by Lauren Rowe
The overhead music cuts off and the lights in the room go dim. Quickly, I flip on the swirling, multicolored lights attached to my portable speaker, press “play” on the song I’ve cued up—“Candy Shop” by 50 Cent—and strike an athletic stance a few feet from the couch.
“Allison Mendocino, you’re under arrest,” I say.
Every woman in the room goes ballistic.
“You have the right to remain silent,” I say, colorful lights skimming over my body. I flash a wicked grin and run my hands over my chest and straight down my torso toward my package. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.“ The women are already squealing with glee. “Or, fuck it, baby, scream your motherfucking head off. It’s just you and me, after all.”
Everyone shrieks with delight.
“Oh my God,” the bachelorette says again, this time putting her hands on her blushing cheeks.
I let my gaze drift across every single enraptured face in the room. “I’m Officer Ball Peen Hammer, beautiful ladies.” My hips have begun gyrating to the beat of the music and a huge smile has spread across my face. “You ready to let loose and have some fun with Officer Hammer tonight?”
Every woman in the room screams her affirmative reply.
“I can’t hear you, ladies!” I bellow.
They scream even louder, throwing up their hands. A blonde on the end of the couch throws a crumpled bill in my direction, bless her heart, and I blow her a kiss.
I stride toward the bachelorette on the couch, the handcuffs attached to my belt jangling, and come to a stop directly over her, my crotch in her face, my body gyrating into her personal space. “You ready to have some fun tonight, sweetheart?”
Allison the Bachelorette makes a face like she’s trying to contain an internal meltdown. She nods.
I take my sunglasses off and, with my eyes locked onto hers, begin grinding my hips to the beat of the sexy song. “You gonna let your hair down for me, Alley Cat?” I coo, touching her hair. “Get a little wild for me?”
Bachelorette Allison sighs loudly.
I touch Allison’s cheek gently, moving my hips exactly the way I do when I’m culling a body-quaking orgasm from deep inside a woman, and she makes a sexual sound. “You want it mild or wild tonight, Allison?” I ask. “What’s your pleasure, sweetheart?”
My entire body is moving without reservation now. I’m in the zone.
“Wild!” the ladies around us shriek in unison.
Another woman throws a bill at me. And then another.
“Mild or wild, Allison? What’s your pleasure?” I ask, pulling the bachelorette up to standing, pressing my body into hers. I grind myself into her crotch, exactly the way I’d do it if she were my woman and I was fucking her nice and slow, and she gasps. “I’ll take it as slow as you need, sweetheart,” I whisper into her ear, my lips grazing her skin. “It’s all about you tonight.”
“Oh my gawd,” the bachelorette breathes, her pelvis moving rhythmically with mine, despite the shy blush in her cheeks. “Wild?” she chokes out.
I run my hands down the bachelorette’s arms and brush my lips against her cheek. “Right answer, baby.” Without warning, I cuff her wrists and the entire room, including the bachelorette, goes batshit crazy.
I pull the bachelorette to an empty chair in the middle of the room, guide her trembling body to sitting, and straddle the chair with her in it, just as the song switches to... “Pony” by Ginuwine.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
I saw that, baby doll—another eye-roll.
You better check yourself before you wreck yourself, sweetheart.
Yeah, okay, I’ve lifted this song straight from Magic Mike, along with over half the dance moves I’m about to do. But so what? I’m not in the wheel-reinvention business. I’m in the bid-nass of giving ladies exactly what they want—and that’s this song coupled with Channing Tatum’s smoove mooves.
I begin moving my hips to the cadence of the song, grinding and thrusting my hips into the bachelorette’s lap, and when I’m sure every woman in the room is clenching her thighs and whimpering, I slide back up to standing, rip my hat off and throw it onto the couch—a move that provokes catcalls and several more bills thrown my way.
When the song reaches its chorus, I begin slowly unbuttoning my shirt, much to the howling delight of the room. With each movement of my fingers down the buttons of my shirt, I stare more and more intensely at the bachelorette, doing my damnedest to make her feel like it’s just her and me in the room.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Allison,” I say, opening my unbuttoned shirt to reveal the chiseled chest and abs I’ve worked my ass off to get. “A very, very bad girl.” A huge smile spreads across my face. “And now it’s time for justice to get served.”
Chapter 6
Keane
Sunday 4:38 p.m.
I summon every last drop of strength in my tired body and grit out one more chest press, grunting as I do.
“You feeling okay, baby doll?” my big, black mountain of a roommate and best friend, Zander, asks as he guides the barbell onto the rack above my head. “My little sister could kick your ass today.”
I sit up on the bench, sweat pouring down my back. “Yeah, well, your little sister could kick my ass every day, so that’s not saying much.”
Zander flashes a huge smile, showcasing straight, white teeth. “True.”
“My ass is dragging from sheer over-use,” I say. “Mel’s party on Thursday night almost killed me, then I did this insane bachelorette party on Friday, and, last night, a pack of cougars tried their mighty best to rip me limb from limb. I’m a slab of pummeled man-meat today, baby doll—a human Fruit Roll-Up.”
“Oh, cry me a river,” Zander says. He begins loading additional weights onto the barbell for his set. “You’ve got the best job in the world, Peenie. You’re not gonna get any sympathy from me.”
“Well, I didn’t say I’m expecting your sympathy, just saying BPH needs a little R&R, that’s all. When we get home, how ’bout you make me some chamomile tea and rub my feet while we watch the game?”
Zander chuckles. “Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that, buttercup.” He swats at my leg with one of his muscled arms. “Get up. I’ve got a client coming in for training at five thirty and we’ve still gotta do battle ropes and sled runs after this.”
“Battle ropes and sled runs? Fuck no. Have mercy on me, drill sergeant.”
“Man at night, man in the morning.”
“Is this how you treat your paying clients when their asses are dragging—or am I getting special asshole-treatment just ’cause I pay you with dimples?” I flash him a broad smile that’s sure to make my dimples pop.
“This is how I treat everyone, tired or not, dimples or not—although, I must admit I smile a bit more enthusiastically when someone’s paying me to kick their ass in actual dollars. Now come on, sweet meat, quit whining and get the fuck off the bench.”
I drag my sorry ass off the bench and Zander takes my spot.
“So,” Zander says, readying his grip on the barbell. “Did BPH break his cardinal rule and bang the bachelorette this weekend?”
“Brah, I’ve told you a hundred times—BPH don’t bang the clients. You know how that shit turned out for me back in my little-dab’ll-doo-ya phase at the beginning. And, anyway, women gettin’ ready to say ‘I do’ are never the ones sniffing around for some side peen—trust me—it’s always the bachelorette’s horny friends who are the sniffers.”
“Really? I woulda guessed at least half the bachelorettes are looking for one last hurrah, especially when they see the legendary Ball Peen Hammer in action.”
“Come on, do your set, Z. I don’t wanna stand here yapping all day about the poontang I’m not tapping. Our couch and that foot rub are calling my name.”
Zander chuckles. “A foot rub’s not gonna happen, P.”
“Oh, I think it will.”
Zander lifts the barbell off the rack and all conv
ersation ceases until he’s completed his set and the barbell has been safely returned to the rack.
“If it were me,” Zander says, sitting up on the bench, sweat dripping down his face, “I’d consider it a point of pride to give a chick her last bang as a free woman, before she’s shackled to one man for eternity.”
“Oh, hey, speaking of being shackled to one man for eternity, Ry has Mariners’ tix for us for Thursday night.”
“Cool. Who are they playing?”
My phone buzzes with a text and I pull it from my pocket.
“Hey, no phone during workouts,” Z says. “You know the rules.”
I ignore him and look at my phone.
“Hi there!” the text says. “This is Maddy Milliken, Hannah’s sister? I sent you a text on Friday. Maybe you didn’t get it? I’m hoping to coordinate with you about our trip. Please give me a call as soon as you can so we can work out the details. Thanks so much!”
I grunt loudly. “I feel like I’ve got amnesia or something.”
“What?”
“This chick’s been texting me and I have no idea who she is.”
“Well, that’s nothing new.”
“No, no, I mean—this one’s different. She’s not, you know, throwing herself at me—she just keeps talking about us taking some trip together.”
“And that’s not throwing herself at you?”
I hand Zander the phone and he reads the message.
“Where does she think you’re gonna take her?” he asks.
“I have no fucking idea.”
“Who’s Hannah?”
“I don’t fucking know—that’s what I’m saying. Dude, did I bump my head recently?”
“Okay, well, text the girl back and say ‘Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you talking about?’”
I twist my mouth, thinking. “It’s just so weird. What am I missing?”
“Was Hannah Milliken that crazy but exceedingly hot chick you hooked up with in the bathroom at Nico’s a couple weeks ago?”
“No, that chick’s name was Lindsey Meineken, I’m pretty sure. Or Merkel? Maybe Meister. Whatever. But she definitely wasn’t a Hannah.”
“Did you ever call her again?”
“Nah. Boring as hell. Like talking to a brick wall.”
Z hands my phone back to me and shrugs. “Hit this girl back and ask her what the fuck she’s talking about and then put your phone the fuck away. No phones during workouts.”
I stuff my phone in my pocket. “Eh, I’ll figure it out later—let’s keep going.” I lie down on the bench and get myself into position. “Okay, Z,” I say, grasping the barbell. “Quit yapping and do the job I pay you in dimples to do. Kick my ass as hard as you kick your badass sister’s.”
Chapter 7
Keane
Monday 1:22 p.m.
My phone rings with an incoming call, but I’m in the middle of deep-fucking a MILF I met at the grocery store earlier today (to Akon’s “Smack That,” of course), so I don’t answer the call. It’s okay, though. No one but my landlord or my mom ever calls me—oh shit, I just thought of my mom while fucking a woman who’s almost twice my age.
Gross.
But kinda hot in a fucked up way.
Chapter 8
Keane
Tuesday 10:04 p.m.
I’m lying on the couch with my beloved wife, watching The Matrix on TV, scarfin’ white-cheddar-flavored popcorn outta bag, drinkin’ beer outta bottle, and getting stoned outta my mind. I don’t smoke all that often, actually, but when I do, I like to get so high I can’t remember how to work the TV remote.
“Keanu is such a badass,” Zander says as Keanu Reeves dodges a bullet in warped time.
“Dude,” I say, shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “Was that shit in slow-mo or am I really, really stoned?”
“That shit was in slo-mo—and you’re really, really stoned.”
“That’s one handsome and happy motherfucker right there,” I say, nodding at the TV and shoving another handful of popcorn into my mouth.
“Yup,” Zander says. “Keanu’s a handsome and happy motherfucker all the livelong day.”
“Yee-boy.”
“Heeeeeey,” Zander says slowly, clearly having some sort of epiphany.
“What?”
“Keeee-aaaah-nuuuuuuuuuuuu,” Zander replies. He looks at me like he’s expecting a response.
“Yeah?”
“Keanu. Keane. Keanu. Keane. There’s only one letter difference.”
“Whoa. Keanu. Keane. You’re totally right, brah.”
“And yet that one little letter makes all the difference,” Zander adds.
“Now see? That’s why I love you so much, Z. You’re a deep thinker and shit.”
“I love you, too,” Z says. “Couldn’t have asked for a better wife.”
“Aw, thanks,” I reply. “But I’m the husband.”
“Naw, we’re both the wife. Hey, you know who should be our sister-wife?” Zander says. He motions to the TV. “Keanu.”
“Oh, yeah. Now that’s an episode of Sister Wives I’d totally watch. He’s one pretty dude.”
Zander hands me the joint and I take a long drag. “Thanks, baby doll.”
“You bet. Okay. Hand it back over here, sweet thing.”
I hand him the joint and he sucks on it.
For a long moment, we stare at the movie again.
“I’d do Keanu if he were a chick,” Zander says. “Or, I guess, if I were a chick. Either way.” He takes a sip of his beer and shoves his big hand into the popcorn bag.
“Fuck it,” I reply, swigging my beer. “I’d do Keanu, as is. No sex-change required.”
“Oh, so you’re bi now? You’re coming out to me right here and now? Cause if so, I support you one hundred percent, baby doll—it doesn’t change a goddamned thing between us.”
“Well, of course, it doesn’t change a goddamned thing between us. Nothing ever could. But, no, I’m not bi—though I kinda wish I were. That’d be so awesome.”
“Why would that be awesome?” Zander asks.
“Unlimited choices, brah.”
“Ah.”
“But, yeah,” I continue, “I’m a pussy-man through and through. Pussy, pussy, pussy for Peenie, all the livelong day.”
“All hail to the Pussy,” Zander agrees.
We clink beer bottles.
“Shit. If I weren’t so stoned right now,” I say, “I woulda just given myself a raging boner with all this pussy-talk. Pussyyyyyyyy.” I sigh happily. “God, how I love me some pussy.”
Zander sighs loudly. “Amen, brother.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming text and my glazed eyes travel slowly to my display screen: “Hey DICKWEED. It’s Maddy Milliken AGAIN. Helloooooooo?!?!?!?! Anyone out there?? Are you getting any of my texts and calls? At this point, you’re either dead—in which case may you rest in peace and I’m sorry for your family’s loss—or you’re the biggest flake the world has ever seen. Keane, I need to know if you still want a ride and, if so, how much space you need for your stuff in my car? I’m not freakin’ Uber, you know. I made a promise and I’m trying to keep it, but this is RIDICULOUS. If you still need a ride, I gotta know how much stuff you’re planning on bringing because I’ve got a little hatchback and I’m stuffing it to the gills with everything I own. This is last call, dude. I’m leaving tomorrow morning at 8, with or without you. If you’re coming, then tell me where to pick you up and what you’re packing. If you’re not coming, then, hey, I tried my best to connect with you, so I don’t think it would be fair for me not to get the parking spot, after all. Either way, SHOW SOME COMMON COURTESY AND REPLY TO THIS FUCKING TEXT!”
“Uh-oh,” I say when I’ve finished reading the entire message.
“What?” Zander asks.
“Maddy Milliken’s all-caps mad at me.”
“Uh-oh. What’d you do to her, Peenie? Did you fuck her mother?”
I chuckle. “Naw, I didn’t fuck
her mother.” I scratch my head. “I don’t think? Unless Maddy Milliken is, like, eight years old and plays soccer?”
Zander laughs.
“Do eight-year-olds drive hatchbacks?” I add.
“Lemme see that,” Z says, grabbing my phone. He reads the text. “Maybe you fucked her sister Hannah?”
“Haven’t we already talked about this? To the best of my knowledge, I am not acquainted with nor have I fucked either of the Milliken sisters.”
“Well, maybe you should rethink that. Every Hannah I’ve ever met is a cutie. If you’re gonna fuck a Milliken sister, my vote is Hannah.”
“Well, sure, I’d fuck Hannah over Maddy.” I swig my beer. “That’s a no-brainer. I wouldn’t fuck Maddy if you paid me.”
“That’s not saying much. You won’t fuck anyone if they paid you.”
“True. But especially not Maddy Milliken. The chick doesn’t even know how to give a guy a bit of explanation in a fucking text before hauling off and calling him a dickweed.”
“Hell yeah. You should text this Maddy girl and say, ‘Hey, baby doll, ever heard the word exposition? That’s from English 101—look it up, hon.’”
“Wow, Z, look at you being all literary and shit.”
“I’m smarter than I look,” Zander says. “I’ve got brains and brawn, sweet-meat.”
“You sure do,” I say. “Show me them guns, sweetheart.”
Zander flexes one of his mammoth arms for me.
“Yee-gads. You’re a motherfucking monster, son.”
“I really am,” Zander replies, sinking back into the couch and spreading his muscular thighs. “You know what you should do? Just go straight for the jugular. Ask her, ‘Who the fuck are you, Maddy Milliken, and what the fuck are you babbling about?’ That ought to suss things out.”
“Suss? What the fuck is ‘suss’?”
“You know, suss things out,” Z says. “Get to the bottom of things.”
“Oh. Huh. Learn something new every day.”
“Now use it in a sentence, Peenie. That’s the best way to remember a new word.”
