy, I could just be sexy. Like Allie, her body doing all of her talking for her.

  Scott leaned in, whispered, “You’re almost finished.”

  His voice cut through me like a hot knife, melting my center instantly. I wanted to reply, I need your hot breath in my ear to make me finish.

  Was I only reacting to him like I was because I couldn’t have him anyway?

  Next was a guy in neon board shorts and a puka necklace with a tan that rivaled a Hawaiian Tropic advertisement.

  “I’m gonna ride you like a wave, baby.” He writhed his hips for a moment and stumbled back, catching himself before he fell off the stage.

  “Watch out for sharks,” I said, showing my teeth.

  “Never trust a guy in a shell necklace,” Allie said.

  Considering he looked stoned, it was probably good advice.

  After Surfer was a guy in scrub pants with a stethoscope hanging over his sculpted chest.

  “I know more about the human body than anyone here.” He got up close to me so I could see his bright green eyes before he added, “I’m ready to use my PhD to make you scream.”

  “The doctor is in,” I said.

  “My pants,” Allie added.

  I was finally drunk enough to laugh.

  After MD was a guy in shiny boxing shorts. “I’m a fighter, baby, and I’m ready to knock you out. I can go ten rounds and then some.”

  “Ring a ding, ding,” I replied, my words wobbly with vodka.

  Behind Rocky was a girl in a black studded motorcycle jacket. “Screw all these guys,” she said, pointing with her thumb behind her. “Only a woman knows what a woman needs.”

  “Forget triple X, give me double X,” I said.

  Wheels looked at me, puzzled.

  “Chromosomes,” I mumbled.

  “Science is not sexy,” Allie said.

  But I was pretty sure I heard Scott laugh.

  Next was another girl dressed up like a cheerleader, pompoms and all.

  Before we could interact, Allie stood up. “No, just no.” She shooed her away.

  I was thankful she’d kept me from having to make a C-O-M-E what does that spell joke.

  Professor was next. He wore glasses and a bathing suit with open books all over it like the pages were wings. “I make a study of everything I do. Your body will be my ultimate project.”

  “Do you like books?” I couldn’t help asking. Maybe they’d let him keep his collection. He was the first contestant with whom I might be able to connect in a real way.

  “I like you,” he said, not understanding or not caring abou
t that kind of a connection.

  Last up was the guy in the suit. He was tall and built under the fabric. “I run a company all day long, but when nighttime comes I’m going to run you.”

  “Hire me,” I said. I noted as CEO walked away that he had a pretty nice ass.

  “Cut,” Garrett yelled, flashing me a thumbs up.

  I guess I was finally playing my part. Too bad I felt nauseous and it wasn’t from the vodka.

  “It’s like we’re at a Village People convention,” I whispered to Allie as I looked over the contestants.

  She laughed. “We’re still missing the Native American.”

  Clearly, wardrobe had dressed everyone. Maybe they had even been told what to say.

  But would they be able to be instructed into giving me an orgasm?

  Would I finally be able to have one?

  When taping was done for the night and with eight condoms given to Tattoo, Private, Cuffs, Cowboy, MD, Kappa, Hose, and Professor, and two dental dams given to Tongue and Wheels, I went upstairs, alone.

  Allie stayed behind to drink and party with everyone who’d made it into the next round.

  “I’ll get to know them for you,” she’d said.

  Garrett gave me a look as I headed upstairs, but once my contracted time in front of the camera was done he couldn’t force me to stay.

  I didn’t want to.

  Not that it was any of the contestants’ fault. They all seemed like perfectly nice people, and they were all insanely good-looking. I knew it was Garrett’s production team that had turned them into two-dimensional sexual clichés.

  I closed my bedroom door behind me and looked down at my knee-highs and plaid skirt, taking what felt like my hundredth deep breath that day. They weren’t the only ones living up to their costumes. I might not be able to read while I was in the mansion, but I would always choose being alone in my room over being at a party.

  I leaned against my bed as I slipped off one Mary Jane platform heel, then the other. There was a knock at my door.

  “You can have whichever one you want, Allie,” I yelled.

  “It’s Scott.”

  Scott?

  My beating heart practically popped open the buttons of my shirt. I smoothed it down, ran my hands through my hair and walked across the room. As I turned the doorknob I suddenly felt silly.