Victoria Hendricks is the woman who twenty-four years ago gave birth to me at the age of sixteen. Usually her calls are manipulative money-seeking opportunities. I hesitate for a second before pushing my Louis Vuitton suitcase to the edge of the bed and taking a seat on the soft mattress.
“Hello, Vicky,” I say in a flat tone.
“Baby girl, I just got off the phone with Calista. She’s all worked up over the fact that you didn’t invite her to your wedding yesterday. I told her that since she’s merely your foster—”
“Calista Britton is more a mother to me than you have ever been or will ever be,” I cut her off. I’ve heard all of this before. I hate when she puts Calista down.
Vicky might’ve given birth to me, but Calista is my fifth foster parent, who got me when I was fourteen. Although I lived with her through my high school years, she never adopted me. The courts couldn’t get my mother to sign off on terminating her parental rights. Icky Vicky played the system well. Naturally, it was at my expense.
“Anyways…baby girls, is it true that you’re married?”
“Yes, to a really great guy.”
“Uh-huh,” she agrees suspiciously. “How come last month when you and I had dinner you didn’t mention that you were dating anyone?”
“We just met.”
“Funny thing is, Calista says she’s never heard of him either.”
“So?”
“I assume you would’ve at least talked to Calista. You know how sensitive she is about you. Her feelings are hurt.”
The last thing I want to do is upset my foster mother.
“I called her last night and told her the news.” I didn’t want her to see it on TV. I hadn’t exactly given her my reasons. I didn’t see the need until now. “Vicky. What do you want?”
“I just wanted to give you my blessings is all, baby girl.”
“Thanks.” I roll my eyes, detecting her insincerity. “You working this week?”
“Yup. Picked up an extra shift over at Centerfolds.”
At nearly forty years of age, Victoria continues to shake what she’s got at the hottest strip club in Times Square. Her dancing fame didn’t really come to light until after I had established myself as a reality star. One might say she rode my coattails to the nearest pole, pasties and all.
“Great. Anything else?”
“I got a call from a reporter today. He offered me twenty thousand dollars to tell him everything I knew about your new hubby.”
I laugh so hard into the phone I nearly cry.
See, this is what Icky Vicky does to me and my career. Every time I have a moment of glory or take one step ahead in life, in she comes like a wrecking ball attempting to smash it all to pieces.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve tried to get rid of her over the years, but I find if I ignore Vicky she only spins out of control making my life worse. Like the time she exposed my childhood for what it really was, ruining my image with the American viewers that I’d come from a good home.
Sure, it was wrong of me to position myself as such, but back then I didn’t have a voice let alone a following. It sure did backfire on Vicky when my fans realized I’d come from nothing and had made something of my life.
Taddy Brill says that’s how fans identify with me most, my ability to survive.
To be honest though, I’m exhausted. I’m so tired of Vicky, the press, this game, and my reality persona. Regardless I don’t really have a choice. That’s the thing about reality TV; once you’re on the screen and in the viewers’ minds, there’s really no place else for you to go.
I could always dance at Centerfolds if I had to, but that’s just not who I am.
“I said I got a call—” Vicky raises her already annoying voice.
“I heard you. So what? Go ahead and do the interview. Tell them everything that you know about my life, my husband, and my marriage.”
“Don’t you get fresh with me, baby girl. I know you’re up to something.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, and I will get to the bottom of this if it kills me,” she threatens.
“Vicky, wouldn’t that be wonderful—if while trying to get to the bottom of my pursuit of happiness—you were to drop dead?”
“Neve Adele, how dare you talk to me like that.”
“I’m hanging up now. I suggest you don’t call me again, not for a while. And leave my husband alone. I mean it, Vicky. If you start snooping into my life so you can turn around and sell some cheesy story to the tabloids, you will regret it.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Without any reply, I hang up. My face heated, I take a few breaths before calling Calista, who answers on the first ring.
“You told Icky Vicky about my marriage?”
“I’m sorry. Coincidentally she called last night a few minutes after I got off the phone with you. I swear that woman has ESP. I was upset. You got married and didn’t invite me, so I cried on her shoulder. How else am I supposed to react?”
Calista Britton is a single woman who always dreamt of my big wedding day. She kept a hope chest for me in my old New Jersey bedroom.
“Marrying Sheldon isn’t what you think. I married him to get on a reality show,” I blurt out. I hope I don’t regret it.
“Oh dear God. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. Brill, Inc. came up with the idea. It’s to revitalize my career.”
A minute or two of silence passes between us. I can tell she’s getting comfortable with the idea. Calista always has my best interests at heart.
“What can I do to help?” she asks as she always does. There’s no bigger Neve Adele fan than Calista. I love her for that. “What’ll happen if you and Sheldon get caught?”
“You mean if the producers find out we’re complete strangers and got married just to get on the show?”
“Yes, that.”
“I imagine we’d have to give them back the money they paid us. We’d probably get exposed. I’d never work in reality TV again. My brand would most likely be dropped from Macy’s and/or boycotted by my fans. Sheldon wouldn’t have the funds to fight for custody of his son. He’d probably have to surrender his child to his mother, who from what I hear is no better than Icky Vicky.”
Calista gasps, and then there’s silence between us.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you two.”
“Thank you. Call Kiki at Brill, Inc., tell her you’d like to brainstorm with her on some tabloid stories that’ll make my marriage appear to be in a positive light. She’ll give you the fact sheet on Sheldon. Memorize it before you talk to the reporters, and we’ll go from there.” A sense of being undefeated washes over me as I get to my feet, enjoying the plush off-white carpeting between my toes.
“I love you, Neve. I’m always proud of you. I don’t agree with how you’ve chosen to use marriage for your career, but I understand now why you did.”
“Thank you. I love you too, Calista.”
She hangs up.
Calista has been putting out my fires since the first day I met her. She took me to get my teeth cleaned for the very first time, my eyes examined, my hair cut, and my nails done. When I got older, I’d asked her why she became a foster parent. What made her want to take in someone else’s child and love on them so much? I’ll never forget her reply.
She said, “I was born with so much love in my heart that I couldn’t keep it all to myself. It just didn’t seem right. So I opened my home and myself to you.”
She’s a special woman, that Calista Britton.
Icky Vicky Hendricks? Not so much.
My front door buzzer chimes. I run to the window to see the SUV parked out front.
It’s showtime.
Rock Hard, Cock Ready
Long Island Expressway
Sheldon
I jump out of the SUV and help Neve with her luggage, and then we crawl into the backseat and stare at each other.
“Is this limo ride being record
ed?” With hesitation, I glance around the empty seats.
She laughs before replying, “No. You’ll know when we’re on camera because there’s usually a crew of men with equipment following us around. From time to time, they might put a small video camera in a car that we’re in, but we’re not even miked up yet so there’s no need. Tonight when we get to resort, they’ll go over the schedule and let us know where all the stationary cameras are in the house.”
“I see.” A desire to jump out of the car comes over me as my attention fixates on the door.
“Don’t be nervous. Often there’s one area of a house that’s not set up for cameras, like the bathroom or a closet. We can do all our off-camera real talking there. Okay?”
I nod. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.” I crack my knuckles, trying to get comfortable.
“Like we’re husband and wife,” she says playfully, leaning over to me.
Her very touch causes my erection to harden like rock. My mind wanders back to the courthouse—her legs spread wide up over my shoulders, my face buried in her tight pussy, her moans and muscle spasms as she orgasms.
“I can still taste you on my fingers.” I hold up my right hand and slowly lick at my skin, flirting with her.
Her laugh stops as she inhales deeply, causing her chest to rise and those perky breasts to jut out. Her nipples are becoming increasingly more visible through her blouse.
I wanna suck on your beautiful tits.
Slowly I caress the right side of her thigh. I’m hoping. I’m praying. I’m intending for a repeat performance of what we shared the other day.
“Not gonna happen.” She pushes me off her.
My lips curl downward into a frown.
“Why’s that, Wonder Woman?” The nickname embodies her so well.
“With our three-hour ride to the resort ahead, we need to study.”
“Study?” I blow out my cheeks and then release them.
She pulls out two red folders. One her has name on it, the other has mine.
“Brill, Inc. created some facts sheets on us. Kiki got most of your information from your brother.”
“Warner, really?” I’m curious. What things could my high-powered wealthy brother have to say about me? Often over the years I’ve wondered if he even knew me at all. I mean, with his rich life, society friends, and having Taddy on his arm, he just never seems to take note on anything I do. Except when it comes to Liam. If anything, having a son has brought me, and my brother closer together.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” She lifts her legs up, resting them across my lap and rubbing her calf muscles against my hardness.
I flip the folder open, scanning the pages; I see mostly facts about Neve that I’d read up on already. “There isn’t much here that I don’t already know.”
“What my favorite ice cream flavor?” she asks.
“Hmmm. Ya got me there.”
“Peppermint. I love when the red swirls with the white, making into a pink, and that taste of hard candy makes me smile. I used to have this foster parent I stayed with for a few years. She served it every night after dinner.” A smile, one that I’d never seen before from Neve, graced her lips.
“Do you still talk to her?”
“No. My birth mother, who I call Icky Vicky, filed a complaint with the judge that I was being physically abused by her, and Social Services had me removed from the house.”
“Were you?”
Shaking her head, she replies, “Whenever I was growing fond of a foster home—you know, finally feeling as if I belonged, possibly might even be adopted—Vicky always found a way to have me removed.”
“Why didn’t you just go live with Vicky, then?” Unable to fathom her childhood I stare down at my feet.
“Good question. There are a million reasons as to why I never got to live with Vicky. But one of them, and probably the most important, at least according to the legal system’s view, was her alcoholism. Vicky preferred her vodka, gin, rum, tequila, wine, beer—you name, she drank it—over her own daughter. She spent a few years in jail.”
“For what?” I ask.
“One night when I was seven, I remember because I’d just started the first grade, she stole a car and drove it into oncoming traffic.”
I reach for Neve’s hand as she pauses. Her flesh is warm against mine.
“Vicky passed out at the wheel and ran into oncoming traffic, killing a man. She spent about five years in jail for that one.”
“I’m sorry, Neve. I had no idea.”
“Every time that woman would get her ducks in a row, all her affairs in order, and it would appear that I would finally be going home, she’d get wasted, wreck a car, run over a pedestrian, hold up a convenience store. It was as if she knew deep down inside she was unfit to be my mom and didn’t want the responsibility, so she’d fuck it up.”
“How do you feel about alcoholics and alcoholism?” I ask, knowing I am one.
“I hate them. I don’t have any friends who have substance abuse issues. I won’t date a guy who drinks too much. Really anything in excess is bad for you: food, booze, pills, gambling, sex. The list goes on and on.”
“Right.” I nod.
“Call me the girl of moderation. I hope you’re okay with that.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t exactly come out and declare that I’ve been sober since the month I took in Liam, so I do what Taddy told me to do and edit myself. “No. No problem at all.”
We study for a bit longer, learning about where Neve went to school—Bergen Elementary and Middle School, and then later earning her GED in night school. What her favorite romantic comedy is—How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days. And her favorite song is “Happy” by Pharrell Williams. Makes sense considering she’d told me the other day how much she doesn’t like any type of music that makes her feel sad.
If I didn’t know about Neve’s childhood, I would say just by looking at her, that she’s superficial. However, the more I get to know her, the more I realize it’s a candy coating for her pain. Thinking back to what caused me to become an alcoholic, the pain from my buried past, I can relate to her in that regard. Sometimes in life when it’s too hurtful to deal with the truth, you pretend it never happened. That’s what I do.
I study the pages forward to backward and vice versa, sensing if I’m missing some facts.
“Neve. This isn’t telling me much.”
“What else would you like to know?”
“For starters, what turns you on?”
“Financial security.”
I laugh at her quick reply and then realize she’s serious.
“Given your upbringing, that’s understandable. What else?”
“A man with strong forearms.” She runs her fingers over my flesh, causing my skin to prickle with excitement.
Spreading my legs a bit wider, allowing my cock to breathe, I take a deep inhale and try to control myself.
“A man with a thick fat cock.” She eggs me on to undo my belt, so I do.
I glance up at the tinted window. I can’t see the driver, although I’m sure he can see us. But I don’t care.
Neve’s eyes widen as she glances down at my cock.
“Do you like what you see?” I ask, knowing full well her lips are starting to swell with excitement.
Blowing the Big Monster
Neve
Holy fuuuck me!
Granted, I’ve not seen many cocks. Okay, I can count on one hand just how few I’ve been witness to over the years, but Sheldon Truman’s dick is sheer perfection.
The head of his dick is cut and sculpted with a thick mushroom head. I lick my thumb, lower my hand, and glide my finger over the bulbous tip. The little slit glistens with precum. Sliding off the limo seat, I kneel between his legs.
“Yes, Wonder Woman, yessss,” he moans with encouragement.
Lowering my face, I kiss the tip of his dick before glancing up at him to witness his lips spread wide, white teeth f
lashing back at me in pleasure. Sheldon Truman has the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen.
His penis shaft, like a great oak tree, is long and thick. I take his erection between my palms, stroking up and then down, ever so slowly.
He kicks off his shoes, toes curling as his legs tighten around me.
I feel at home between his legs, his beautiful dick hard as a rock as he watches my every move.
“I like to take my time,” I say to him, as if I’ve done this a thousand times before. I haven’t. I heard that line in a movie once and thought it was cute.
His flesh, pink and starting to change colors, reflects his excitement.
“Don’t take too long, Wonder”—his big hands cup the back of my head as he plays with my hair—“Woman. Suck my cock.” He hunkers down in his seat, every muscle of his body tensing with anticipation.
I lick the tip of his dick, tasting an unexpected soapy freshness. With my left hand I begin to stroke him while my tongue dances on the tip of his flesh.
“Come on, Wonder Woman. Suck it.”
Taking his girth, fist half-mast, I do as he says.
My eyes sting with tears as my head bobs back and forth, getting into it. For a nanosecond I don’t think I can take anymore. I pull back to see the pleasure wash over his face, motivating me to go all out.
My right hand wipes the tears starting to fall from my eyes. Flipping my hair back over my shoulder, I lean in to him. His knuckles kneed my hairline, first teasingly, but then his grip tightens as I start to taste his salty arousal.
“Yes. That’s it, Wonder Woman. Right there. Yes. Oh God. You’re so beautiful. Those lips of yours. That hot mouth. Oh. Fuck. Yes.”
Just as he’s about to come, I pull back and mutter, “Not yet, Shel.”
“You want me to fuck you?” he asks.
“Yes, but not now.” I sure as hell have no intention of losing my virginity in the back of an SUV.
I slide my right hand under my skirt and begin to rub myself. “I want to come with you.”
“That’s good, Wonder Woman. Very good.” His strong hands grasp the back of my head and push me playfully back onto his cock. “Come with me while you deep throat—.”