Page 189 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Yeah, you can say that because you’re in a relationship with a sexy man who wears tailored suits that rival David Beckham’s. You can live away from the love mecca; me, on the other hand, I’m still trying to look for a man who doesn’t want to test the weight of my boobs on the first date.” Before I could say anything, Jenny said, “Don’t ask.”
“Fair enough.” I sighed, thinking about Henry. “He really is sexy in suits and even better naked. I have a question . . . have you ever felt like you couldn’t get enough of the person you were with . . . sexually?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve had those moments.” The tension building up in me eased slightly from Jenny’s admission. Maybe this feeling was normal after all. “Especially when you’re with someone like Henry. I dated this guy in college. He had abs for days, and I swear I was straddling him every chance I got. Why? Have you been sexing it up a lot?”
I could feel the heat overtake my face from embarrassment. Would I ever feel normal talking about sex with other people?
“Yeah, but I’m glad it’s normal.”
“It is, don’t worry about it. So, tell me, is he good?”
“I’m not going to answer that,” I responded with a wink.
Jenny clapped her hands and laughed. “I knew he would be. Even though he drives me crazy, I could tell he was good in bed. I think all men who wear tailored suits like that are good in bed. If they are confident enough to have their slacks plastered to their ass, then they have to be good at driving the bologna pony.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Rosie Bloom?” the receptionist called. “We’re ready for you.”
“That’s me.” I stuck my arm up in the air like a nerd. We followed her past a curtain and into a big room with a stage that reminded me of a scene fromMagic Mike. “Have you ever been to one of these?” I asked Jenny, feeling out of place. Stripper auditions weren’t my thing. Then again, were they anyone’s thing?
Yes, they were Delaney’s thing. Damn her.
“No, I’ve never been to an audition, but I have been to a bachelorette party where there were strippers. I snapped a man’s G-string that night.”
“Charming.” I smiled and followed the lady to our seats.
The room was dark, deep shades of blue were woven into the seats, and bright lights surrounded the stage. I was grateful it didn’t smell, which was a weird thing to say, but after the porn booths at the sex shop, I had to keep my guard up. Plus, I hadn’t known what kind of establishment I would visit to test out strippers. Delaney said this was the best company for hiring male talent, but that still warranted a cautionary sniff when arriving.
“According to the appointment paperwork you filled out, you’re looking for a man with a”—the lady lifted the paper on her clipboard and read verbatim what was written—“a man with a giant cock, a twelve-pack of abs, no hair, and decent-sized nipples. Is that correct?”
I was sweating; literally, sweat was dripping down my back. I just wrote down what Delaney demanded; I didn’t know the lady would read it back to me. I was mortified.
“Um, that’s what the bride-to-be wanted.”
“Are you the bride-to-be?” the lady asked, giving me a narrowed look.
“What?” I brought my hand to my chest. “No, I’m not engaged. I’m the maid of honor. My friend is really intense about her bachelorette party. She gave me this giant list of things to cross off.” I held up the binder, aka penis bible, and showed the lady. “See, this is for her, not for me.” I paused for a second and said, “Please don’t judge me for being here. I have a perfectly good wiener at home waiting for me. I don’t have to have one flopping in my face to get my jollies. I mean, I do like it when my boyfriend flops it in my face. He shows respect while flopping around, you know . . . never pokes me in the eye or anything. Arrgggggh, matey.”
Jenny put her hand on my arm to silence me. “I think you’re done.”
I nodded and shut up. Pretty sure I would never be coming here again.
Looking awkward and uncomfortable, the lady wrote something in her notes—most likely about me—and then said, “The music will start soon and three men will come out to dance for you who meet your specifications. If you are satisfied with one of them, we will book him for . . . oh, it’s a Sunday night.”
“The bride-to-be didn’t want to have to deal with Saturday night drunks in the city.”
“Ah, yes, that makes sense. Smart thinking on her end, but inconvenient for everyone else. They’ll be right out.”
Once she left the room, Jenny turned to me. “I didn’t like her. Who is she to judge a Sunday night bachelorette party?”
“Everyone,” I answered honestly. “Everyone can judge a Sunday night bachelorette party for many reasons. One, it’s a Sunday night, therefore people will either have to go to work still inebriated, or they will have to take the day off. Two, Sundays are God’s day. Debauchery and flying penises don’t really say godly things.”
“Yeah, I don’t think God would appreciate flying penises. Although, if you think about it, He created penises, thrusting pelvises, and the imagination; therefore, He created the flying penis, so maybe He just might appreciate the soaring salami.”
“Maybe.” I laughed as the lights dimmed and music started to play. It was low at first, a sexy bass beat that sent chills through my veins.
Was I living out aMagic Mikemoment?
