by Alexis Angel
"You've been cheating on me all for six months? The whole time we’ve been dating?” I ask, too horrified to think of anything else but him cheating on me and him tucking in his shirt.
He shrugs. "It's not cheating if we've never had sex, babe," he says coming back to the bed and sitting next to me.
"But, I…I went down on you! And I didn't hook up with anyone else, Jake," I say, partly embarrassed that I've been a fool for this long. That I’ve trusted him.
He shrugs and says with an affected macho vibe. "I think it's more for me, than for you, Alicia. You know I need to have sex pretty regularly." He holds my hands and looks me in the eyes, giving me the cues that he's going to say something profound. Jake's a corporate lawyer for Carter Jeffries. He lives for this kind of stuff. "Alicia, don't let it bother you, darling. It's just sex. You don't really like it. You don't want to have it. Besides, it won't feel good for you. And the stuff that we do, you're not too good at either. And sex is basically for guys. It helps me clear out my system so I can take care of you."
I jerk back. I'm not too good at the pre-sex? Okay, so maybe we’re not moving as fast as he’d like, but that's because Jake never wants to try anything new. I mean, how many different ways of putting his cock in my mouth can I do? And only when I only have three to five minutes to work with. I mean, out of the twice I’ve gone down on him, the longest he’s lasted has been like three minutes, and that was like with a condom on. And he always refuses to go down on me. So, what am I supposed to do?
But I can't let go of his words on how he's cheated on me because I’m not having sex and I'm even bad at pre-sex. Tears come to my eyes but I don't want him to see me. I refuse to cry.
"But, how is that even fair? I ask him instead. “I mean, do you get in bed with me afterwards?!"
Jake shrugs. "It's just what works, babe. You get what you want, and I get what I need, and then I come back to bed."
I wonder when I was supposed to even know any of this.
Jake's phone rings and he looks at it. He turns to me.
"Babe, it's my dad," he says. "Can you give me a minute?"
I nod my head and get up from the bed that I was sitting on. Jake doesn't like it when he talks to his parents in front of me and usually asks for some privacy. But there's nowhere to go in the room. I sigh and walk outside as he closes the door. I look at my phone. I figure I can go to the gym for a while before work.
Wait a second. That guy just kicked me out of my own room after cheating on me! I knock on the door. No answer. I knock harder. I kick.
Jake opens the door, his eyes squinted in annoyance.
I push past him and he looks at me like I've gone crazy.
"Alicia, what is..." he starts but I don't let him finish.
"Get the fuck out of this room, you stupid asshole!" I shout, not knowing I had it in me.
Jake looks at me in shock. He covers the mouthpiece to his phone and says to me, "Excuse me?"
"Out!! Or I call the cops!" I yell again.
"You're crazy!" he yells and walks fast to the door. I glare at him as looks around and decides it’s probably best to leave the apartment. "Have a good life, bitch!" he yells and slams the door on his way out.
I flop down on my bed and bury my head in the pillows but again refuse to cry.
The pillow smells like Jake. I can't have that. Sighing, in the midst of my sadness, I go over to the couch in the living room and lie down. How sad, I think to myself, that even when he’s not here, I can’t lie down on my own bed.
The thought makes me want to cry even more. But no. No tears for him!
* * *
I finally get up and get dressed for work. I walk to the train and catch the uptown D train like normal to Times Square. It’s the same routine every day. If I had a better job and access to funds like the people I sometimes cover, I’d totally call in sick today. I’d be a rebel and break the rules and take the day to just be sad.
But I don’t have that kind of luxury. Instead, I do my best to keep a straight face as I walk into work.
The place is somber and grim. I know I’m early. It’s probably only 7:30 am, but it was better to come to work than sit at home and feel miserable. I didn’t even feel like morning yoga – something that I almost always never miss.
The giant clock is ticking towards 8:00 am, when the head of the Gossip Page – Page Eight - Mike, has his normal all-hands meeting on what we’re covering for the day. Since I’m a junior writer in Gossip, I usually don’t have to attend, but I like showing up because it shows I have ambition.
But all the department heads are already here today. They’re all glued in front of the television.
Sighing, and wondering what it could be, I turn towards the TV also.
The result is something out of Bizarro world. It’s him. The Prince. Prince of St. Livy.
Remember when I told you I didn’t have a great school experience? Remember how I said I was mocked and teased? That people were mean to me.
Well, the person who fomented all of that, the person without whom I probably would have been well accepted and maybe even liked, is right in front of me on television. The legendary playboy himself. The one, who despite how mean he’d be to me or ignore me, who’s body I would check out when he would run shirtless, doing laps for football practice after school. The one who has graced the front pages of my newspaper time and time again for a wide variety of reasons – everything from hooking up with famous married women to dumping Hollywood starlets at the altar.
He’s on television now and he’s naked. He’s holding up his hands and he’s…oh my God! He’s swinging his dick around. The networks have blurred it, but I can still sort of see it through the blurring. He’s waving it at the camera.
“You want a piece of this, America?” he says, holding it and stroking it. “I’m right here, waiting for you.”
He’s got a positively evil glint in his eye it seems. I wonder if he’s drunk?
Mike comes up to me.
Mike looks at me. “You see the news yet, kiddo?” he asks me.
I nod. The news to him can only mean the Prince. Forget about Iranian nuclear deals or sanctions against Russia or North Korean nukes. No, the news for us is a drunk or drugged prince waving his very large cock on camera for the nation.
“Well,” he says, “The D.A. is coming over. And she’s asked for a meeting.”
“Okay,” I say, still not sure what it has to do with me. So I ask him.
“Because, kiddo,” Mike says out loud. “As of this moment, we’re placing you as head of the Prince beat.”
Great. Covering the man who tormented my past on the day where another man destroyed my present. As if my life couldn’t get any worse than it is…
Abby Adams: Meet Prince Sin…
I’m Abigail Adams, and here’s what Abby’s hearing...
Well, the world had a pretty stiff awakening today when billionaire playboy Prince Derrick Blaine of St. Livy decided it was time to get naked on set of a taping of CBC’s Today, USA. Not only did the entire nation wake up and tune in to scenes of him engaged in a very eye-opening, shall we say, display of his skills, but afterwards he sought to entertain the nation in lieu of an interview.
That's right America. That was his junk waving around in your face. For a good 15 second too before the network and its affiliates were finally able to go off the air. Interestingly enough, it seems that CBC as a network has never gone off the air. Never say never...
They say the early bird catches the worm. But this was no worm, ladies. We, at News of the Times, in our esteemed opinion think this was closer to a python or anaconda. And no doubt housewives across America today are a bit jealous at Today, USA host Mindy Friedman who was caught enjoying a nice large hunk of the Prince's junk…
Speaking of which, my sources tell me that CBC has terminated its contract with Mindy Friedman, after several high profile sponsors threatened to pull their advertising from Today, USA. It's ironic though, be
cause those same sources are telling me that the ratings when CBC did come back on the air were stratospheric...
But not even ratings can help the beleaguered network. Executives attempted at first to classify the situation as a simple wardrobe malfunction. But wardrobe malfunctions don't involve the thrusting, grunting, and discharging to the extent that we were able to see. By my last count at time of publication, the YouTube hits on this footage have gone viral - surpassing three billion views. That's right ladies. Three billion…
Although not everyone is pleased. My spies at the FCC tells me that "lewd and inappropriate" behavior, which this morning’s actions account for can carry a fine of up to $30,000 per second. Care to guess how much money that is? Maybe they should measure per inch…
Although, if it really came down to it, who doubts that the Prince himself wouldn't just pick up the tab and pay it? Nightclub goers in New York can count off the top of their heads how many times they've seen His Royal Highness gracing the clubs. Reportedly spending close to $25,000 on certain nights, the Prince has a voracious appetite, indeed. In fact, friends tell me that the Prince was actually at the Waverly Inn followed by Pink Elephant the night before his fateful "interview".
It's only a matter of time before YouTube removes all copies of the Prince and his rather large ‘retinue’. But fear not, denizens of Gotham, because we have the entire eleven minutes on our website. That includes the Prince doing the nasty, arguing with the head honchos when they tried to stop him, the infamous grab and splatter on the said head honcho, and the rather athletic penis-waving at America. It's free now, so watch it while you can, because who knows how long our corporate overlords will keep it up before charging people to access it...
Still no word if the Prince broke any laws. While not a citizen of the United States and protected by diplomatic immunity, should the District Attorney decide to arrest him and secure an indictment, the resident visa that the Prince stays in the country with could be put in jeopardy...
What does that mean for you, frustrated home wife whose husband pays too little attention to your needs? It means, that our favorite bad boy Prince could in fact be banished back to his kingdom.
And now wouldn't that be a shame? Where would my paycheck come from? Because if there's one thing we need in our dreary New York lives, it's to lust after someone that deserves the name of...Prince Sin...
Till then, I’m Abby signing out. Keep your ears open, New York City…
Derrick
I must have slept through the whole fucking morning because when I wake up the goddamn clock says 4 pm.
Fuck me.
“Your Highness,” Pressly says, “it seems that this morning’s actions have caused quite the stir.”
Fucking hell, can’t a bloke wake up in peace without someone bringing up trouble? I sit up on the bed and grab a bottle of whisky that I left on the bedside drawer; taking it to my lips, I have a long gulp and let the burning amber liquid go down my throat and jolt me into consciousness. I look over at Pressly only once I’m ready.
He’s holding a copy of evening edition of The News of the Times in his hands. I groan to myself. Those bastards have had it for me since the day I fucking moved to New York City. I brace myself as I read the title.
“Meet Prince Sin!” it reads.
There’s a picture of me holding one arm out and the other grabbing my cock as I wave it on around. Despite myself, I can’t but chuckle and smile to myself.
“I fail to see what’s so amusing, Your Highness,” Pressly says stiffly.
“Prince Sin,” I say to him. “Has a nice ring to it, mate,” I say. Fuck it. They want to have some fun, I’m on!
I get up and, get myself inside some jeans. It’s just me so I decide to go shirtless as I amble down to the dining room - it’s already way past lunch time, but Pressly knows how I fucking roll.
“Alright, Pressly. Lay it on me, mate,” I say to him as I eat.
He clears his throat as I sit at the glass table and start filling up a plate and devouring everything in sight. Nothing better than a night of drinking and fucking to build an appetite. And, fuck, after plowing through three Russian models and a reporter during the past two days, my appetite is fucking huge right now.
“Well, Sire, as I said, it seems your antics this morning has caused an international incident.” An international incident - what the fuck? Apparently I’m some kind of fucking terrorist now? Since when is it illegal to fuck a willing woman in this country on camera? If anything, they should be applauding me for showing them how it’s fucking done. None of that politically fucking correct claptrap. “Every single media outlet from CNN to the National Enquirer have been talking about it all day. You’ve certainly raised some hell, Your Highness.”
Well, that does sound like me - I’m always ready to raise hell wherever I fucking go. And all the tabloids are always fucking talking about me. So, really, what’s different this time? “Relax, Pressly,” I say. “People like to talk. This will all just blow over soon.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be as easy as that, sire. I’ve heard that the District Attorney for the city wants to get involved now as well.”
“Who the fuck is he to get involved and what the hell can he do to my diplomatic fucking immunity?” I ask.
“By herself, the District Attorney can’t do anything, Derrick,” my attorney, Larry Summers says as he walks in. I wonder how the fuck he got up here when Pressly tells me, “I took the liberty of summoning Mr. Summers, Your Highness. He’s been waiting the last hour assessing the situation.”
I grunt. I’m fucking eating too. Larry continues. “However, what the DA can do is bring charges against you that if indicted on, will make you lose your visa.”
Fuck, did he just say what I think he said? And did he just say the DA was a woman? I’m not worried then. I can always fuck her real good, get her on the Blaine Train, and get her to drop to her knees while she’s dropping all charges.
“And if I know the DA,” Larry says, “Then Samantha Scar won’t stop till she gets blood.”
Samantha Scar?
Fuck. That rings a bell.
Former fucking noble from St. Penares. In fucking love with my best mate, Silas D’Avington – the prince. We fought together in Afghanistan. I was his best mate. But she and he ended on bad fucking terms. So she finally moved to America. She’s had many jobs in her lifetime. Even serving in the White House as Chief of Staff. But if she’s got her eyes set on fucking me over, then this shit is personal because of my friendship with Silas. And it’s also pretty serious.
“Alright, I’m going to sort this out,” I say, reaching for my cellphone and getting ready to call the Samantha. These bureaucratic fucks are always after one thing - money - and I have plenty of that. I’ll cut a fucking check and in a week nobody’s going to care about my cock’s appearance on TV. Well, the ladies will care, of course, but that’s life.
I unlock the cellphone but, as I do it, it starts ringing. My father’s name is on the screen like a fucking bad omen. My father, the King, is not really the kind of guy to call to know how I’m doing. Besides, after everything he’s ever done to me and my mother, may she rest in peace, he’s lucky I’m even going to take his fucking call.
But still, I take the call and press the speakerphone button. Before I have the time to say a fucking word, my father is already speaking. And he’s both upset and worried.
“You crossed the line, Derrick,” he says and then takes a deep breath. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”
Sigh. Here we fucking go. Moral lectures from the man who started dating his Press Secretary one year after I left the palace. Seriously, the only good thing about Samantha, the Press Secretary was that she was Alicia’s mother. Alicia Bayer. I would love to just sit and fucking rub one out thinking of her, but I have a cunt father to respond back to.
“Fuck you, Leo. I guess you already know, then,” I say with venom dripping down my words. “Like father, like son
, huh?”
“Derrick? Son? What are you talking about and what’s going on? I can’t turn on the television without seeing you make an ass of yourself! It’s all over every damn TV channel in the world!”
“Well, it’s not my fault I was made for the spotlight, you know?” I say, putting a toast inside my mouth while I lean back against the chair. Fuck, people are really getting bent out of shape. “But don’t worry, old man. I’ll call the DA’s office and I’ll get it sorted. I don’t need your fucking help.”
“Derrick, I’m your father, for Christ’s sake,” the fucking fool continues. “Don’t use your anger for me to ruin your own life.”
He sounds so miserable on the phone. Whatever. Like I gave a fuck. After beating my mother and cheating on her till she couldn't fight the cancer anymore, I don’t owe him shit. I don’t even care that he’s dating his Press Secretary. I just wished he’d showed my mom just a little bit of love when she was alive.
But I still can’t treat him as badly as he’s treated Mom. I decide to give in a little.
“Alright, alright. Calm down. I’ll just go back home for a few weeks and let this die off.”
“No,” my father says in such a firm way I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to convince him otherwise. “You are going to stay there and you are going to fix it, Derrick. I’ve been trying to get a trade deal on paper for three years with the US, and I won’t let you ruin it just as we start to negotiate. Stay there. Get it fixed. If you leave now, it’ll look like you’re fleeing and be even worse.”
I’m about to protest when Larry jumps in. “You really have no idea what you’re into, Derrick. You’re way in over your head. The DA doesn’t want a deal; she wants your head on a platter. I don’t know why. But whatever the reason, she’s going to indict you and try to get your VISA revoked.”
What the fuck? Kick me out of the States?
“I take it by your silence that you know what all this means,” my father continues. “You need to get this sorted.”
Fuck, I really hate being treated like a fucking child. I’m Derrick fucking Blaine, not some goddamn pawn to be used by the DA against St. Livy.
