Phil Torcivia's Blog, page 4

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Six

After dinner, we dunk warm Toll House cookies in milk and catch up on Nurse Jackie episodes. Zoey rules! Bea's appetite--both for food and for sex--is growing, and I'm keeping up, so far.



"One more cookie, Lovergirl. I bet my boy is smiling," I tease as I pat her belly.

"Uncle M, you constantly impress me. You bake?"

"I slaved all night making sure the batter was just right."

"Swoon!"

"Oh, and please ignore the Nestle bag in the garbage."

"Cheater."

"I need to take it easy, with all those heavy medals soon to be hanging around my neck. My poor back."

"Speaking of, I believe it's time for another event."

"I'll do some deep knee bends and change into my track suit."

"That won't be necessary."

"What's the event?"

"The Grip Test. I noticed two plugs in the bag of fun."

"But ..."

"Exactly."

"Let me chug this wine first." *Gulp* "OK, what are the rules?" I ask as Bea removes the intimidating butt plugs and tube of mint lube from the Hustler bag.

"We each insert one of these and then get it on, missionary-style. Whoever knocks the plug out of the other person's butt, without using hands, wins."

"So embarrassing."

"You can forfeit if you like."

"You may take my pride, but you'll never take my butt plug!"



Lovergirl hands me the plugs and lube, and goes into the kitchen.



"What are you doing?"

"We need this, too," she replies while showing me the pepper shaker.

"Pepper?"

"You'll see, Uncle M."



We disrobe, pull down the comforter, and place two towels on the bed. Shit. How intimidating!



"My virgin butt is going to need lots of foreplay, kind words, and a thick layer of lube."

"You can still back out."

"No way. I'm tight, y'all."



Lovergirl lathers the lube onto the plugs and hands me one.



"I don't think I've had anything up there since a thermometer in the sixties."

"Kinky."

"How do we do this? I can't put it in myself," I protest while noticing hers is already in place.

"Gimme."

Yikes!

"Be gentle," I mewl.



She manages to get it in and then mounts me. I concentrate on squeezing my cheeks without pushing as she slams away on top of me.



"Do you like it, Uncle M?"

"It's ... different. Stop trying to distract me," I insist.



I bite my bottom lip as she slams harder and harder. All this concentration is delaying my orgasm, so there's one benefit. She orgasms twice, but her plug is cemented; mine is slipping.



Bea covers my eyes and reaches toward the bedside table. What's she up to? I hear shaking and, suddenly, I smell pepper.



"Aaaaaah CHOO!" I sneeze, which sends my butt plug flying. Rats! 

"Bless you."



Canada has her first gold.

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Five

Bea accepts my offer to cook dinner--stuffed artichokes and filet kabobs. When she arrives, I'm on my second glass of wine. I've left the sex toys in the plain paper bag between our place settings.



"What's in the bag?"

"Dessert, my love. No peeking!"

"You're no fun."

"Oh, just you wait."

"I'll go upstairs and freshen up. Be right back."



I continue cooking with wine, my unconventional way. Sure, I'm a little heavy on the garlic salt, but it makes everything better, as long as both lovers partake.



"Sweetie?"

"Yes."

"Can you come up here a minute?"

"Sure." Uh, oh. What did she find?



When I step into my master bath, she's wearing one of my button-downs and her lace undies, standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror.



"Look!" she glows, showing the first signs of a baby bump.

"Hm. I've got two words for you: salad bar."

"Hey."

"Light beer?"

"Stop it."

"Can you feel that lunch burrito kicking?"

"Ha, ha. Not yet. I'm just over four months, so this is about right. No more top buttons for me," she pouts.

"So cute. Can I take a picture and post it as little Pippino's first update on Facebook?"

"No, Gordon will not have a Facebook account until he is sixteen."

"Gordon?"

"You can call him Gordie."

"You can call him Pip."

"I have a suggestion: Let's settle this child-naming thing with a contest."

"I'm listening."

"A Sexual Olympics of sort," she offers.

"Ooh, I love a challenge. You're going down, woman."

"And so are you. The first event is the sideways sixty-nine sprint to orgasm."

"Huh?"

"The first one to bring the other to orgasm wins."

"Now?"

"Go turn off the stove and grill, and get your butt back up here."

"Italy shall have its first gold medal of this Olympiad," I tease, as I sprint downstairs and turn down the heat. "Dun, DUN-duh, dun dun DUN dun ..."

"That sounds more like 'Rocky' to me."

"Shut it."



I sneak into the Hustler bag and arm myself with the We-Vibe vibrator--dual sensation with penetration. I can't be defeated. Bea's already on the bed. I dive next to her and tickle her toes, then remove her undies as she frees Little Mormon from my jeans.



Lovergirl is quite skilled. At this angle, she's able to bury me deep into her throat. I run through baseball statistics to avoid the inevitable. I draw the alphabet and flip on the We-Vibe. Fuck! I must hurry ... I'm so close!



Once I have the vibrator in place, she gasps and squeezes my head tightly between her thighs. Ouch! She's the best chiropractor I ever met. I hear her muffled ecstasy.



"Oh ... my ... effing ... GOD!" she arches toward climax.

"Booyah, motherfucker," I beam with pride.



She let's loose a thunderous orgasm and finishes me off seconds later. Being the mature type, I do my touchdown dance around the bedroom with my glazed love eclair and purple weapon.



"What is that, and where did you get it?"

"This, Lovergirl, is yet another weapon in my arsenal. Make that Italy one, Canada nil," I bow. "Raise the flag, fuckers! Pippino must be so proud of his poppa."

"You've won the battle, Uncle M, not the war. Now, go finish my dinner."

"Yes, dear."



We laugh through dinner as Bea inspects the bag of badness. I've impressed my love, but I suspect she'll step up her game.

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Four

I’m greeted at the door of the Hustler Store by a lovely young lady wearing an apron. She asks if I need help. Lots. Do I dare ask about the apron? No.


It’s a vast store with stripper wear on the first floor and stairs leading up to the loft of kinkery.


“My name is Nelly. Do you have anything special in mind?”
“I don’t even know where to begin, Nelly.”
“Well,” she asks, “is it for a man or a woman?”
“For this man’s woman.”
“Excellent. What does she enjoy?”
“Overtime goals and zucchini.”
“Um …”
“Right. You can see my predicament.”


She leads me along a wall of dildos and vibrators. I’m not one to blush, but this place has me crimson.


“What does this do?” I ask while attempting to read the price without touching the U-shaped device.
“Ah, this one is very popular. You have a good eye, Sir.” She sounds like she’s selling me a BMW. “This vibrator stimulates the woman, both inside and out.”


I stand perplexed.


“Her clitoris and her G-spot.”
“Of course. I’d like one in purple. Oh, and someone stole my Fukuoku Glove, so I’ll need one of those too—in black, please. Anything else you can recommend?”
“Lotions?”
“Do you have bacon-flavored?”
“…”
“Kidding. Something minty will do.”
“Excellent. Anything else? Perhaps more advanced devices for the adventuresome?”
“Bring it.”


She leads me over to the corner with triangular dildo-ish toys and strings with different sized beads and a ring that reminds me of the merry-go-round ride of my childhood.


“Do you know what these are?”
“Dog toys?”
“No, silly, these are for anal play.” Ouch. “These are butt plugs and these are anal beads. They’ll both go well with your minty lube. Have you used either before?”
“Of course, I have. I’m a skilled plugologist.”
“Great. Then, you’ll require his and hers.”
“Whoa, Nelly—only hers.”
“Ever tried it?”
“No.”
“How about a pinky?” she gestures.
“What?”
“You know, during a blowjob. It heightens the sensation.”
“Exit only.”
“Don’t be like that. It doesn’t mean you’re gay. The anus is quite sensitive and pleasurable.”
“Yes, it is,” adds a boy-stander I’m unaware is standing by me. “You must try the beads too. They all go in except the ring, and just when you’re ready to pop, have your lover yank them out with the ring. Heavenly!”


My virgin butt hole puckers as I try to digest their suggestions.


“Fine. Double bag them. Here’s my card.”


Lovergirl has me outmatched, but I plan to prove I can hang. I’ll whip out my new arsenal and wear her ass (tee, hee) out before she leaves for her girls’ night. Shit! I almost forgot.


“I also need a big black strap-on.”
“Will The Cockasaurus Rex do?” she asks while dangling something resembling a toasted Genao Salami in front of me.
“I believe it will.”

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Three

On my way home, Bea's assistant, Eric, calls to invite me to lunch. He refuses to tell me his motive over the phone. Maybe I can scarf more of those little yellow pills to help keep up with my sexual dynamo.



I get a few more blog entries done and meet Eric at the San Diego County Fair. Hmm, beer battered chocolate covered bacon for lunch? Sure, why not? You only die once. I hope he's not a fan of rides, as my stomach has never appreciated them.



"Big E, what's happening?"

"Good to see you, Mormon," he greets while giving me the handshake, shoulder-bump man-hug. "Let's hit the food court. I'm starving."

"Me too."

"So, I wasn't sure if Bea told you, but she has asked me to walk her down the aisle Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you're cool with that."

"Dude, of course I am. You know, she rarely speaks about her parents."

"She was twelve when they had the accident. Her grandmother and various nannies raised her."

"Well, she turned out perfectly crazy and I'm absolutely crazy about her. I just wish there were some way to win over Grandma and make Chris disappear."

"I'm sure it will work out. Love conquers all, Mormon. Ooh, and speaking of love," Eric beams as a handsome fellow approaches, "here comes my man, Neil."



We greet and stroll around the Fair, sampling the artery cloggery that abounds.



"So, gentlemen, I'd like to enlist your help in a stunt I'm planning. Bea is having a girls' night with her friends on Thursday. I want to surprise them with something. Should I hire a male stripper?"

"Wait. Wasn't she on stage for your party?"

"Indeed she was."

"Then you must return the favor," Neil adds.

Ha! No fucking way.

"Yes, dress up in a police uniform and jump out of a cake," Eric teases.

"Right."

"I'm serious. It would be hysterical."

"It would be traumatizing. I'm fifty. I eat cake."

"Oh my god, I still have that uniform from the Pride Parade. It comes with handcuffs too," Neil offers.

"Perfect," Eric cheers, "and you two are similar size. You must, Mormon. Come on. We'll both be there to provide oral, I mean moral support."

"Seriously?"

"Please," they chime, in stereo.

"Fine. Fuck it. I'll chug half a bottle of tequila and do it."

"I'll arrange for the cake and bring Neil's costume to work with me tomorrow," Eric insists.

"Can't believe I'm going to do this. Will Grandma be there?"

"No, Thursday is bingo night at the The Rock Church. She'd never miss that."

"Phew. Now I need a favor from you, Eric."

"Anything."

"Got any more of those pain-thrillers Bea borrowed from you?"

"Indeed I do," Eric agrees.

"Might I have a handful for the honeymoon? I'm probably going to need all the help I can get."

"Of course."



The three of us enjoy the sights, then go our separate ways. I brainstorm ideas to make my emergence from pastry more amusing. This calls for restraints, a whip, and the biggest, blackest strap-on I can find. Hustler Store, here I come.

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Two

After good-morning nookie in my lover's condo, Bea hits the shower and I hit eggs on the side of an omelet pan. Once again, I'm derailed by the clinking of spoon against coffee mug. The beast rises.



"Top o' the morning to you, Ms. Aspinwald," I greet and bow.

"French Toast."

"Huh?"

"I'd like French Toast with cinnamon butter."

"Wouldn't you prefer blueberry muffins with a side of rabbit?" I sneer. I can hardly look at her since she defiled my glove.

"You do realize, Blobber, that this wedding isn't going to happen."

"It most certainly is going to happen. Didn't you get the invitation? This Saturday, Coronado Beach, noon-ish. Guests are encouraged to bring covered plates. I could sign you up for deviled eggs."

"Chris is a powerful man. I don't know if you're more brave or stupid ... I'm betting on stupid."

"You know dill-weed has a girlfriend, right? Annie, I believe, was her name. Innocent thing with horrible taste in men."

"She's insignificant," Grandma sniffs as she pushes her reading glasses up her nose and stares at printed pages. "Do you know what this is, Blobber?"

"An excerpt from my blob?"

"Five forty five."

"Ah, it's your weight analysis," I respond while dipping bread in egg batter.

"It's your credit score."

Nosy little nit.

"Right. So?"

"You're behind on mortgage payments and you have four maxed-out credit cards."

"I also have an hairy mole on my ass," I respond while glaring at her.

"My granddaughter will soon realize you're marrying her to get your hands on my money. She'll dispose of you like dryer lint."

"I'm marrying her because I love her, and I'll gladly sign a pre-nup."

"Why don't you accept the offer from Chris, pay off your debts, and find a more appropriate mate--perhaps one with four legs."

"You two will never buy me off. Stop wasting your time."

"Warm up my coffee, and flip those before they burn."



I endure breakfast with the beast as I hear the shower turn off and wait for my love to rescue me.



"I must admit, you're a decent cook. I could put in a word for you at Denny's," Grandma remarks.

"How kind of you."



As Bea emerges from the bedroom in her silk robe, Grandma rises to leave. Naturally, she places my credit report in front of Bea on her way out.



"Have a wonderful morning. Bea, your future ex isn't a bad cook at all. He'll make someone a nice housewife someday," Grandma remarks as she exits.

"You made her breakfast? You're such a sweetie," Bea compliments as she crumbles the credit report, tosses it in the garbage, and checks the pan. "Ooh, French Toast. Are these for me?"

"They are."

"And, I see you found the syrup," she teases as she dangles the Mrs. Butterworth from her index finger. "I love syrup."

"Do you know what I'm going to do with that syrup later?"

"Pancakes?"



I take the bottle from her, squeeze a dot on my left index finger, and place it in her mouth. She sucks the tip, teasingly. I slide my finger down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest, parting her robe as I do. Bea tips her head back. I squeeze a bit more between her breasts and let it run a bit before catching the sugary stream with my tongue and planting a sweet kiss on her soft lips.



"I'm going to coat you and lick you to nirvana."

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter One

I'm playing catch with my teenage son. He has his mother's blond hair. It's a typical July day in San Diego--warm, bright sunshine, and not a cloud in the sky. The only sounds are distant birds and the slap of baseball against mitt. Little stinker has quite an arm.




"No curve balls," I warn.

"I know. So, Pop," he asks as he hurls a four-seamer.

*BZZZT, CRACK*

Ouch.

"Yes?"

"I've been kind of seeing this girl at school."

"Seeing her or seeing her?" I pry as I toss the ball back a little harder.

*PFFFT, SLAP*

Not bad for sixty-seven. The old man still has it.

"You know, seeing her. Anyway, I was at her house last night, helping with Calculus."

"Uh huh."

*BZZZT, CRACK*

"Her parents called her downstairs, so I did some exploration."

"And, what did you find?"

*PFFFT, POP*

"Well, since you're always warning me to avoid bedside tables, that was the first place I looked."

Oh, Jesus.

"And?"

"What's a butt plug?"

*BZZZT, DINK, BONK* -- Curve ball, square in the nuts.

"Argggh!"



I double over and feel as though my balls have shot out my ears.



"Honey. Wake up."



Who's shaking me?

"Mormon. Hey."

Oh, it's Bea.

"You had a bad dream, sweetie."

I check my package. All good. "Phew, that was a strange one."

"Tell me."

"I was playing catch with our son."

"Really? We haven't determined that it's going to be a boy, have we?"

"Well ..."

"OK, I'll play along. What did he look like?"

"A cross between a young Wayne Gretzky and the most beautiful woman in the world," I tease as I boop her nose and give her a kiss.

"Aw. And, his name?"

"Pippino."

"What?"

"Pippino. If we have a boy, that has to be his name," I state, matter-of-factly.

"Ha, ha. You're silly."

"I'm not kidding. It's Italian tradition. My first son must be named after my father, Pippino Silveri."

"No freaking way."

Is she serious?

"Yes, freaking way. I'll wrestle you for it," I say as I attack her. She giggles. "How do you manage to smell so good in the morning?"

"Don't change the subject, mister. Our son will not be named Pippino."

"Resistance is futile," I warn as I tug down on the waistband of her pajamas. "Do you hear that, Pippino?" I speak into her pelvis with my fake Italian accept. "You mamma, she's ashamed of-a you name."

"I think it's going to be a girl, anyway."

"Ah, Pippina!"



We laugh and wrestle, which naturally turns into morning sex. Ah, no better way to start the day. I'm thankful her morning sickness subsided, but I never realized women get hornier when pregnant. I'm definitely going to need assistance.

Fornication location, location, location.

Are things becoming bland in your relationship? Is sex usually horizontal and routine, instead of vertical and extreme? Fear not! You don't need drugs or therapy, Sweetiepeep. You need a gentle nudge. It's time to consider doing it in places not typically designed for doing it. For the next thirty days, you are forbidden from having missionary-style sex on your bed. I don't care if you feel you can only hit your peaks that way. Change it up!



I'm your SPS (Sexual Positioning System), and here is your suggested route, which will lead you away from drinking too much and having regretful sex with a neighbor or coworker:



Bathroom--more specifically bent over the sink, in the tub, in the shower, or on the toilet:




Good: Nothing is cushy, so nobody should fall asleep during it. You have various lotions available at arm's length. Ooh, a razor. Look, a towel--what a handy baby-batter-picker-upper.
Bad: Toilet seats break. Tiles can leave odd marks on posteriors. You'll notice those spots you missed. Mirrors are not always our friends. Try to avoid seeing your O-face.





Car:


Good: It reminds one of giddy teenage years. Music is conveniently close by. The woman has to do most of the work, as usual.
Bad: Leather seats make farting noises. Windows fog. The steering wheel and rear view mirror tend to get in the way.






Outdoors:


Good: The additional sensations of the elements, such as wind and dew. Fluids are disposed of in the most bio-friendly ways possible.
Bad: Sand, grass, or pebbles in ass crack. In a word: YouTube.






Pool or Hot Tub:


Good: Additional lubrication provided free of charge. Chlorine sterilizes, to a certain extent.
Bad: Floating sex goo and the possibility of encountering some that isn't yours. Air bubbles are often assumed to be rising farts.






Kitchen:


Good: Access to sex aids, including food and frozen goodies. Counters are conveniently set at penis height, depending on your nationality.
Bad: I was looking forward to having cucumber slices on my salad, and now ... ew, just ew.

My adventure in writing "Mommy Porn."

In order to complete my coattail-riding parody, I've been forced to read the Fifty Shades trilogy. I've made it through the first two. "No great accomplishment," you say? I disagree. Making it the entire way through one of these books--keeping in mind that I have external ovaries--is like running a marathon ... in mud ... in high heels ... after eating five Doritos-shelled tacos.



I haven't cringed so much since I saw Joe Theismann's leg snapped.



Still, life is best lived with an open mind and an open heart. Perhaps one day I would enjoy taking the virginity of a hyper-orgasmic punching bag. Doubtful.



My greatest concern lies around the first post-Fifty sexual encounter I have. (Been on a bit of a slump, lately. Sorry, Coach.) Chances are Ms. Next will have read the trilogy, and is unlikely to be familiar with my parodies. Here's a list of things that could happen:




She'll fantasize about Christian Grey and yell out his name, which will cause instantaneous deflation.
She'll murmur any-fucking-thing.
She'll moan into my mouth. (I just burped-up a little.)
She'll begin using safe words before I get her jeans off.
She'll want to be face-down on or about Chapter Ten before permitting penetration.
She'll expect me to own a helicopter with a silly name like Barney Slapnuts.
She'll request me to kick her boss in the kerbangers or buy out his company, if she has a bad day at the office.
She'll scare the piss out of my cats by making guttural sounds.





Thanks to that evil James woman, I'm going to have to rewrite my sexual playbook. The plays that worked pre-Fifty, simply won't do. I've had to tear this page out and shred it:


Drink bottle of wine.
Watch The Notebook, or something similar.
Go to bedroom.
Light candle.
Disrobe.
Kiss.
Go down on her.
Hint for her to return the favor.
Mount, poke taint, concede to guided insertion.
Flop over.
Be mounted and play with boobs.
Orgasm.
Think of clever things to say.
Fetch towel.
Wipe.
Find clothes in dark.
Walk out to car.
Kiss.
Speak words of appreciation.
Sleep.






The post-Fifty playbook needs some Bill Belichick shit. What's a man to do? How does one fit anything that won't cause yawning? I'm at the drawing board, making room for:


Butt plugs.
Fungo ass paddles.
Vodka enemas.
Hiney beads coated in mint jelly.
Super Soakers.
Brass balls that are inserted ... Fuck, I have no clue how this is possible or pleasurable.
Remote controlled vibrators.
Whips.
Fake stock portfolio statements showing seven digits.
Nipple clamps.






This could drive me toward early retirement.

Fifty Shades Shadier - Chapter Twenty

That revelation presents a major problem for me, as Chris, Annie, Kazuko, and I all say in unison, "What?"



"I'm pregnant," Bea repeats.

"That's nice Bea, but I'm sterile. I had a vasectomy last March," I respond, trying to suppress my anger and confusion.

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yes. The four fluids; remember?"



I turn my attention to Chris, as does Annie.



"Don't look at me," Chris professes while raising his hands.

"It's not yours either, asshole," Bea assures him.

Whoa, Bea swore.

"Thank God," Chris responds, while wiping his brow.


"Wait a minute, then whose is it?" I ask.

Jesus. There's yet another ex I need to deal with?

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I used a sperm donor. Mormon, this was before we met. I didn't want to bring it up and scare you away."

"Yeah, well, guess what? I'm not scared. Oh," I turn toward Chris, "and she's right, you are an asshole."



Chris raises his big mitt to my throat again. Instantly, Kazuko springs to action, stands between us, and pushes Chris back. She's so tiny; she barely comes up to his chest.



"Touch him again and prepare to die," Kazuko threatens. Chris has no idea what to make of her as he lets go of my throat.

"Fuck you, old woman. I'll beat your ass too."

"Try it," Kazuko dares as she digs into her pocket.

What will it be? Nunchucks? A Throwing Star?



Kazuko pulls out a Marlboro and a lighter as we all watch, trying to understand what this crazy woman is up to. She lights the tip and takes a long drag--making the tip glow bright orange. She blows the smoke in his face and changes her grip on the cigarette, holding it like a knife. Chris goes pale gray, then white. He screams a guttural cry, turns, and runs out like frightened cat. Annie shrugs and follows him.



"What the ..."

"You don't want to know," insists Bea.

Pussy.



I step over Bea's mess and console her.



"Baby, are you OK?"

"Just queasy. You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad? I love you, Bea--every inch, every toy, every passenger. If you are considering me for the role of parent to your child, I'm honored."

"Of course! It would be our child. I love so you much, Daddy Mormon," she cries as she hugs and tries to kiss me.

"Um, yeah, I love you back. Now," I respond as I pull away a bit, "let's get you some Listerine, and then we'll have that kiss. Cool?"

"Cool."



Love draws us along a twisted path, with unexpected obstacles, leading to beautiful new pastures. There's no one I'd rather share this trip with than my Lovergirl.




THE MIDDLE.

Fifty Shades Shadier - Chapter Nineteen

I'm finishing my domestic chores as Grant arrives to take me to the bachelor party. Two of my other buddies are in the back with road sodas.



"Damn, you guys are doing some pregame," I observe.

"You know it," a rear passenger, Joe, confirms as he hands me a Silver Bullet.

"Too bad we don't have any entertainment for the ride," says Grant.

"It's all good. There will be lots of talent at The Purple Church," I reassure him.



We arrive at the club and are escorted toward a VIP section next to the main stage. A bunch of my other buddies are there, as is Kazuko. I deliver high-fives all around and give Kazuko a big hug.



"Did you have any lap dances yet?" I ask her.

"You friends nice, but you men all pigs. I watchin' you. Behave or I kick," she threatens.

"No worries."



I play the role, although I'd rather be taking care of my love, who is still feeling under the weather. The ridiculous 80s big-hair music plays as the DJ announces the dancers' silly names and reminds the men about lap dances and special VIP dances. My boys are lining up the women for me. I sit on my hands during my dances, reminding myself to deliver everything to the dry cleaner on Monday.



"Next up," the DJ blares, "gentlemen, please welcome, for her very first time on stage: Lovergirl."

Fuck ... me.



Out of the back strolls my girl, wearing a silver mask and brown wig. She moves seductively to the thump of my favorite track, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. Yes, I so want to fuck you like an animal, right now.



Most of my friends haven't met Bea, and the others don't recognize her. Even Kazuko is clueless. Men begin walking up stage-side with wads of money. I'm slightly jealous, and absolutely aroused. Grant notices my excitement, walks over, gets her attention, and whispers in her ear while pointing at me. Lovergirl nods and resumes her time on the pole. Looks like someone feels better.



Bea collects quite a bounty as the boys make it rain. She strips all the way down to pasties and a G-string. God, she's so fucking sexy! I'm a lucky man.



"Gentlemen, put your hands together for Lovergirl. Great job! She'll be available for lap dances, so hit the ATM, boys."



Grant returns and plops down in the seat next to me as the server brings another bourbon rocks.



"Lovergirl is going to give you a special VIP dance. She said you should meet her in the back in five minutes."

"I'm in, Brother. That woman is delicious."

"No kidding," Grant concurs.



I take a few drags on my beverage, go toward the rear, and ask a bouncer for directions. He sends me down a corridor past a bank of rooms. Most are occupied. I approach one and do a double-take. Holy shit! It's Chris, and he has a woman bent over his lap--my woman! He spanks her hard. She squeals.



"Bea!" I yell. Chris looks up at me--his eyes wide with horror. "You piece of shit," I say as I slap him across the face. He rises up, bright red with anger. Bea gets up and turns around. Shit. It's not Bea. It's Annie--the woman from the bar last night. Chris is the asshole boyfriend she was telling me about.



Chris grabs me by the throat and backs me against the wall. I'm a dead man. I try to pry his fingers from my throat. Bea appears in the doorway.



"Chris, what are you doing? Let him go!" she insists as she grabs her stomach.

Bea vomits in front of us. It splashes on Chris' alligator shoes. Chris releases me. I gasp for air.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I thought that was Bea. Honey, are you OK? Jesus," I recoil.



Kazuko arrives to console Bea in the doorway. Bea looks up--her eyes glossed over.



"I'm pregnant."