“Here is what I mean, let me demonstrate for you,” I say as I go over to the table and pick up the suction cup dildo that I’ve seen in porn videos a few times.
I try to envision the video that I watched a few times as I also tried to figure out what she was doing. With a deep breath I turn back around and face the crowd before me.
“This right here, fellas, is one of our best sellers. You will notice the base is round like a plate but if you watch me carefully, it turns into more than you bargained for,” I say and walk over to the cabinet door to demonstrate how it suctions to the door. “See this right here, picture a night with you and your very sexy lady. She comes home from a long day at work and needs to blow off some steam before you arrive. She attaches this to any surface, lubes it up, and starts to slowly sink down on the shaft. Now, to her surprise, you arrive home early, but she doesn’t notice you at all as she’s having fun with the toy you bought her. You simply strip yourself down and walk right up to her. Now fellas, who here loves to get a blow job?” I ask and notice they all raise their hands, except for Cooper who is now boring holes through my body. I feel light headed since I have never spoken like this to anyone, but all I am trying to do is recite the video and make a good situation out of a bad one.
I continue, “Right, so… She is already in the mood working her body to climax? Do you think she’s going to turn down taking care of her man? No, she’s not boys, and if she does, you need to find a new lady because she doesn’t love your penis anymore; she loves big Jake over here,” I say and point to the suction cup dildo on the door. I make my way back over to the table and eye it up for a few other items to show the guys. I come across the massage oils and explain how women love to feel pampered, and when we are relaxed we’re more apt to agree on the anal training kit. I mean, you’re already lubed up so might as well give it a shot, right?
The show continues for another hour and before I know it it’s time to place orders. To my surprise, each guy in the room, well other than Cooper the mood buster, wants an order form. I’m not sure what Megan does on a normal night, but right now I am in complete shock as I tally the total up in my head. Tonight’s order comes to over two thousand dollars, each guy wanting a shit ton of items. I have to say for some reason I found myself at ease here doing the show, which surprises the hell out of me since I had to say penis a lot. Maybe it’s the fire burning inside me from being pissed at Cooper, or the ease of a few intoxicated men that made it fun to just goof off with. I don’t know the answer to that, but right now I feel like I did my job well.
I let them all know that I enjoyed being here tonight and their packages will arrive in an unmarked box within the next week. I start to pack up and prepare to leave when Cooper steps over to me.
“Charlie, can we talk for a minute?” he asks, so low that I can barely make out what he said.
“Cooper, I really don’t have time for this right now so if you will excuse me, I need to pack up and head home before someone else mistakes me for a stripper.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, I need to apologize to you for what I thought you were here for. I mean, you need to look at it from where I’m standing, you’d have thought the same.”
I turn to look at him square in the face, my blood finally boiling like it never has before.
“I need to say this to you, and I’m only going to say it once. The way I felt about you was something I’ve never felt before. The way my body reacted to you each and every time you looked, touched, or fucked me, was a first. The way you made me feel cheap, and dirty in that bathroom tonight was also a first for me. No, Cooper, I’m not a stripper- I sell sex toys to make extra money to pay off my school loans. Tonight just so happened to be the first one solo, and I happened to walk in here to a bachelor party. So, if you don’t mind, I would like to take my ego home and drown it in a pint of ice cream with all of my vibrators. And for the record, I quit,” I say rather loud as I’m pushing him backwards with my finger in his chest. I snatch up my rolling case and hold my head high as I walk out the front door. Parts of tonight were a disaster, but if I can handle this, I can handle any show thrown at me with the ladies.
I don’t stop to look back as I wait in the driveway for my taxi to arrive. The whole time I’m praying that Cooper doesn’t come out here to talk me out of quitting. I feel a lone tear slide down my face as the emotions, fear, and adrenaline from the events over the last few hours flow over me.
Chapter Nine
The sound of my phone ringing on the nightstand wakes me from a deep slumber. I notice that Megan’s name is highlighted on the screen and I pray that she’s not calling to fire me, this being my only job as of last night.
“I don’t know how you did it honey, but you just broke a record,” she screeches through the line, causing me to pull it away from my ear.
“What are you talking about, and do you realize it’s only seven in the morning… And it’s Saturday?”
“I know what time it is, and I’m talking about your sales last night. You know the ones you entered on the computer once you got home from the party.”
“Oh yes, I know. Were they good? I mean, it was a different kind of show and I don’t know what a normal sales night would be,” I say and realize I’m rambling along.
“Good? They were record breaking, Charlie. We have never had those kind of numbers. What did you do?
“Megan, did you know it was a bachelor party and not a bachelorette party?”
“What do you mean, Charlie?” she questions and I can tell that she truly thought it was an all girls’ party.
“I mean, instead of all girls I had a room of men… I had to sell them dildos, anal plugs, massage oils…you name it.”
“How did this happen? I am so confused, and how did you do that? You should’ve called me and we would’ve canceled it.”
“It’s actually pretty funny,” I say with laughter, before I continue explaining the events from the night to Megan. Apparently the joke was on me also as I wasn’t aware that Megan owned the company and right then and there she promoted me to head director or something as she mumbled that we are now open to couples, and bachelor parties. Lucky for me since I did so well with the guys last night I get to do them all moving forward. My head is swimming with all the information and now the nerves kick in as I have to think of ways to sell the other items to guys and/ or couples. The only thing I can think to help is what helped the last time; porn and my rage at Cooper.
I notice that I have a few missed texts from him, but I don’t read them and just delete the whole conversation. Nothing he could say right now would be good enough. How he looked at me last night made me feel cheap, used, and well cheap. If we are meant to be together then time will heal my bruised heart, until then I have some lessons to watch and money to make.
Who would have thought that the girl who couldn’t say penis would be selling them to a group of men a few nights a week? I sure as hell didn’t, maybe Ginger was right after all. I just needed something to bring me out of my shell.
To be continued…
About A.M. Willard
International Bestselling Author, A.M. Willard is a true believer of soul mates, and happy ever afters. She enjoys reading, sailing, and of course writing contemporary romance, and romantic comedy with some saucy scenes. Releasing her first novella of the One Night Series on April 12, 2014, has sent her on a new journey in life.
A.M.'s passion for writing started at a young age, but with the love and support from her husband of nineteen years pushed her to follow her dreams. Once she hit that first publish button, she hasn't looked back.
Publications available from A.M. Willard include the Chances Series, Love on the Screen, Fading Memories, Hearts in Florence, and A Taste of Love Series. She's also had an article published in the Writer's Monthly Review Magazine and accepted into the Romance Writers of America organization in May of 2015.
A.M. Willard was born
and raised in the Panhandle of Florida, but resides in Savannah GA with her husband, son, two cats, one rotten dog, two goats and her six chickens. Yes, we said chickens and goats...
You can connect with A.M. Willard at the following sites.
Website: www.amwillard.com
Subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bb-Cd1
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WE WERE DRUNK
(No, really!)
bY COURTNEY COLE & MEGHAN QUINN
**This is what happens when Courtney and Meghan drink.
Enter at your own risk.**
Chapter One
Millicent
I’ve never been away from home before.
I mean, not really. My senior year trip to Mexico doesn’t count because I can’t remember it. The whole thing is a haze of sun, sand, and two-dollar tequila shots. Lord, that was when I got my tattoo, and that’s something I can’t undo.
I glance at the unfortunate rendering of Eva Peron on my hip. God only knows why I thought it was appropriate to get her face on my body. I was so drunk at the time that I forgot she wasn’t even Mexican. I thought I was doing something awesome AF to pay tribute to Mexico, and it turned out that Eva was from Argentina. It’s the thought that counts, though, and the tattoo artist really did do a lovely job. But still. It’s Eva Peron. On my hip.
I shake that memory away and reach for my bath towel.
None of that matters now. I’m finally getting away from this godforsaken town and this farm and my parents, and I’ll finally be able to save money for college. I’m only three years late, but it’s better late than never.
My sister, Claude, pokes her head in my room, her eyes wide.
“Are you ready?” she practically whispers. Her eyes widen. “You should be dressed. The bus gets into town in thirty minutes.”
Yes, that’s right. The bus. My parents, so ticked off that I’m choosing to leave this place and try to get an education, aren’t even driving me to my new job. It’s only four hours away by car, but a million hours away on a Greyhound that stops every little whipstitch. It’s my mother’s way of punishing me.
Whatever. I’m ok with that.
I nod, and pull a t-shirt over my unruly curls. They have a mind of their own, and I can’t tame them. I’ve tried, I’ve failed.
“Let’s go, then,” I say cheerfully. My sister’s eyes water because she’ll be left alone here for her senior year, and I hate doing it, but I’ve got to escape. “Don’t worry,” I tell her softly. “You can come join me next year. We’ll go to school together.”
She nods bravely, the keys to the farm truck in her hand. “We’ve gotta go,” she tells me. “While they’re still at church.”
“Yep.” I grab my packed bag, and take one last look at my room… at the One Direction posters (don’t judge), at the pink curtains my mother just had to have in here, at the special edition Cabbage Patch Kids on the shelf. I’m still holding out hope that they’ll be worth money someday. Until then though, it’s time to leave this behind.
Without another look, I close the door behind me and follow my sister down the hall.
Our ride to town is quiet and bumpy, because the truck barely has any shocks left. When we get to the bus station and climb out of the truck, Claude throws her arms around my neck, squeezing the air out of my windpipe.
“I’ll miss you so much,” she tells me, and I feel her tears on my face.
“I’ll miss you too,” I answer. “I’ll write every night so remember to check your email.”
She nods, then rubs at her eyes, then shoves me toward the bus. My family isn’t good at showing emotion. I wave at her, sniff a little bit, then climb aboard my new life.
First impressions…. My new life smells like a boy’s locker room.
Holy shizznuts, Greyhound busses stink. Lord have mercy.
I scan the area, looking over the weird and misshapen and scary, until my gaze falls upon an open seat next to a kindly old lady with light blue hair. Bingo. I make a bee-line for the seat, collapsing into it.
The old lady looks up from her crossword puzzle.
“Good morning dear,” her blue eyeliner matches her mascara and hair. I commend her for being coordinated.
“Good morning,” I answer politely. “I’m Millicent. But you can call me Millie.”
“That’s interesting,” she tells me. “I’m Millicent, too.”
We express our joy and delight in that for a minute, because it’s not everyday that one runs into that name. Then she offers me some homemade peanut-brittle, which I must say, is out of season. It’s not Christmas, for Pete’s sake. But of course I take a bite, because to do otherwise would be rude. And Millicent Thomas isn’t rude.
“Where are you headed, darling?” Old Millie asks when the bus finally starts running down the road. “You seem a little young to be traveling alone.”
She looks vaguely disapproving, so I rush to tell her my age. “I’m twenty,” I tell her. “And I’m very responsible.”
I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but it seemed like the right thing to say. It must work, because she nods and calms down, and hands me another piece of candy. I take it, because I’m polite. And hungry.
“I have a feeling about you,” she tells me three hours later, after my back has started to sweat because the air conditioning doesn’t work well on this freaking Greyhound. She pauses dramatically.
“You do?” I prompt her when she remains silent.
She smiles. “I do. I just got a very strong feeling that you’re going to fall in love this summer.”
I choke on my own spit because that seems unlikely. Due to my very strict parents, I’ve never even had a boyfriend.
“Why do you think that?” I manage to ask, once my shock has dissipated.
The old lady shrugs. “Just call it a hunch.” She’s got a knowing gleam in her eye that is unnerving though, so I close my eyes and sleep for as long as I can. Something about her blue hair freaks me out. It matches the gleam in her eyes.
She’s truly going out of her way to be coordinated.
She looks out the window, and eventually falls asleep, and I can’t believe it when she sleeps the entire rest of the way to Lincoln, Nebraska. With her head in the window, I can’t see out, so I stand up when the bus comes to a stop so I can take a look.
Turns out, there’s not much to see.
Lincoln is a whole lot of nothingness.
And fields.
But it is home to the amusement park that my parents took me to when I was six. I never forgot it because it was the one time they ever let us do anything fun. And so when I sent my application to be a seasonal summer worker, I prayed to God every night that I’d get the job.
And I did.
And here I am.
Old Millie smiles at me as I gather my stuff. “I’m staying on until Denver,” she tells me. “But you have a great summer, young lady. Although I already know you will.”
She’s being creepy again, with that weird gleam in her eyes, and so I just nod and scramble away. Because God. She can’t see the future.
The bus station is actually just a gas station, and it’s rickety and faded and old. In fact, the sign doesn’t even work right. The R in Ryan’s Service Station blinks on and off. I grab some peanuts and a soda, and when I’m paying, I ask the cashier how to get to Clown Town.
“Clown Town?” she looks at me in concern. “Why would you want to go to that creepy old place?”
I’m taken aback by that. It’s not creepy. If my memory serves, it’s bright and happy and joyful. I tell her that and she laughs.
“When were you there?”
I think about that. “About fifteen-ish years ago.”
She nods knowingly. “Well, I think you’ll find it a bit different now.”
> Well, that seems ominous. She gives me directions, and I find that it’s only about fifteen blocks away so I can walk. I take my snacks, take my bag and set out on my way.
Fifteen rural American blocks later, I find myself standing in front of the scariest place in the world.
My jaw hangs open as I view the scene before me.
A giant clown face with an open mouth as a door leers at me, the paint peeling around the eyes. It looks like it’s deranged or crying, or both. Through the door, I see the most run-down midway I’ve ever seen, each building sad and peeling, with pictures of creepy clowns everywhere.
How did I ever think this place was joyful?
Probably because I was six and didn’t know anything. But I’m here now, and I don’t have enough money to go back, and so I’m stuck living here for the summer.
God save my soul.
I take a step, then another, then another, and suddenly, someone grabs my arm.
I turn, and look into the face of a man.
He seems as surprised as I am that I’m here.
“What are you doing here?” he demands. “We don’t open until ten.”
“I… I’m here to work,” I tell him. God, I wish I were lying.
He pauses, looks at me, and then takes a step back, releasing my elbow.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
He eyes me again, looking me up and down, only not in a creepy way. It’s in a more incredulous way.
“Ok. Well, let me show you where to go.”
With that, and also without introducing himself, he leads me away from the mouth of the park, toward the belly of it, and toward what I’m sure will be a very memorable, if not terrifying, summer.
Chapter Two
Racer
“Where are you taking me? You’re kind of scaring me.”
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”
That doesn’t sound right. I pull off my clown nose, set it gingerly on the dilapidated table in front of me, and look for the voices out the front window of the Clown Shack. My Hula Hoop waistline bangs against the wood of the wall as I peer out front, looking for the trouble I hear.