The Reality O

by Candy Sloane

  “Okay,” Tongue said, leaning back against the side of the boat. “Why did you sign up for this show?”

  My ears perked up. I needed to know why at least one of these contestants was here: for their own fame, the money, or even just being known forever as the one person who could give the orgasm-less an orgasm.

  “Only Chris will find that out,” he said, shooting me a glance, his bangs whispering against one eye.

  “That answer sucks,” Tongue said.

  “It’s the truth,” he replied, sending a wink my way.

  “He’s kind of a douchebag,” Allie whispered, “but he’s hot enough that you might as well let him show you why he’s here.” She leaned in closer to my ear. “When it’s your turn dare him to show you.”

  Considering how hot and bothered I was after Tongue, I was not completely against her suggestion.

  “I’m next,” Cowboy said, clearly wanting a little of the attention for himself. “Dare,” he said to Kappa.

  “Can I give him one?” Allie asked.

  I cringed. Knowing Allie’s dirty mind I was probably better prepared for whatever Kappa might dish out.

  Garrett nodded his approval off-camera.

  A sudden smile popped onto Allie’s face like a boner. “I dare you to give Chris a lap dance.”

  I allowed myself to exhale. It wasn’t the worst she could have done.

  She leaned over and whispered, “You might as well have him show you why he’s here, too.”

  Why not? Why not finish what Tongue had started? My heart was beating with the force of an engine, my thighs were on fire. Maybe Cowboy could take care of that for me.

  I glanced at Scott. His eyes seemed filled with desire and, lost in his gaze, my body followed suit. Why couldn’t he be the one dispensing a lap dance?

  I forced my attention on Cowboy.

  He licked his lips and cocked out his hips. His face was speckled in sun from his straw hat. “I’m going to ride you like a mustang.” There was a satisfied smile on his face. He looked me up and down like a tall glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer day.

  “Can I get some music?” he asked, moving his hands around like a conductor. A techno beat came from the speakers at the back of the boat. He frowned. “You got something a little more me?” He might as well have had a piece of long, dry wheat between his teeth.

  There was a scramble as the crew searched the iPod. Seconds later, “I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby” by Kid Rock blasted out.

  Cowboy’s face and body was all Matthew McConaughey as he ambled over. He took his hat off and laid it on my head. He mounted me at the waist. I was eye-to-ab with his bare stomach: tight, tanned, and toned. The pectoral muscles on the boundary of his beautiful chest had been perfected by years of bailing hay, roping steers, and riding horses bareback.

  He gyrated against me. I think the technical term was dry humping, but there was nothing dry about it. His movements reawakened whatever Tongue’s teasing had begun.

  I melted beneath him, my breathing shallow.

  Allie hooted and clapped on her chaise lounge beside me.

  I couldn’t see what Scott was doing. What anyone else was doing. My singular view was Cowboy’s hard body slithering above me. The smell of grass and sweat came from him, my body responded, rocking against his.

  “You can touch him,” Garrett instructed. “This isn’t a strip club.”

  I slid my hand along his washboard stomach, the muscles tensing below my touch. I went higher, his pecs as hard as armor below my searching fingers.

  He grabbed my hand, covered it in his. “I think we need to take this below deck.”

  “Please,” I said, the word seeping out.

  Could it be that easy? Could Cowboy be my knight in shining latex?

  He led me across the bridge to the stairs, and Garrett motioned for the cameras and crew to follow.

  “Glad I could warm her up for you,” Tongue yelled.

  “Does this mean we can all pair off?” Kappa asked.

  “In your dreams, fratty,” Allie chuckled.

  We headed down the steps and into the lounge area. It was air conditioned with leather seats banked against the back wall, windows against the front.

  The cameras, Garrett, and Scott hung back waiting, watching us.

  Cowboy sat me down, the windows behind him framing sparkling waves. He took a deep breath and mopped his brow, wobbling, seemingly trying to catch his breath.

  Scott came up from behind and poked his shoulder. “You need to cut for a minute, buddy? You’re looking a little green.”

  Cut? I definitely didn’t want to cut, but I couldn’t help wonder if Scott was asking because of Cowboy’s skin tone or because of himself.

  Because this was as close as anyone had been to getting me alone, yet.

  “I’m fine,” Cowboy said, but his lips puckered, trembled in a way that made me wonder. His demeanor had definitely changed the minute we came below deck. He absolutely had a Martian’s skin pallor going.

  “If he says he’s fine, he’s fine. Keep rolling,” Garrett said, twirling his finger in a circle.

  “You better get ready, cause I’m coming for you, filly,” Cowboy said, fighting against the unsteady rock of the boat as he walked toward me.

  “I’m ready to be tamed,” I replied, knowing Garrett would yell at me if I didn’t say something. And hell, this guy was hot. He could tame me. He could do whatever he wanted to me.

  The point of this show wasn’t love, it was sex. Actual copulation and completion from a guy (or girl) having sex with me.

  I might feel a connection to Scott, but he wasn’t why I was here. I was here to get laid, and Cowboy looked like he knew exactly what to do.

  And, even if he didn’t, I was willing to save a horse to find out.

  He moved next to me on the leather couch. His forehead was sweaty. His pupils were dilated. He breathed out, centering himself.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I whispered, touching his thigh.

  “I am now,” he said taking his hat off my head, pushing my hair behind my ears and slipping my glasses off. The tingle of his touch was shockingly cold against my sun-hot skin.

  He leaned in, opened his mouth slightly, and darted for mine.

  I closed my eyes, ready to accept his kiss, accept his tongue, when something wet and warm spewed out and all over me.

  I screamed from the shock and wiped my eyes. When I opened them I saw what looked like water dripping from Cowboy’s mouth.

  Only it wasn’t just water, it was regurgitated water.

  PUKE was all over my face, my chest, and in my hair.

  “Holy shit,” Garrett laughed.

  I sat there stunned, my body solid as stone. I’d never been puked on before and frankly, it was not the liquid eruption I thought I would experience at the hands or um, er, other parts of Cowboy.

  He ran the back of his hand against his mouth. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little seasick.”

  “Oh my God,” I managed to say, puke dripping from my hair and down my chest, snaking down my cleavage.

  For someone used to bucking broncos, apparently Cowboy was not at all prepared for waves.

  “Cut,” Scott finally yelled, running over to me with a towel and putting it around my shoulders. “You okay?” he whispered.

  I managed to nod.

  “We’re not cutting,” Garrett said, “This is gold.”

  “We got the shot,” Scott said, “We got her reaction and his. Let me get her cleaned up at least.”

  “Quickly,” Garrett acquiesced.

  Scott guided me to my feet and led me down the hall toward the bedrooms.

  “I feel better now,” Cowboy yelled to our backs as we walked down the small hallway. “Can we try that again after she changes?” I heard him say, once he assumed we were out of earshot.

  Scott held me up by my waist. My knees were wobbly.

  “We need someone from the yacht crew down here to mop this up,” Garrett yelled a
s Scott closed one of the bedroom doors behind us.

  “Wait here,” he said, leaving me just past the threshold. He rifled through drawers until he found an identical swimsuit to the one now covered in Cowboy-puke.

  “There’s a shower back there,” he said. “You can wash up and change. Then they’ll reapply your makeup.”

  “This is so disgusting,” I said, looking down at my damp swimsuit.

  “At least it makes for an easy elimination later,” Scott said.

  If I were Allie it would have, but I wasn’t. “It’s not his fault he got seasick,” I replied.

  “He could have turned away from you first,” Scott said, handing me an antibacterial wipe, “or used his hat as a bucket. I would have.”

  I rubbed it over my face, my lips, and my hands cleaning the remnants Cowboy had left. Everything stung from astringent but it was better than puke. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead,” I managed lightly.

  He handed me my glasses, and I slipped them on. “At least it was just water,” he said, a smile enveloping his face that could make me forget I was covered in puke. That looked like he had forgotten.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I’m really glad that didn’t happen with Kappa.”

  “I hear you can use beer as conditioner,” Scott joked.

  I brought the towel up to my hair and squeezed, trying to mop up as much as I could. “What about puke?” I joked back.

  Scott looked down like he remembered we shouldn’t be joking at all, that joking like this could most definitely turn into flirting. That it kind of already had.

  “It’s too bad. You guys were so close to kissing.” He shook his head and pushed his lips together.

  “My guess is that puke explosion is going to get a lot more play than our kiss ever would have. I can see the remixes all over YouTube now.”

  Scott laughed and stepped closer to me, turning the feet between us into inches. I guess he’d forgotten we weren’t the two people who were supposed to be about to kiss.

  In that moment I did, too. I felt his laugh in the softest part of my abdomen.

  “How I am doing so far?” I asked, decreasing the space between us even further and wrapping the towel on top of my head like a turban. I didn’t need his answer. I just needed to be near him.

  “I think you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

  “What if I want to do something I’m not supposed to do?” I asked, emboldened by Cowboy’s hands and Tongue’s kiss, by just being alone in a room with Scott.

  “Like what?” His eyes swept over mine, but his body was still.

  It made me wonder if my feelings toward him weren’t one-sided. But it was also possible he just wanted me to hurry up and get in the shower because I smelled like puke.

  “Truth or dare?” I asked.

  His lip twitched. “Truth.”

  “I want to kiss you,” I said, suddenly feeling like I might perform an encore of Cowboy’s performance, except I’d be puking up my heart.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “You’re supposed to ask me a question and I’m supposed to tell the truth.”

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Right now,” he smirked, “the whole you’re-covered-in-puke thing is stopping me, but if we’re talking generally then yes, the truth is, I’ve thought about it…” His left eyebrow rose. “More than thought about it.”

  “Thought about doing more than just kissing me?” I asked, trying to be as sexy as I could with puke dripping down my legs.

  His cheeks were pink. “Are we still playing?”

  “Yes,” I said, stepping even closer, craving nothing but skin between us, “my question had two parts.”

  “How could I not?”

  “So what should we do about all this truth?”

  Scott touched my face, brought his lips so close to mine I could smell suntan lotion and salt on his skin, feel his hot breath fill my pores. “I would love to get into that shower with you right now.” He indicated the bathroom behind me. “To make you squeal and cover your mouth so no one could hear us, but for now we have to lie.”

  My pulse ached against my neck.

  He ran his thumb over my lips, his skin warm and soft and hypnotic. “Our truth is worse than any dare.”

  His simple touch made Tongue and Cowboy seem like eunuchs. “I can lie,” I said, “but we are alone.” I passed my lips along his thumb, slid them down the inside of his palm.

  He gasped. “I could get fired for the way I feel about you, V…” His eyes were on me like I was a piece of chocolate cake and he was on a diet. “What I want to do to you.”

  “Should we stop?” I asked, need gushing through my bloodstream and everywhere else. We were alone, he was calling me V. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. If life were a reality show, a camera would have just zoomed in, waiting for him to knock me over with his kiss.

  “I should,” he said, putting his hands in his back pockets and biting his delicious lip. “But you need to keep going. You need to continue to try to be with one of the Gasms.”

  I nodded. The last thing I wanted was to get Scott in trouble. “Okay,” I managed to say, but I was breathless. The words came out in a croak.

  “You should probably get in the shower,” he said, spinning me around and smacking me on the ass.

  I let out a yelp, startled but yearning to feel the sting of his palm again.

  “I might not be able to join you just yet,” Scott said, his voice thick, “but there’s no rule about who you think of while you’re in there, V.”

  Episode Three: Ball(s) in Your Face

  We were setting up for beach volleyball with all the Gasms. It was almost noon. The sun was high in the sky, the smell of salt and fish and coconut oil in the air. Gulls flew above us, diving into the ocean for a snack.

  I was hungry, too, but there would be time for eating later. I had an elimination that night, and Garrett stressed the importance of spending time with all the contestants before making my decision. Especially since the time I’d spent so far when I wasn’t mandated to be on-camera had been in my room.

  Or in the shower doing some manually induced thinking about Scott.

  Allie wasn’t playing with us. She was sitting under an umbrella rubbing suntan lotion on her shoulders and looking fantastic in a hot pink tank top and board shorts.

  I didn’t have the luxury of lounging. I sucked at volleyball but no one cared. This wasn’t about winning but getting to know the personalities of the Gasms before I had to eliminate another one of them.

  If Garrett cared at all about my personality, he would have known I’d much rather have spent my time at the beach with my nose in a book. Any one of the books he had taken from me. Hell, at this point I would have taken a tattered paperback left behind at a bus station. But even I knew that was bad television—and an even worse way to get to know ten people who were all vying to fuck me.

  Garrett picked the teams. I was with Private, Tattoo, Cuffs, Hose, and Wheels. Professor, Tongue, Cowboy, MD. and Kappa were on the other side of the net. All the Gasms wore bathing suits. I was in a black and white checkered tankini. If I had known this show was going to be so heavy on the swimsuits, I would have definitely hit the gym a few more times before I got here.

  I glanced over at Scott manning the plastic scorekeeper. He stood perpendicular to the net, sunglasses on, acting as referee.

  That was how things literally felt between us, too. The problem was I wanted him in the game, not on the sidelines. I shook the thought away—it didn’t matter. We couldn’t do anything about our feelings until I was done with this nonsense.

  Garrett yelled for us to start playing.

  “Let’s see how you handle your balls, ladies and gentlemen,” Allie hooted.

  It might seem like Allie was hyperbolizing her personality, angling for her own show, but that was just Allie. She was the kind of person who deserved to have a camera following her around. I, on the othe
r hand, was struggling to keep the one following me from falling asleep.

  Scott clapped. “Okay guys, you heard Garrett, start the game.”

  “Should we volley to see who goes first?” Professor asked, shading his eyes from the sun as he turned to Scott.

  “Who serves the volley to see who goes first?” Wheels replied. Even in this heat she still wore her leather jacket.

  “Chris’s team starts,” Scott decided, tossing the ball over to me lightly.

  I actually caught it which, considering my mortifying history in phys ed class, was a miracle. There was a reason I was a librarian and not an Olympic athlete.

  “Speaking of handling balls, I’m dying to see how Chris works a pair,” I heard Cuffs whisper.

  Hose laughed.

  I turned to glare at them and Cuffs’s face blanched. He closed his mouth and eyes tight.

  “Keep talking about me behind my back, and you might never find out.”

  “Burn,” Hose said, laughing even harder, smacking Cuffs on the back.

  I tossed the volleyball over to Private. “Show me what you can do, soldier.”

  He launched it in the air and spiked a serve over the net. Both Cowboy and Kappa dove to hit it, smacking into each other and face planting in the sand.

  The ball fell between them with a thud.

  Cowboy and I never reshot our scene from the day before. He had been too sick. It was clear he was trying to impress me to make up for it. Apparently Kappa just liked impressing anyone he could.

  “One to zero,” Scott yelled.

  “That’s why I stay away from balls,” Tongue said, flicking her chin at Kappa and Cowboy as they spit out sand.

  “All right, unanswered serve,” Private whooped, running over to give me a high five. He was adorable in a sort of Goose-from-Top-Gun way, minus the eighties mustache.

  “I think we should call it when we have the shot,” Kappa said, standing.

  Cowboy followed, shaking the sand out of his hat.

  “I’d suggest only doing that if you actually have it,” Professor retorted.

  “You think you could do better, smarty?” Kappa squinted at him.

  “I know I can.” He picked up the ball and tossed it back over to our side of the net.