Reality Girl: Episode One Page 4

  “Religion and politics. Two subjects I don’t discuss, especially in here. But, since I said nothing’s off-limits, I guess I’ll answer.”

  He sat down on the stool. “No. Out of my 185 pounds, there isn’t one religious ounce.”

  As much as I regretted asking the question, his response garnered my interest. “Do you believe in God?”

  “Sure do.”

  “How can you believe in God and not be religious?”

  “Religion is an organized system of beliefs. I believe what I believe, and I don’t need to have someone in a church telling me how I need to live my life based on his perception of the bible. We all might interpret it differently, and we probably should have our own understanding of the message it conveys. But, for me to allow someone who is no different than me, tell me I must do this and I must do that? Sorry, it’s not going to happen.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are you religious?”

  It was a difficult question to answer. When I was a child, I went to church with my parents on a regular basis. During – and since – college, I chose not to.

  I shrugged. “Kind of. I went when I was a kid. You know, to church. Not so much now, though.”

  “We all went when we were kids.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. “After we escape our parent’s grasp, we become individuals.”

  I nodded in agreement, and took a few sips of my drink. The clock behind him caught my eye, and I realized it was going to be late for the next scheduled filming. I had little, if any, interest in going. I was having fun.

  “Most aggravating moment of your entire life?” I asked.

  “The whole fucking thing?” He chuckled. “From birth until now?”

  I took another drink. “Uh huh.”

  He stood, raked his fingers into his thick hair, and gazed down at the floor. “Fuck, I don’t know…”

  “Oh, shit.” He looked up. “Frustrating?”

  I nodded eagerly, hoping his response was as interesting as he was becoming. “Yeah, frustrating.”

  “Todd Masterson and I bought scooters a few years back, which makes me think of another question, but I’ll get to that in a minute. So, anyway, we were riding them together, and this lady makes a left turn at a red light right in front of us. I was on the right, and he was on the left.”

  He stretched his arms wide and his tone changed from comedic to aggravated. “She was driving a God damned Suburban, and the big fucker took up the entire intersection. Anyway, I hit the back of it, and Todd hit the front. I flipped over the handlebars and slammed into the back window, and Todd hit the fender and flipped over the hood. He landed out in the street on the other side – out in the middle of the intersection. Before he could stand up, the red light she ran through had turned green, and another car came rushing through the light. The idiot that was in a hurry to get through the intersection ran over Todd’s leg and broke it in two places.”

  My eyes shot wide. “Oh my God.”

  “Wait, it gets better.”

  “The cops show up. At the time, medical marijuana was legal. Todd had chronic back pain, and had legally smoked before we went out, but he wasn’t fucked up. Anyway, while the ambulance is loading him onto a stretcher with a broken leg, the cops give him a ticket for riding the scooter under the influence. And, they don’t say anything to the lady who ran the light, or to the guy who ran over his leg and left the scene.”

  “Oh, wow. I bet you were frustrated.”

  “Yeah, frustrated enough to get hauled to jail for arguing with the cops.”

  “You got hauled to jail?”

  He sat down on the stool, crossed his arms, and nodded. “Obstructing justice. Interfering with an investigation. There was something else, I don’t remember. Spent ten grand fighting it. The court found me not guilty on all counts. But, yeah, I was pretty frustrated.”

  “Holy crap, I don’t have any stories as good as that one. Is your friend okay now?”

  “He’s fine, yeah,” he responded. “Most wouldn’t have asked, thanks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most people would have taken the story at face value, and never asked about my friend. You’re sweet.” He glanced at his watch. “About time for the lunch crowd to come rushing in. What time do you have to get back?”

  “Fuck ‘em,” I said. “I’m having fun. I’ll stay until whenever you want me to leave.”

  At that instant, a group of people walked in. He grinned, stood, and peered toward the door. “Short a waitress, fellas. If you don’t mind, can you order from the bar?”

  He tilted his head toward my purse. “You got a change of clothes in there?”

  I chuckled. “No, why?”

  He stepped to my side, leaned over the bar, and swept my hair behind my ear with his index finger. His cheek brushed against mine as he positioned his lips against my earlobe. “If you’re staying until whenever I want you to leave, you’ll need a change of clothes. And, just so you know, that whole talking dirty thing?” he whispered. “I’m really good at it.”

  A tingling sensation shot down along my neck, all the way to my toes. I fought against my tightening throat, hoping to say something, but nothing came.

  He straightened his stance, looked me in the eye, and grinned. I crossed my legs and although I fought against, it, smiled in return.

  “What can I get you fellas,” he asked as he turned away.

  Slightly embarrassed, I sat on the stool and slipped into an uncomfortably horny state. Considering where I was supposed to be, and who was undoubtedly waiting for me, I couldn’t help but wonder.

  What in the fuck did I get myself into?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I had rushed home from the bar and was now poolside with Rhett, relaxing in the sun. Life in the southern California mansion was far different than the life I had been living, but it would be easy to become accustomed to.

  He exhaled heavily. “This sun is brutal.”

  I turned to my left and opened my eyes. He wiped his brow with his hand, then tilted his head in my direction.

  “I’m used to the sun in the Midwest. 80 degrees isn’t hot,” I said. “In Kansas, it gets up to 115 in the summer. This is relaxing.”

  “No, this sun’s a bitch,” he complained. “I’m getting in.”

  His muscles were long and lean, giving him the appearance of a triathlete or a fitness model, but not that of a weight lifter. In a poolside lounge chair while wearing his swim trunks, he looked nothing short of phenomenal.

  Despite Rhett’s handsome looks and his athletic physique, my mind still drifted to thoughts of Franky’s previous claim of being good at dirty talking. It wasn’t constant, but it happened.

  Repeatedly.

  Rhett sat upright, causing his stomach muscles to flex while he did so. After a lengthy session of admiration, I tore my eyes away and looked beyond him, toward the pool. “Okay, I’ll get in, too.”

  He jumped from his seat and dove into the crystal clear water, leaving almost no splash. His faultless US Navy-inspired SEAL dive left me envious.

  I stood up, and while Rhett swam the length of the pool, I dug the bottom of my swimsuit out of my ass crack, and then my crotch. In looking up, I realized Bobby was filming every second of me removing my clothing from my crevices and folds.

  In the short time I had been living in the house, I had become so accustomed to the cameras that I often forgot they were filming us. But. They filmed everything.

  I flipped him the bird and sauntered toward the pool in my best rendition of a supermodel runway stroll. While the camera lens followed each well-placed step, I wondered if they could include the defiant act in the aired version of the show, and if not, decided I’d use it to my advantage.

  I wanted my dive to look as good as Rhett’s, but doubted I possessed the grace of a trained Navy swimmer. I dove in anyway.

  When I surfaced, Rhett was at my side – wet, muscular, and tan. He shook his
head, and then swept his hair back. His once gray eyes seemed blue, and it was the first time I had seen them as anything but an assembly of gray translucent flecks.

  I smiled, and he smiled in return.

  He was an extremely attractive man, and although our botched sexual escapade was still in the forefront of my thoughts, I realized I needed to give him a second chance.

  I felt everyone deserved one. If fact, any prison sentence that wasn’t a lifelong term provided an opportunity to the criminal in question for one more shot at life.

  And, if a criminal was allowed a do-over, why wouldn’t I allow Rhett a second chance at sex?

  I decided I should.

  He draped his arms over my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I wanna fuck.”

  I felt I should say something about his lack of intimacy, but instead, reached for his cock. Partially protected from the camera’s view by the motion of the water, I kneaded his dick in my hand. In a matter of seconds, it went from flaccid to rigid. Standing in the chest-deep water eye-to-eye with each other, I began to stroke the entire length of it.

  He tilted his head forward.

  I did the same.

  Our foreheads touched.

  “We should fuck out here,” he whispered.

  The thought of it was exciting, but I immediately dismissed it as an impossible task. “God that sounds hot,” I whispered. “But, there’s no way.”

  He leaned away and lifted his chin slightly. “Why not?”

  “Bobby’s twenty feet from us.” I sighed. “And he’s always filming us.”

  He nodded. “My point exactly. He’s always twenty feet from us. And, if we go fuck in the bedroom, they’ll be filming it anyway. Nobody can see us out here but the camera crew. Let’s give ‘em a show.”

  My pussy liked the idea. A lot. What little common sense I had, however, seemed to prevail. “But--”

  “But what?” he snapped back. “If they weren’t here, would you?”

  I realized I was still mindlessly stroking his cock through the thin material of his shorts. I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Really?”

  “Hell yes, I would,” I whispered.

  “We can’t let them keep us from being ourselves. We signed on for this shit, so let’s act like they’re not here.”

  I couldn’t believe I was considering it, but he did have a point. I focused on his glistening blue eyes. “Seriously?”

  He pulled away, taking his cock with him. “Yeah, seriously.”

  He waded to the edge of the pool, and then got out. His stiff cock stuck straight out, stretching his shorts to their limit. While I watched him fumbling with the drawstring of his trunks, I realized he planned on removing them. Or at least it appeared to be the case. His eyes met mine.

  He grinned.

  And, the shorts came down.

  Standing at the edge of the pool, naked as the day he was born, he began to stroke his cock.

  I watched as Bobby slowly advanced across the concrete deck, eventually coming to a stop behind one of the many poolside tables. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he had seen a man’s stiff cock. Either that, or he was truly a professional. With the lens fixed on Rhett, he stood motionless and continued to shoot the footage of Rhett fisting his massive dick under the warmth of the California sun.

  I struggled with right and wrong. My moral compass spun in circles. After a few seconds of feeling my heart beating between my legs, I succumbed to the desire to be fucked while Bobby eagerly watched.

  I made my way to the edge of the pool. The cameraman and I seemingly shared the same passion, as both of us had our eyes glued on Rhett’s cock-filled hand. After lifting myself from the water, I gracefully walked to my lounge chair and grabbed my towel.

  I tossed the towel on the concrete in front of Rhett and lowered myself to my knees. It seemed ridiculous, and although it was something I would have guessed I would have never done, I was certainly in the midst of it.

  The sun beat down on my shoulders, Bobby continued to film, and I began to suck Rhett’s cock like a porn star. I guess for that moment, at least, I was pretty close. I flattened my tongue against the bottom of the swollen shaft, took as much of his length into my throat as I could, and shifted my eyes toward the camera.

  He was five feet or so closer than he was when I got down on my knees, and the camera was fixed on the action. I would probably never admit it – more than likely not even to Rhett – but being filmed while I sucked his cock was a huge, and I do mean huge, turn-on.

  I banged the tip of his cock against the back of my throat while I massaged his balls with my right hand and squeezed his muscular ass with my left. As I gave the blowjob of a lifetime, the sexual tension built within me like a ticking time bomb. Soon, I released his ass, shoved my hand into my bikini bottom, and began fingering myself.

  After a few minutes, I continued to suck with true sincerity while I pushed another finger into my wet pussy. As soon as the second digit was knuckle-deep, the camera, my throbbing clit, and Rhett’s cock pounding against the back of my throat proved to be too much.

  An orgasm shot through me like an electric wave. I opened my mouth and drew a long, deep breath around the shaft of Rhett’s swollen dick, incapable of remembering when the last time anything half as satisfying happened to me.

  I continued to finger myself like a woman possessed by sexual demons, eager for another orgasm of epic proportion. I glanced at Bobby. The camera was fixed on my crotch.

  Ohmygodthisissofuckinghot.

  My enthusiasm must have been contagious. Rhett pulled himself from my mouth, and lifted me from my knees.

  He nodded toward my waist. “Take ‘em off.”

  Without reservation, I tore off my bikini bottom and tossed it aside.

  He hoisted me into the air. To steady myself, I reached around his neck and locked my fingers together, then pressed the insides of my legs into his sides. He grabbed my ass firmly in his hands, cradled my thighs with his muscular forearms, and lowered my throbbing pussy toward his cock.

  Although it wasn’t something I had ever done, I had dreamed about having a man fuck me while suspended in the air. I needed no further instructions. I reached between my legs and guided his cock inside of me.

  As I felt the pressure of his girth penetrate my wet folds, I wrapped my thighs around his waist and closed my eyes.

  I bit into my lips while he thrust himself back and forth with precision. The movement of his hips made it seem much more like art and much less like sex, but my overly satisfied pussy disagreed.

  This was definitely sex.

  I began to tingle all over, and an odd pressure built within me. Uncertain if I was on the verge of another monumental orgasm, or if a heart attack was imminent, I opened my eyes.

  Bobby was mere inches from us. The lens of the camera panned back and forth from my waist to our very satisfied faces. I glanced between his legs. His cargo shorts did little to hide his level of excitement.

  My moaning did little to hide mine.

  Convinced I had found my calling in life, I relaxed momentarily, and that little bit of relaxation was apparently all I needed.

  The pressure that had been building within me released, sending me into a state or orgasmic bliss I had never known.

  I arched my back and cried out, releasing my satisfaction for all of southern California to hear. Rhett breathing became irregular, and after drawing a choppy breath, he followed with a deep moan of his own.

  His cock swelled to twice its girth, and with one last thrust, he erupted deep inside of me.

  My eyes went wide. “Oh my…”

  He returned my wide-eyed stare.

  “God,” I breathed.

  My body shook for several seconds, as did Rhett’s. When my ears finally stopped ringing and my breathing slowed to a dull roar, he lowered me onto my shaking legs. I stared at him blankly, bracing my hands against my thighs – just to keep from falling over.

  Although I didn�
��t look, I felt Bobby’s presence at our sides. His filming of everything undoubtedly took the experience to an entirely different level.

  “What the fuck did you do to me?” I asked.

  He didn’t say a word, but returned a sinful smirk.

  It was all I could do to stand. I shook my head and lowered myself onto the towel.

  “That was fucking hot,” he said. “I’m glad you did it.”

  I looked up and grinned, holding an imaginary glass high in the air in toast.

  Here’s to second chances.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two days had passed since our poolside display of mutual satisfaction. Rhett stood at the far edge of the kitchen island. His dark blue tee shirt was covered in flour handprints, and his face expressed his content nature. We hadn’t had sex since that day at the pool, but it didn’t seem that we needed to.

  We were too busy simply having fun.

  He ladled the sauce onto the dough and reached for the cheese. “This is going to be good.”

  Preparing a meal together was an intimate experience – something I wouldn’t have guessed – and I was enjoying it immensely. After spreading the sauce evenly, he began to sprinkle the cheese on top.

  “Here,” I said as I slid the cutting board toward him.

  Pepperoni, cooked sausage, sliced onions, bell peppers, fresh basil, and mushrooms were my offering, all fresh and sliced to perfection.

  He glanced at the cutting board, looked at me, then scowled. “I’m not going to put that shit on it.”

  At first I thought he was joking, but after a quick study of his face, he sure didn’t look like it. “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

  He scooped up a handful of sausage. “The fucking vegetables. They’ll ruin it.”

  Ruin it?

  I loved onions and peppers on my pizza. I could forgo the mushroom, but not the others. “I think they make it better,” I said with a smile. “More flavorful.”

  He grabbed a handful of pepperoni and shook his head. “Not on my pizza.”