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Rated: 18+ · Other · Adult · #1714332
Callie makes a decision that will start her life in a new direction
Chapter: 6 Goldilocks and Callie

         Remember when the teacher called on you in class.  You sit there staring at her for another five seconds trying to figure what the hell she wants.  You might stutter, stumble on a few words and finally the answer comes to you.  You don’t give a shit. 

         I was having one of those moments with Mike Nash.  I was staring at his mouth, waiting for a little mouth to pop out and try and eat me like in Alien.  He had turned an interesting shade of blue.  Not quite lavender.  Iridescent almost.  Mike Nash had choked on his protein bar.  I gazed at the trainers.  Their background checks required them to have taken CPR.  They had at least three hours practicing on a dummy to prepare them for this situation.  I recalled that the choking signal needed to be demonstrated first before any action was to be taken. 

         “Should I . . .,” I asked trailing off looking to Abe, the trainer who ate on a timer.

         “He looks fine to me.”  These guys lived on a strict diet of brown rice and chicken.  The only other real protein I’d seen them eat was raw almonds.  I think Abe needed more carbs.  He needed to rub his two little brain cells together and make a fire.

         “I think he’s choking.  I’m going to whack him on the back.  Any objections?”  I asked to make sure that in the case that Mike was normally a Smurf blue, I had the staff’s full support.  The other two trainers, I named them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, scratched their heads and nodded.  I whacked, Mike coughed.  Tweedle Dee stepped out of the way of any possible projectile objects. 

         It took him a few seconds but finally he breathed enough air to say, “You’re quitting?” 

         I nodded.  It seemed like an awful shame to be leaving a horrible job with a great pay check in a bad economy.  Mike thought I was an idiot.  I had the same idea about him. 

         “You want to explain to me why you’re quitting?”  Mike asked then gulped some water from a plastic bottle.  He swished the water around in his mouth to clear out any debris.  I hated those swishing noises.  Nothing, and I mean nothing should have to be inside of his mouth for that long.   

         “I’ve been offered a better position.” At a bar where I’d get my ass grabbed and the income came in the form of sticky liquor covered dollar bills. 

         “You haven’t even been here a week.”  Correction.  I haven’t even been there for a whole day.

         “I don’t think this is the type of place for me.”  The guys’ boobies were bigger than mine.  I was getting boob envy.

         “You’ll be sorry,” Mike sneered through his teeth.  Don’t even try that guilt trip.  I have an Irish Catholic mother, dude.  I’m immune to that shit.

         I could try to be the better person.  I could go up to him, kiss him on the cheek and wish him a beautiful life with many children who ran around doing jumping jacks sporadically and chasing cars.  But no.  I’m a bitch by nature.

         “I’ll make more money in a week than you do in a year and I’ll do it without the ego trip!”  There goes his professional reference.  I strolled out of a job before my payroll was even processed. 

         Damn that felt good.  I’d called Nolan earlier to make sure I got his job.  It required a quick bartender quiz over the phone.  Let’s see Mike Nash try and name all five clear liquors while maneuvering through the turnpike.  I really hoped he wouldn’t do anything to piss me off.  That would be two jobs in one week and I think that’s a Callie Cronin record. 

         I drove over to the Big Bang looking on the bright side and waved at all the passers-by and bums on the sidewalk.  Nolan Kelly owned and operated the Big Bang and its neighboring bakery called Sprite’s Delights.  The bakery baked at three a.m. and was known to dole out biscuits to the less than sober closing time crowd.  This earned it a second name, Drunkin Donuts.  I pulled into the back lot of the two establishments promising my inner sugar tooth demons that I would buy them something tasty and my inner hormones that if they played their cards right, they’d get a treat too.

         The Big Bang had a seedy frat house appeal on the inside and an outdoor space for bands and keg stands.  By day it served as the tailgating headquarters for all sports, mostly football, UCI.  By night, the Big Bang turned into a giant mosh-pit visible from space.  At seven years old I knew what a football was and exactly how to aim one at the kickball/volleyball/Frisbee eating tree outside of our house.  Charlie Brown was lucky his tree only ate kites.  Football was the time when my brothers would leave me alone or put me on permanent monkey-in-the-middle status.  I didn’t tailgate, I didn’t watch sports, I didn’t care.  Needless to say, I’d never been in the Big Bang.

         Nolan greeted me with a big pearly white smile and I was not in Kansas anymore.  I don’t know what I had going on with Jeff, probably a figment of my imagination by now, and it was a very bad idea to screw my new boss. 

         “You’ll be working the bar with Penny,” he gestured to a small black girl with dreads.  She looked like she could break a man’s arm with the flutter of her eyelashes.  My fluttering eyelashes only got me free drinks.  I was going to need to step up my game.  Maybe I’d buy some spiky heels with the next paycheck.

         “The Bang closes at two, we clean up, and then I work the bakery from three to eight.”  This guy was a machine.  Nolan continued the new employee orientation.  We went over dress code, or lack thereof, and bouncer names.  Turns out Abe moonlighted as a bouncer at the Bang.  I was expected to learn their famous drinks by tomorrow.  Penny didn’t look too bad after a few blunders with the vodka bottle.  I wouldn’t want to grab her ass in a dark room though. 

         The office crowd was from six till ten, followed by the douchbag crowd from ten till close.  I knew how to make three of the ten drink specials that no one ever asked for.  The girls wanted something with an umbrella or sugar with an ounce of alcohol.  The guys wanted beer.  The cheaper the better.  Nolan didn’t carry Natty Light.  So I spent most of my night breaking off all ten pink fingernails on PBR cans.  By eleven o’clock I’d forgotten why on earth I’d talked myself into this and wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth. 

         “Two red headed sluts!” D-bag number eighty-nine asked.  Two bubbly Tri-Delts behind him were gazing around trying to find themselves another warm body to get free drinks from.  Eighty-nine had on some glitzy Ed Hardy shirt with a tiger trying to claw its way out.  If I were on his chest, I’d try to get out too.  His hair had been gelled to statuesque perfection.  Numbering them off was necessary to keep tabs.  There are only so many variations of button-downs, relaxed fit jeans and Sketchers a man can come up with. 

         I had no idea how to do specialty shots.  I barely knew how to make jungle juice.  Kool-aid and every liquor known to mankind, right?  I’d lost Penny over an hour ago when she’d been surrounded by a kick-ball team celebrating their first win.  Kick-ball, seriously, that’s all I played in fourth grade.  Nolan even blended in with the crowd and there was a lot of murky dishwater heads bobbing up and down.  Red.  Red.  What can I make that would look red?  I ducked behind the counter and scavenged through the liquor cabinet praying that something would inspire me.  Hmm.  Grenadine is red.  The toe of a brown shit-kicker came into view. 

         “What are you doing?” Nolan asked above me.  Wasn’t it obvious?  I’m trying to get two girls drunk so that this douchebag can get laid.

         No turning back now, “What’s in a red headed slut?” 

         “We don’t serve mixed shots.  We only have one shaker and Penny uses it as a weapon whenever her ex-husband comes in.”  Good to know I wasn’t the only one using household objects as baseballs.  Nolan held out his hand to help me up.  Gooey warm feelings traveled down my spine and into my panties. 

         “They don’t have to know that,” I paused finding the Jager.  I poured two shots, Eighty-nine payed, and the Delts stuck out their tongues after throwing them back.  Jager tastes like tar.

         The rest of the night went like that.  Someone would ask me for an, insert random shot that doesn’t taste good and can make the lining of your stomach disintegrate, and I would pour them whatever I thought was appropriate.  Five years of creating ads for fake clients and where do I end up, behind a bar putting my college education to use by making up shots.  It wasn’t all bad.  If the crowd got dull, I would start daydreaming about Nolan’s butt turning into a Big Mac.  I knew I was hungry when guys turn into burgers.  I was horny when they turned into naked Greek gods. 

By the end of the night, I had an apron full of bills, some more wet then others, and had even broken up a love triangle realized in the girls’ bathroom.  It involved me pulling them out by their bra straps since they’d ripped apart their tank-tops.  My mother is never to find out about this.  Shooing away dozens of leftover last call patrons is like herding cats. 

         The outside world looked hazy and tired as I stepped back into it.  I’d been inside since five p.m. and the potential of a warm soft bed sounded delicious.  I was ready to fly home on autopilot and melt into the covers when I noticed Nolan jogging over to the bakery to start his second job.  The Catholic guilt built up from a lifetime of brainwashing bubbled up.  I still mentally grimace when I say God’s name in vain and I cross myself whenever riding shotgun with my brother Joe because he doesn’t believe in the brake pedal.  As of now I was a recovering Catholic, but it still had a grip on my head.  Nolan was going to work for another five more hours and I was going to go home.  I was not going to look like some love-sick puppy dog.  The memo didn’t reach my feet.  They were still headed in the direction of Nolan’s butt.

         “Would you like some help?”  I asked making sure that I really, really, meant it before those words came out of my mouth.  See, I can be sincere. 

         Nolan was fiddling with the door lock and jimmying the handle.  The door popped open with a grunt, and he fell in.  I burst out laughing.  I had been on my feet for a million hours, my stomach had eaten itself three days ago and an old man getting kicked in the balls would have sent me giggling like a hyena. 

         I held out my hand and Nolan said, “I knew you were good for something.  Penny doesn’t laugh at me when I’m down.  She’d probably kick me.” 

         “You only had three people working tonight for a crowd of two thousand.  I would have kicked you, but I'm too tired."  Not counting my multiple personalities which bickered back and forth that this was the lowest I've ever gone for a job. 

         "You did awesome by the way." Nolan said.  Wait.  Tell me more about how awesome I am.  He switched on the lights and past the kitchen into the lobby I could see the crowd of inebriated zombies milling around waiting for the doors to open.  Oh boy.

         Along the top of the front counter lined up some two dozen brown bags contents unknown.  I assumed those were the infamous grab bags.  Patrons bet money, anything from a penny to a dollar, for day old donuts.  Like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were gonna get.  The only grab bag I was familiar with were the kind at parish picnics run by grandmas and spinsters who filled them with cheap drugstore toys and crocheted pot holders. 

         "Why is it Sprite's Delights?"  I asked pulling on another apron and opening up the cash register. 

         "My sister thought Rainbow Brite's minion looked like a cream puff.  They were called Sprites. This was her place before she sold it to me.  She popped out a few kids and needed to call it quits.  I like to take on failing establishments.  It keeps my life on the edge," he grinned.  Be still my beating heart.

         We opened and fought off another sixty people before peace and quiet.  In my head I ran through clever and interesting things to say that at the very second after their delivery would have him scooping me up in his arms and declaring his love.  Get it together, Cal, you are not a Disney princess.

         In the end, he thanked me for being his bitch and I went home feeling sullied and disappointed that I didn't get a marriage proposal.  I didn't go to college to get my MRS degree.  I got it to make enough money to buy a new car, still working on that, and stay out of my parent's house.  But sometimes, when I'm feeling like a big sack of estrogen and my three best friends from high school just got engaged, I go a little crazy and start seeing pretty pink hearts and cherubs around every nice guy who acknowledges me. 

         Driving up to the duplex, I knew something was off.  There was a strange presence in the air.  The door was locked, the lights were off, and there weren't any spiders on the walls.  Everything seemed to be in place the way I left it.  I dumped my purse and jacket on the couch and drug myself into the bed and plopped onto a plump snoring Goldilocks.

Chap 7: Machu Picchu

         "WHAT THE FUCK!"  I screamed jumping off of my bed and scrambling to hit the light switch.  It was five in the freakin' morning, and I swear to God, I will go to church every Sunday and call my mother more often if I live through this.

         "Sup, Callie."  It was Jeff.  Again.  The only thing to survive a nuclear attack; Twinkies, cock roaches, and Jeff. It was the Jeep.  His Jeep parked outside on the street had tipped me off to the impending doom.  I had been too sleepy to notice. 

         "Why are you in my bed?"  I groaned.  Seriously, I just washed out your splooge.  It doesn't need your scent.     

         "My roommate had a sock on the door."  What roommate?  Jeff's last roommate was stuck in the Portuguese judicial system.  Knowing my confusion, he grumbled, "I have a new one." 

         I was slowly loosing Jeff.  He'd started trailing his words and there was already a good pile of drool on my pillow.  I sat down on the bed and envied the warm luring pool of comforter and satin.  An arm reached out and wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him and for lack of self control, I slept with him.  Not in the biblical sense.


         This was day two of waking up next to Jeff.  When we'd been legitimately together, he never slept over.  I think I saw the inside of his place twice.  It looked like most guys' places, trash, dishes piled up because they don't know how to use a sponge, and clothes everywhere.  Okay, I'm no June Cleaver either, but seriously!  Put on your big boy pants and do laundry.  Jeff and I dated for approximately two and a half months before I started ducking behind trashcans to avoid him.  I hadn't fully succumbed to the sunlight streaming in yet.  My hands reached for more cover and I bumped into Jeff Jr.           

         "Morning, Callie," he purred against my neck.  Cold shivers shot down my spine.  My eyes popped open and I went frigid.  Oh yeah, I forgot, you broke in and slept in my bed while I was hard at work making money to pay for rent.  Now that I was awake, the idea of him being there was getting old fast.  I looked over at the clock.  Christ it was 2 p.m. already.  Shit, where had the day gone!

         "You're still here?"  I rumbled snaking away from a hand that was creeping up my naked thigh.  The hand slipped under the seam of my panties and I got gooey thinking about the other things it could do. 

         "I wanted to talk to you more about your idea."  My idea? 

         "You mean the part where you and Kevin videotape me having an orgasm so you can put it out there for millions of horny teenagers to watch?  Yes that was totally my idea; not influenced by you and your boy wonder," Oops I think that one slipped through my mouth filter. 

         "That, or this," he cupped my mound and bent over to kiss me deep.  My heart raced and I felt blood rushing to parts unknown.  The last time I hadn't had sex for ages was when I worked at a summer camp for three months straight.  Putting a tampon in was an electrifying experience.  It had only been a week and I was already losing my particulars about who and when. 


         Jeff tugged my legs apart and shifted himself between me.  There were a lot of blankets being tossed aside and pillows thrown on the floor.  He made himself at home nuzzling my neck and sliding one hand inside, the other one flicking a nipple gently.  I had shut off my inner mother hen by promising her I would eat more vegetables and lay off the Jeff cream pies.  I was going to enjoy some semblance of a good time if it was with him or if it was by myself. 

         "I have an idea," Jeff moaned as I slipped his cock inside, trying to get this done and over with so I could enjoy the rest of the day.  If Jeff's idea involved twenty more minutes of foreplay, I was going to call it quits.  It's two o'clock and I hadn't eaten since three the day before.  He pulled out and reached over to pull the bedside table open.  Curiouser, and curiouser.

         The happy little buzzing sound I've come to know and love erupted through the room.  I couldn't tell, but there was definitely a sparkle to my eyes.  His breath tickled the nape of my neck as he struggled to find the right spot and apply the right amount of pressure.  Needle in a haystack, Jeff!  I took control, and moved Barney back over an inch.  My knees bent to help accommodate the extra gear and Jeff moved back into my body and into my life.  His sharp little gasp of pleasure caused shivers to shoot down my spine.  I could feel him grow larger inside with each thrust.  One of my hands was downstairs operating the machinery, the other upstairs trying to help my body rock with Jeff.  I was getting the picture; this wasn't working.  I had to hold still beneath him and get to where I was going first. 

         Jeff grunted back in response after I found a spot for my free hand.  He has pink nipples that turn a rose color when they're hard.  I didn't know it till college but some guys like they're nipples played with just as much as I like mine pinched, squeezed, tugged on, or licked.  Disclaimer, I am not a cow and my nipples should never be treated as teats.  Turns out, Jeff was one of them.  Each sweet plunge was deliriously amazing coupled with the vibrator and I was onto my first “Hallelujah” moment.  Jeff, like a gentleman, made it to the finish line before I did.  He groaned and Oh-fuck’d his way down from the high as I followed.  I wanted to clear out my schedule and stay in the moment forever.  Is this what guys feel like when they cum?  Christ, this is awesome!  My body was squeezing every bit of his shaft inside as Jeff continued to pump encouraging each contraction. 

         Oh fuck.  Is this why people smoke after sex?  Seven years of being in the dark waiting for something magic to happen and finally. . .  Okay, I was ready to start the day now.  I kissed Jeff smack on the lips, reminiscent of Bugs Bunny kissing Elmer Fudd.  I hopped out of bed opened my bedroom door to raid the fridge and ran into another Goldilocks trying out my couch.     


         Wait.  Explain this again.

         “Kevin’s going to direct, I’m going to set up the website, and Machu Picchu here is going to video tape it.” 

         For those of you at home wondering who in the hell was Machu Picchu, welcome to my boat.  A small Asian kid was sitting in my living room holding a video camera and smiling wide, his thumbs went up every time Machu Picchu was said. 

         Is that really his name?  Why is he named after a mountain?  Does he speak English?  Where in the world did you find this guy?  He looks like Long Duck Dong.  I had so many questions but the only thing that bubbled out was a small insignificant squeak.  No one noticed.  Jeff had let in Kevin and MP, I refuse to call him Machu Picchu, while I slept.  Rat bastard. 

         “He’s a foreign exchange student.  He pays for my rent while I teach him English,” Kevin explained with a beam.  He slapped MP and continued, “His name is something like Matzu Pilu, I don’t know, he seems to like Machu Picchu and I like calling him that.”  God help us all.

         My face was stuck in a contorted mass of confusion and befuddlement.  My jaw had hit the carpet, my eyebrow touched the ceiling, and MP just smiled and repeated his name.  Jeff grabbed my arm and pulled me up from the futon.  I was being guided into the bathroom and make-up was shoved into my hands.

         “This looks pretty,” he said picking out a green eye shadow I used when I wanted to look like Cher.

         My senses came back online and I closed the bathroom door so as not to let the children hear us fight, “ARE YOU A FUCKING NUT?”

         “Callie, calm down.  Breathe.  I’ve done plenty of websites before and your secret identity is safe.  Besides, most of the money is made from advertisements.  You’ll be a like a super hero.  Callie Cronin, barmaid by night and erotic temptress by day.”  Wait, that didn’t make sense.  Super heroes moonlighted, it wasn’t their day job.  I pushed the make-up into his hands and shook my head. 

“If you’re so into this, why don’t you jack off for the world to see?”  Jeff took both of my shoulders with his man hands.  I was being man-handled.  I hate being man-handled.  He took a deep breath as if in preparation to give some sort of presidential speech.  This better be good. 

“Because. . ., you will be representing woman, just like you all over the country.  There are thousands of women out there who have never experienced an orgasm, just think about how long it took you to figure out how to get one.  Most men have only seen what they know on porn and they need to know there is more to the screams and thrashing around.  They need to know that there are contractions and squeezing and that glorious liquid that comes out of you.  If we do this right, you’ll be more like a tutorial then a porn star.  But mostly you’ll just get a bunch of guys off every day.”  I rolled my eyes.  In truth, that wasn’t a bad argument.  But it doesn’t justify Long Duck Dong filming me.

I sat down on the toilet with my head between my knees waiting for the insanity to kick in, “I’m going to need more than green eye shadow.”

“That’s my girl.”  Jeff clapped his hands together and we proceeded to turn Eliza Doolittle into a tramp. 

Chap 8:  The Cucumber of Truth

         Watching Nolan make cannolis was like watching a really good porno.  It included two of my favorite things.  Nolan bending over with his distressed jeans hugging his ass, and cannolis.  I wasn't sure which one I wanted to eat first.

Nolan was talking, but really I only heard my name and anything good he said about it, "Callie, you've been the best." If I had a cannoli every time I heard that, "but I think you need to go home.  You look like you need some sleep."

Oh no, I'm fine.  I'm just fantasizing about licking ricotta off your chest. 


         "You've been sitting there with your hand propping you up for the past hour.  The maddening crowd has passed, you can go home."  But I won't be able to look at your butt.  I had worked the grave yard shift for the fifth time this week.  I am now a permanent barmaid at The Big Bang, the loveable sports bar where guys come to have douche offs.  This meant I worked from six p.m. till two a.m. then, like the masochist I am, trudging over to the bakery next door, which my boss also owned, to help Nolan dole out day old pastries because I have a mondo crush on him that neither I nor my will to sleep can control.  My day job included masturbating in front of a camera so my sleazy ex-boyfriend and his bosum buddies could post it on a website.  Gee, I just love my life.  On top of that, I hadn't had sex in over two weeks.  If there wasn't video footage of my cooter, I would have thought it had taken a hike. 

         "Ok."  Please tell me you think I'm ugly, tell me you are secretly married to your cousin, so this stupid spell can be broken.  Nolan wouldn't tell me that though.  He would tell me I was an amazing employee, he'd tell me that if there was an employee of the month, I'd be on it every month.  Nolan, unlike me, had purpose.  He got from point A to point B every day and no matter how much extra help I put in, he'd never see me as a possible lost-in-the-moment fuck.  I was just too love-sick to step aside and let him open his own damn shop by himself.

         "Girl, you got it bad."  Penny had told me while we were sweeping up the other night.  I'd like to think I played it off.  I wanted to believe that she was mildly interested in my reactions to Nolan tapping my back, or stroking my arm to tell me he was behind me with a keg and that I would need to move.

         When approached with the truth, denial always comes in handy, "I don't know what you're talking about."

         "Yes you do, you would step in front of a moving train if he asked you to."  Wrong, I would only do it if he bent over, looked over his shoulder, and said that I was awesome. 

         "I've got other opportunities.  I almost made out with Cody two nights ago." Common sense prevailed.  Cody was the substitute bartender when he wasn't modeling for the nude fireman's calendar.  He was dumb as bricks, but he looked fantastic in a cowboy hat and plaid.  Cody and I had gotten locked in the freezer by accident and he still looked smoldering in forty degree temperatures.  Before any hanky panky got started, Nolan pried the door open with a crowbar.  My hero.

         "Haven't we all.  Then we take a step back, assess the situation, and leave him hot and heavy with his dick at half mast." Sounds like Penny's been in the freezer with Cody too.

         "I'll be more subtle about it.  Do you think he knows?" 

         Penny rolled her eyes and bent low so that I could only hear the low raspy voice that is her trademark, "He knows.  He's not stupid and he's not dead.  So you either come onto him and get accepted, or let him drag you on till someone else takes up your daydreaming.  Cody would be a good substitute if Cody had a brain." 

         I could spend just as much time fantasizing about Cody, but then he'd say something dumb mid-fantasy like, "I like to use Herb-al essence because it's got one serving of fruit in it."  I can't, I just can't. 

         I slumped a messenger bag over my head and proceeded to do the walk of shame out of the back kitchen door and into the early morning twilight.  Wearing the same clothes I had the night before, leaving with nothing more than a pat on the back.  I couldn't keep this up for much longer, he could be Optimus Prime all he wanted, I was a human being with needs. 

I felt a tug on my pony tail and a swift breeze of air up my back.  I probably forgot my keys or forgot to pick up my paycheck.  I turned, not so surprised to see Nolan, but there was something behind those dark brown eyes I hadn't seen before.  Not lust, just a charm that had never been there before.

         "I'm taking you out to dinner tomorrow.  Wear your hair down." 

         I remember nodding OK, getting into my car and texting my entire contact list that I had a date.  No one texted me back because it's five a.m. in the morning.  My brain turned back on halfway home.  Adrenaline was thumping through my veins and pushing the gas pedal a little harder.  He asked me out.  No, he'd told me out.  Whatever, I'm in!  When I got to the Brothel, the adopted name of the neighborhood I live in, I didn't even care that Kevin was slouched on my couch eating my food.  I had a date with a respectable man! 

         "I have a date!"  I shoved Kevin a couple of times and hopped up and down on the couch next to him.  Kevin buckled down into the crash landing position, curled up like a scared turtle. 

         "Why are you hitting me?"  Kevin uncurled just in time to get smacked in the face with a throw pillow. 

         "I'm just so happy!"

         "Do you normally abuse people when you're happy?"  No, you also ate all of my blue corn chips and hummus.  He ducked to avoid another playful punch and hit his shin on the coffee table sending Kevin into a giant shit-fest.  That's when it occurred to me; Kevin wasn't supposed to be here until three.

         "Kevin, what are you doing here?"  Other than breaking and entering.  I had a spare key under the door mat.  That was getting moved the next time I thought about it.

         "LeAnn broke up with me.  She found out about what we were doing and broke up with me."  Kev shoved the coffee table, my coffee table, out of his way with a foot and plopped back on the couch.  He had never mentioned a LeAnn.  Must have been something new.

Shock and awe, "What?"

         "We started going out last Wednesday.  She works at the crazy craft place next door to the comic book store," there's Greek row, and then there's Geek row, "I was showing her around last night, she saw some of the clips on the computer while I was in the shower and she bailed.  I didn't want to tell Machu about it because he wouldn't understand.  Plus, there isn't food in my house."

         Saint Callie, patron saint of emotional eaters. 

         "Awe, Kev, I'm sorry," not really, "You'll find someone who appreciates you." 

         My mother, my best friends, and my brother Joe, have all given me this line.  It's a load of crap.  What if Nolan found out about me doing this?  Gulp.

         "S'okay.  I'll be fine.  I'm here about another thing, too.  Jeff wanted me to warm you up to the idea before we asked you to do it." 

Wait for it. . .

         "A lot of the comments on the site have requested you to give a hand-job to a guy."  I knew it.

         "No way, no fucking way.  Are you kidding?  Who would it be?  You?  Jeff?  MP?  I'm legitimately dating someone now; I can't be jerking another guy off, on camera, on the internet!" 

         "You're already jerking off on camera, on the internet.  What difference does a dude's dick make?"  Say that three times fast.  Kevin was right though.  I'm already through the looking glass; why not make the peanut gallery happy?  Um, because it would involve touching either Kevin's or Jeff's dong.

         For another five minutes the little angel and the little devil on my shoulder argued back and forth about pros and cons.  Kevin, who had also pulled an all nighter, passed out with his arm around the Sunchips.  I went to sleep, still debating, dreaming about jerking guys off with a canolli shell.  Ugh!

         "Where your hair down when you jerk me off." Nolan God of Pastries said, riding on his white horse.  There was a distant tune playing behind him and I wanted to make it stop. 

         "Callie!" A voice clamored through my dream as the toga clad Nolan disappeared. 

         I woke up back in the real world.  No white horses, no Nolan, just that incessant ringing. 

         A pillow aimed straight at my head, "Callie, wake the fuck up!"

         It was Jeff.  Always Jeff. 

         "Your phone's been ringing for a half an hour.  It's three-thirty, get your ass out of bed!"  Let's see him walk a day in my shoes!  I merged my body onto the floor and stood up.  Everything went fuzzy.  Something was still ringing. 

         "Get out of bed!"  Jeff, who will be playing the part of my mother, came back in and shouted some more.  Just go away.  No one invited him over.  Okay, maybe I gave him an open invitation, but what I giveth I can taketh away-eth.

         Jeff is my ex-boyfriend/business partner.  He is first and foremost an asshole.  We agreed, though not amicably, to start a website where I would masturbate in front of a small Asian student named Machu Picchu, or MP.  He designed the website, he handles the money, I get a cut.  As does Kevin, that sack of potatoes on my couch.  MP works for peanuts and the glory of getting to tape an American girl touch herself with a vibrator.  Some would call it indentured servitude, but it has to be better than flipping burgers at Mickey D's. 

         A blackberry was shoved into my hands and it took a second to realize that it was mine, and the person on the other line was shouting my name to get attention.


         "So I got some very interesting news the other day," the voice on the other line said.  It was one of my brothers, they all sound the same, but this one was Joe.  Joe's the only one who: A; calls.  B; calls multiple times till I pick up.  And C; doesn't care if I'm in the middle of taking an LSAT, as long as I pick up the phone.

         Oh God, he knows. 

         "Mom was very upset, and you know how she gets about these things."  Oh Christ.  My mother knows.  The repercussions of this would be worse than when I was caught making out with Jack Stein inside in the confessionals at church.

         Denial! "I'm NOT doing anything wrong.  I have a legitimate job," working at a bar, trying to screw my boss, ". . ., and I'm making money."

         "She doesn't want you to live your life like that."  Joe paused.  I started running through scenarios about how my family would take my new source of income.  People were already lining up, bringing over coffee cake, sitting on her gold trim couch to "discuss" with my mother about her less than saintly daughter.  It would be like wearing a scarlet letter to the St. Patty's day festival.  Nothing gets the gossip mill churning faster like a church potluck.

         I resigned, "What do you want me to do?"

         "I'm moving in with you.  I've got two more years of research and after Hannah split, I need to get another place."  Holy shit.  Joe hadn't been talking about the website, he'd been talking about how I didn't have a roommate.  At my parents house we were forced to share a bedroom until I started my period.  Since I was a late bloomer and the older brothers with rooms of their own had failure to launch issues, Joe was my roommate for far too long. 

         One word, "No." 


         "No way!"

         "Yahweh!"  Sunday school joke, I'm not explaining.  It was moments like these, that if I were back in my house, I would pitch a fit and scream, "MOM!"

         "Callie, it's done.  Move whatever clothes or make-up you have in the second bedroom out by Saturday."  Which is tomorrow, "I'll be there around ten."

         "NO." He hung up as I continued to scream "NO" at the phone.  Joe has brown mop hair that is thick enough to stick twigs out of and make a nice centerpiece.  He works in the University’s science lab and resembles Beaker from the Muppet Show.  He has the same bleak facial expressions as the rest of the Cronin clan, I cover mine up with make-up, and wears baseball caps when he's not trying to impress the ladies.  My favorite memory of him was when he knocked out his two front teeth by jumping off the fence and into a clothesline.  My least favorite was when he his voice dropped and sixth grade girls from two parishes asked me if he liked them.  Joe spent most of high school smoking pot under the bleachers, looking up girls' skirts and abusing himself.  Sadly, the pot Joe smoked in high school contributed to his fascination in narcotics.  He got a scholarship and pursued pharmacodynamics.  He is now the fumbling brainiac in the family. 

         Jeff popped his head back into my bedroom and asked if I was done verbally abusing my phone.  Perfect time for another visit from Mr. Bird, a.k.a. my middle finger.

         "Did Kevin tell you about-,"


         "And?"  That was a good question.  Ask sleep deprived Callie if she wants to jack you off.  I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole.  I would touch Cody, but he'd have to be gagged.  Wait a minute.

         A pretty pink light bulb clicked on over my head, "I've got an idea." 

         Some ten minutes later I was banging on Cody's door.  Cody Dunham lived down the street from the Brothel, past Greek town and into a quaint little subdivision.  These people had manicured lawns, a flag on every porch, and a basketball hoop in every driveway.  If they were really classy, they had an above ground swimming pool.  The Thortan burbs looked like any other burb with the one exception, every house within a five mile radius lived, breathed and worked for the University.  I was saying a silent prayer that he didn't live with his parents. I knew where he lived because I'd given him a ride home while his GT was in the shop.  Oh yeah, Cody might be one sexy son-of-a-gun, but my evolutionary chips were on the guy who could spell clitoris, not excite it.

         He opened the door butt naked.  A cowboy hat was all that separated his junk from the rest of the world, which happened to be me, Jeff, Kevin, and Machu Picchu standing by with a video camera permanently attached to his face.  Jeff and Kevin bowed their heads, stifling chuckles, while MP asked if he should start shooting now.

         "Oh hey, Callie, I was just about to get in the shower.  Are you working tonight?"  Just like Cody to make small talk in the nude. 

         "Um, can I talk to you in private?" I asked peeking around his broad shoulders to see if there were any "mom" things in the hallway.  You know, school pictures, chotchkis, fake flowers in gaudy vases.  I saw instead a bare hallway with boots and an overstuffed coat hanger covered in Carhartt everything. 

         I stepped inside, gently closing the door, listening for the explosion of laughter from Kevin and Jeff.  Ahh, there it went.  Cody put his hat back on his head.  My eyes went straight to what it had been covering.  Oh my God!  He was uncircumcised.  I'd only ever heard of such things!  There was a strong urge to pull out my Nancy Drew magnifying glass. 

         "I model so I'm used to it," Cody reassured, putting a hand on my shoulder.  The pig in the blanket got closer.

         "I um. . .," penis, "I have a strange question," penis, " to ask."  Penis.  Well, that went well.  I started looking all over the foyer trying to put together the Cody Dunham mystery.  There was a fireplace in the living room with beer cans lined on top of the mantel.  So this was definitely not his parents' house.

         "I know what you want.  It's cool.  You are like totally hot, too.  Do you need me to help you take off your clothes?  Should I take a shower first before we get started?" Dear God, help me. 

         "Wait, that's not exactly why I came here."  Believe me, the truth is way better, "I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in letting them film me giving you a hand-job."  That folks, was the hardest question I've ever had to ask.  Forget "Will you marry me," or "Should I or should I not follow Nolan Kelly around like a love-sick puppy."  I just asked my co-worker if he was cool with me touching his ding-dong on camera.

         "Oh, sure.  I thought you wanted to make a sex tape.  I was cool with that, too."  I hope it never comes to that.  Cody opened the door to let in Jeff and Kevin, who had been ear to glass pane, and toppled into the foyer at the feet of our new co-anchor.  "Do I have to have sex with one of them?"

         "NO!" we all answered.


         "Hold the phone." 

         Cody was showered and smelled like wood and man.  He came down the stairs decked in a towel, a cowboy hat and nothing else.  His biceps flexed in anticipation, or maybe because he had an audience.  I wanted to wash clothes on his abs and took as many mental pictures as my camera could hold.  Jeff had propped himself against the banister, shaking his head.

         "We want this guy's dick to be big right?  How do we know he's got a big wiener?"  Jeff asked swinging around an electrical cord and staring me down as if I should be the all-knowing oracle to answer such a complex question. 

         "We could measure all of your dicks and whoever has the longest or fattest gets it."  Eat your heart out King Solomon.  My money was on Cody.  Had been since he took his cowboy hat off.

         "Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?" Jeff asked grasping at straws.  He was determined to play this out till he had to cry uncle. 

         "No, why would I need a ruler?"  Cody asked getting peeved that his johnson all of the sudden wasn't big enough. 

         This looks like a job for Callie the mediator, "Just get it up, I'll measure it, I'll decide."

         Cody shrugged and whipped it out, I turned away to give him some privacy, as did Jeff, and Kevin.  MP started filming.

         "I'm gonna need more space," Jeff said leaving to go to the downstairs bathroom.  Kevin wasn't participating in the huge-dick-off, so he helped me look for something to measure them against in the refrigerator.  I shuffled through the odds and ends of Cody's lifestyle, came across nothing useful, it didn't even look like he lived here.  The living room was sparse of any furniture, the oak floor was stained and warped.  Cody's kitchen wasn't much more to look at.  Peeling wall paper and a plastic card table.  There were dozens of GNC protein powder jugs.  Jesus, is that all this guy ate?

         "I'm ready!" Cody called from the front room.  Shit.  I needed a piece of loose leaf.

         "Here," Kevin handed me a cucumber, "Just make a mark in it or something."

         I turned the cucumber over in my hand.  It was definitely longer and fatter than any dick I'd seen.  I was surprised it was in Cody's refrigerator. 

         "Alright, this is the cucumber of truth," I said holding up the gourd and pointing to his hard-on, "I'm going to put it up against your um. . ." boner, cock, junk, willy, wiener, doodle, purple-headed-yogurt-slinger, ". . .thing, and make a mark on this side." 

         Cody nodded.  I measured, digging my fingernail in the cucumber where his penis ended and marking it with a CD.  I'm anything if efficient when it comes to measuring guys' dicks.  In the bathroom, Jeff and I went through the same routine, and I didn't need a damn cucumber of truth to know Cody had the advantage.  I don't know, but there is something about that extra foreskin.

         One day years from now, we would gather around and talk about how ridiculous this whole experience was.  I would be ten years older maybe, with a billion dollars in my bank account, perfectly manicured nails and toes, and a Beamer X3.  Kevin would have his own comic bookstore, he'd be able to go to Comic Con every year and he'd make Stan Lee seethe with jealousy.  Jeff would be living with his mother, eating out of a tin can every night, selling pixie sticks at the intersections.  We would laugh and recall how silly we'd all been.  That I, at one low point in my post college life, stripped down to my undies, lathered up a super hot abs of steel co-worker, and slid my hand up and down his dick for a not-so-profitable website.  At the end of the night we would pat each other on our backs, say our good-byes and never see each other again.  One day, but not today.

         Do you even need lube if you're not circumcised?  How does it work?  Suddenly I was seventeen years old again in the back of my boyfriend's Buick with my hands between his legs.  I could feel something take my twisting fingers and place them on top of flesh.  Hard flesh. 

         "Cal, you're not getting shy are you?" Jeff asked bending over to stroke my back.  Cody was naked, laid out before me with his dick defying gravity pointing straight up in the air.  I had asked Jeff to leave ten minutes ago but he kept finding ways to come back in.  Cody who it seemed took a Viagra, was ready to go for the past half hour. 

         I'm miserable, "I'm fine."

         "Okay, just checking to see if you needed any help." 

         I heard Cody growl somewhere deep in his system.  He grabbed my hand and started stroking himself via me.  Once I picked up his rhythm, he let go and stretched himself out like a cat getting petted.  His hands slid behind his head, abs flexed and just watched me with two little slits of happy bliss.  I could feel the hard ribbed core beneath his flesh.  This guy seeped out sex in everything.  Occasionally I would feel the pulse of him beat in my hand.  If I wasn't careful, I'd get pregnant just looking at him. 

         He took a sharp inhale, biting his lower lip, and jacking up a knee. MP had to reposition to get a better shot.  One of Cody's hands had slid up the side of my bra and was tugging it down so he could play with my flesh.  Tit for tat.  His eyes rolled around behind closed lids, slipping closer to the end of his yellow brick road.  Pausing for dramatic effect, I could feel the slight throb of his manhood at my fingertips.  Damn, he's hot.

         "Faster," Cody murmured.  I knew that tone.  I concentrated on the head, adding a lick or two from my tongue to give him some lube.           Cody's head and shoulders jacked up off the floor, pinching my nipple and grunting out from deep in his throat.  He started to cum, shooting up to his chest, all over my hand, and all over his stomach.  It was beautiful.  MP gave me the thumbs up and shut off the camera.  Cody pulled me down to his head, nipping at my lower lip with his teeth and twirling a nipple between two fingers.  Instant girl hard-on.  It was suddenly apparent how many days, hours, and minutes I'd gone without sex.  How awkward at work would that be?  How awkward at work was it going to be after this? 

         "Cody," I felt his name trail out of my lips as more of an erotic groan.  Fuck, I am so using that cucumber later, "Please don't tell anyone about this.  Especially the people at work." 

         Cody shrugged, wiped himself off with my shirt, and stood up.  And I'm back to square one with Cody.  Jerk just used my shirt to clean up.  He pulled me up, slipped his tongue in my mouth, and made my world gooey, "When you want to make a sex tape, let me know."

         He strolled out, tipping his hat to Jeff as he passed, and proceeded to take another shower.  I would need my own cold shower to shake off that lust.  Jeff looked like grump-osaurus.  His arms crossed, furrowed brows, and a tint of jealousy.

         "Can you walk?" he asked, tossing me a jacket.

         No, "Yes."

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