by Lauren Rowe
“Okay. Where to begin?” I take a deep breath. “When I started out, I couldn’t believe how women threw themselves at me. It was like I was some kind of sultan or sheik. All I had to do was point at a woman and she was grabbing my hand and unzipping my fly before we were even in a back room. Now, don’t get me wrong, before then, women had always hit on me. I’m talking about friends’ moms, women at grocery stores or gas stations, women standing in line at the ATM, but nothing like that. I guess when you’re a stripper, women feel like you’re not an actual person anymore, you’re just this service animal. A pork chop they’re ordering at the butcher shop.”
Maddy laughs.
“It’s no exaggeration. You’d be shocked how aggressive women can be when they feel like you’re for sale. So, anyway, I partook in the spoils of strippery all the time with no regard for consequences for about a month. But then, all of a sudden, things went to shit so fast, my head was spinning. A woman I’d fucked after a bachelorette party called my agency, asking for my cell number—not to hire me again, but to fuck me again. Another one wanted to invite me for a weekend in Cabo—like I was gonna be her boy toy for the weekend. Then another and another, none of them actually wanting to hire me for my actual job. So my agent was like, ‘What the fuck are you doing to these women, dude? We’ve never seen anything like this before. We’re not your pimp, man.’ It sucked. No one wanted to hire me for my actual job again, or if they did, it was for a one-on-one lap dance in a hotel room, if you catch my drift. You see what I mean? They all thought I was nothing but a whore, literally. But these women didn’t realize two things. First off, I didn’t need stripping as a way to find women to fuck—I could do that on my own, thank you very much. What I needed was a job. My prior job had just ended and I had rent to pay. And second off, even when I fucked a client, I wasn’t doing it for cash, despite appearances. I was there to do the job and if, while there, someone happened to catch my eye at a gig—someone I woulda fucked regardless, then I’d go right ahead and partake. Why not, I figured? You know how lawyers or accountants get cocktails after work? It was like that for me. I was just winding down after my shift, having fun, you know? But I never viewed fucking as part of the job or as part of my payday. So, then, all of a sudden, I started getting a reputation, just that fast. Women told their friends and word spread like lightning—because, of course, when I fuck a woman, I do it well. And now I’m being called to show up for a gig at a hotel room, thinking I’m doing a legit party, and it turns out there’s only one woman in the room and she’s holding up a C-note and pulling off my pants as I walk through the door. And the second that was the sitch—the minute I realized I’d become nothing but a paid cock, that these women thought I’d fuck anyone holding a C-note, literally, no matter who she was or what she looked like, I was totally skeeved out. But there’s no way to say ‘no thanks’ to a woman in the heat of the moment without her getting her ego bruised like yesterday’s banana. So now I’ve got women saying they’re gonna rat me out to the agency and post all kinds of shit about me on Yelp unless I refund their booking fees, which I did. So now I’m wasting Saturday nights on this shit, my highest paid night of the week, when I coulda been at a legit gig, making good money.” I sigh. “So that’s how it all went to Shit Town, USA on a bullet train. In less than a month, I’d had more sex than I’d ever had in my entire life, but I was outta cash, my rep in the biz was shit, and I’d made an army of horny women very, very angry with me. Not good.”
“Wow. That sounds... horrible.”
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m feeling insecure with a girl, anxious Maddy’s thinking less of me because of everything I just confessed to her. I clear my throat. “But, hey, at least the whole experience taught me something important about myself, right? The Talented Mr. Ripley don’t get hard for cash, baby.”
“The Talented Mr. Ripley? That’s what you call your penis?”
“Yup.”
“Did you name him or was he christened by someone else?”
“I named him. He’s mine, after all. I got naming rights.”
Maddy giggles.
“What? You haven’t named your wahoo?”
“No.” She giggles again.
“Well, maybe you should. Start calling your bat-cave She-Ra Princess of Power and you’ll jumpstart that motor of yours in record speed. Or maybe Hello Kitty? Delilah? Jaws? Any of those speak to you?” Maddy bites her lip, drawing my attention to her mouth—her beautiful, kissable mouth—and, out of nowhere, my cock tingles something fierce. Oh my shit. I gotta get my hand outta this cookie jar right fucking now. “Whatever floats your boat,” I add quickly, taking a deep breath, forcing myself to think about starving children in Africa. I clear my throat. “So, anyway, what I’ve come to realize about myself the hard way—sarcastic pun intended—is that I not only don’t want to fuck for cash, I can’t fuck for cash. It’s physically impossible for me, if you know what I mean.” I grimace. “Call me old fashioned, but it’s just the way it is with me. The Talented Mr. Ripley’s gotta want it or he’d rather roll over and go night-night. So, anyway, the last straw was this one older woman I really didn’t wanna fuck a second time around. She was objectively hot, though it’s hard for me to think of her that way now; probably almost twice my age, some fancy attorney; and, as I learned the first time I fucked her, she was super aggressive in the sack, but not in a fun, sexy way—in this, like, weird angry way. Kind of freaky-creepy. So, anyhoo, this woman threatened to say I’d forced her the first time around if I didn’t get my ass down to her hotel room and give it to her again, only this time using whips and chains or some shit like that.”
“Oh my God, Keane.”
“Yeah. So that’s when I knew I’d gotten myself into some pretty deep shit. Here I was twenty-two years old, nothing but a horny young lad looking for a little fun and some extra cash, you know? Brand new to the game, not taking it seriously whatsoever, and now I had this wacko attorney-bitch threatening to say I’d raped her if I didn’t fuck her again and whip her ass with a cat o’ nine tails while I did it? Horrible. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I mean, the easy answer was to go down there and give her what she wanted—but then what? Was there gonna be a third, fourth, and fifth time, too? Was this woman gonna own my ass—or, rather, my dick and balls—‘til the end of time?”
Maddy looks stricken. “What’d you do?”
“Well, first things first, I called the Morgan family’s fixer—my older brother Ryan. And, thank God, as usual, he knew exactly what to do. He called our brother-in-law, Josh—although this was right before the wedding so he was just Kat’s fiancé at the time. But, anyway, talk about a fixer, holy fuck—Josh Faraday is a fixer-next-lev, son. So Josh brought in some hacker dude he went to college with and—”
“Henn!”
“What?”
“The hacker-dude Josh brought in had to be my sister’s boyfriend, Henn. Josh and Henn have been friends since college and Henn’s a world-class hacker.”
“Henn?”
“Peter Hennessey, but he goes by Henn.”
“Hey, I think I partied with that guy at Josh and Kat’s wedding. Funny guy? Kinda nerdy?”
“That’s him.”
“Wow. He never said a word about helping me. I woulda thanked him.”
“Well, that’s Henn for you. My sister says he’s a locked vault when it comes to his work. Totally discreet.”
“Wow. That guy really saved my bacon. I’m gonna have to thank him if I see him in L.A. Buy him a drink.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see him,” Maddy says. “Hannah and Henn are joined at the hip whenever he’s in town. But, anyway, I got you off track. Finish your story.”
“Oh. Yeah. Where was I?”
“Josh brought in a hacker.”
“Oh yeah. So Ryan and Josh told me to go down to the crazy bitch’s hotel and get her to say or do something she wouldn’t want the world to see or hear—whatever I could stomach getting her to
do—and to make a video or audio recording of it on the sly. So that’s what I did.”
Maddy sits up on the blanket, her hand on her heart. “Did you have sex with her like she wanted? With whips and chains?”
I laugh. “No. I met her in her hotel room with my phone in my jacket pocket, set to record audio. I told her I wouldn’t do exactly what she wanted—that this was gonna go down my way. She was pissed and started threatening me, so I said, ‘Okay. Here’s the deal, sweetheart: I’m gonna make you come at least three times in the space of thirty minutes doing things my way. And if I don’t, then we’ll do things your way.’ She lit up like a Christmas tree, so I was like, ‘And, bee tee dubs, I want a hundred bucks per orgasm.’ So she goes, ‘Oooooh, yeah, baby. You’re on.’” I exhale, suddenly realizing I’ve never told anyone this story besides Ryan, Josh, and Z. “How the fuck am I telling you this story after knowing you for one day, Maddy Milliken?”
“Because we knew each other in a past life. Come on, Keane. There’s no judgment here, I swear. I’m dying.”
I exhale and then just blurt it out. “So I finger-fucked her for exactly twenty-three minutes, walked away with four hundred bucks in my pocket and an audio recording she’d never want to see the light of day. The hacker used the recording to scare the shit out of her and I never heard from her again, thank God. The End.”
Maddy looks flabbergasted.
“Too salacious for you? I thought you said no judgment.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just... blown away.” She cringes. “And skeeved out.”
“It was totally gross, not gonna lie. But I recorded her saying all kinds of crazy shit.’” I cringe. “So that night, Josh’s hacker sent her a beefcake photo of me to entice her to open his email, and when she did, it gave her some kind of virus that gave him access to her computer. So he let her know he was in her system and one button-push away from emailing that audio recording to every person on her contacts list—which included every judge, attorney, and client she’d ever worked with, not to mention her Husband the Federal Judge.”
Maddy puts her hand over her mouth.
“So that was it for me. Lesson learned. I figured I’d spent twenty-three minutes in hell to narrowly escape disaster and I might not get so lucky next time. And that was the last time my alter ego has laid so much as a pinky on a paying pussy or let a client lay a fucking pinky on me where the sun don’t shine. The very next day, I switched to a much better agency, changed my name to Ball Peen Hammer, and never looked back.”
“Wow, Keane.”
“Meh. Live and learn, right? Now I know, if I wanna survive in the industry and not get caught up in some crazy-ass shit, I gotta deliver the fantasy of my cock to the horny pickles and never, ever my actual cock.”
“What was your stripper name before Ball Peen Hammer?”
“Peen Star.”
Maddy laughs. “Oh, Keane.” She grins at me with such genuine warmth, all anxiety I’d been feeling a moment ago melts away. “God, I have a thousand questions,” she says.
“Shoot. Ask me anything you want, Sunshine. And just to be clear, when I call you that, I’m talking about your god-awful shirt.”
Maddy ignores my jab. “How do you know she had four orgasms in such a short amount of time? That’s pretty hard to believe. Maybe she knew down deep she was being a monster but she didn’t know how to get herself out of her predicament so she...”
I scoff, making her stop talking.
“What?” Maddy asks.
“Women can’t actually fake an orgasm, contrary to popular belief.”
Maddy returns my scoff. “Sure they can. I’ve done it myself. Many times.”
“What? Why?”
“To end a particularly prolonged sexual experience that was doing nothing for me.”
I make a face like she’s just said something truly tragic. “Wow. That sucks.”
“Ask any woman. We’ve all done it. I’m not alone.”
I shake my head. “That’s really, really sad.”
Maddy shrugs. “Such is life for us mere mortal women. Sadly, there’s billions of us and only one of you.”
“Well, if whatever guy you were bonin’ didn’t realize you were faking it, then he’s a fucking idiot. And a horrible lay.”
“It’s not always a guy’s fault if a woman doesn’t reach orgasm. Women are complicated. And, likewise, it’s not a guy’s fault if he can’t tell the real thing from a simulation, either. Women can be convincing—or, at least, I can.”
“Okay, first off, women are not complicated, at least not when a guy’s got the owner’s manual, like I do. And second off, no woman can successfully fake it with a guy who knows what the hell he’s doing.”
“That’s just not true. I bet you’d be surprised at how many women have faked it with you.”
“Not a one. Because I know exactly what to look for to confirm the real McCoy.”
“What? Rosy cheeks? I get those when I’m even thinking about sex. That doesn’t mean a damned thing.”
I shake my head.
“Moaning?” Without warning, Maddy lets out a sexual moan like she’s in the midst of an epic orgasm and my cock jolts in response. Maddy smirks at me like she’s awfully proud of herself. “That was very When Harry Met Sally of me, wasn’t it?” she says.
I shake my head. “It’s not moaning that’s the tip-off, although thanks for that demonstration. Highly arousing.”
“It’s not moaning?”
“You’re so far off-base, it’s ridiculous.”
“What, then? Heavy breathing?” She breathes in and out noisily for a long moment like she’s Darth Vader. “Luke, I am your father,” she says.
I laugh. “No. You’re so cold, you’re standing in a blizzard.”
“What then? What’s this magic ‘tell’ that makes it so obvious a woman’s having an actual orgasm?”
Out of nowhere, my stomach tightens with unease. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this stuff,” I say softly.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s really, you know, personal.”
“Oh my God. After everything we’ve talked about today, now you’re feeling shy?” She hoots with laughter.
“No, I mean, for you. You’re not used to talking this way, and I don’t want to, you know, make you think I’m trying to... get something going here.”
Maddy scoffs. “Get something going? Keane. Oh my God. You think you’re in danger of ‘making my motor run’?” She laughs like the mere thought is ridiculous. “This is the most comfortable I’ve ever been with a guy. I’ve never been friend-zoned so hard in all my freaking life. I promise there’s absolutely no sexual attraction here on my end, any more than there is on yours. I’m just having fun talking so freely about all this stuff with a guy for the first time in my life. Please, I beg you, don’t censor yourself.”
Maddy feels that confident we’re in the friend zone? Well, shit. She’s not having any confusion on that point whatsoever?
“Come on, Keane. Please?” Maddy says. “I won’t think you’re leading me on or flirting with me or trying to get into my pants. I swear to God, cross my heart, hope to die.”
Well, shit, I feel like she just went a little overboard with the assurances. Because even if I’m not trying to get into her pants (which I’m not because she’s my honorary little sister), I’m pretty sure I’ve been trying to make her want to get into mine. Is that a prick-move? So sue me. It’s how I’m wired. It’s just what I do, especially with someone who’s forbidden fruit. And she hasn’t felt that vibe from me at all?
“Keane,” Maddy says sharply. “For God’s sake. Tell me the secret. How do you know for sure when a woman’s having an orgasm? Spill.”
I exhale.
“Dude. Come on. You’re killing me here.”
I make a “you asked for it” face and let out a long, audible exhale. “Okay, Curious George,” I say. “Here it is. While a woman’s actually having an orgasm, no matte
r what kind it is, her asshole ripples along with everything else, contracting and releasing along with her climax. It’s not something she can fake. And she can’t consciously move those muscles like that, either, even if she wanted to. So when I know a woman’s really close, I press my fingertip gently against her asshole, or inside it if she’s into ass-play, and when I feel her muscles tighten and ripple in the right way, I know for a fact she’s reached the finish line. No faking even remotely possible.”
Maddy’s cheeks are absolutely blazing. She shifts her weight on the blanket next to me. And then she shifts again. She opens her mouth and closes it. “Oh,” she finally says. She swallows hard and clears her throat. “Cool.”
Chapter 19
Keane
“So you really made that woman have four orgasms in a half hour?” Maddy asks after she’s composed herself somewhat, her cheeks still bright red.
“I coulda squeezed more outta her,” I say, “but I was so fucking skeeved out, I decided to take my four hundred bucks and run.”
“And you did that to her with your fingers or...?” She grimaces.
God, Maddy’s so cute, I can’t stand it. Obviously, this poor girl’s never had a guy touch her the right way, not even once.
“Yeah. Just fingers,” I say. “That’s the easiest way to make a woman have multiple orgasms in one sesh, actually. Nothing to it at all.” I snap. “That’s all The Sure Thing is—a fingering technique. But then once you get a woman going really well with your fingers, you can train ’em over time to respond the same way to your cock. For some women that takes some time for their bodies to start responding the right way, though—and time is something I don’t normally have, since I’m not in the market for a relationship.”
“Why aren’t you in the market for a relationship, by the way?”
I shrug. “Just not. I’m having too much fun to be tied down. Can’t figure out how to be Ball Peen Hammer to the best of my ability while I’ve got some girl sitting at home, pissed at me for not calling her back.”
Maddy looks deep in thought.
