"What the hell is going on here?!" an elder man shouts loudly. He's wearing a suit. Must be a network executive. Two other suits are following him. Most likely his flunkies.
I pull out of Mindy who's still splayed on the chair. She briefly registers that someone is yelling something.
The network executive is gesticulating.
"Turn off the fucking camera!" he's yelling at the cameraman who isn't there. "We're live!"
I turn around to face him. "Cameraman's gone," I smirk. My cock's hanging out.
"Do you know what's going on?" the man yells out. "We're live in front of America!!"
Holy fuck.
I grin and turn to the camera, and nod. "Hello, ladies of America," I say out loud. Fuck it. If I'm in this deep anyways, might as well go all the way.
"Jason, call the control room. Shut this down!" the network executive is yelling. His face is red and he's sweating. All of a sudden I worry that he's going to have a heart attack.
"Calm down there, mate," I tell him, concern on my face. I don't want to be the cause of this guy kicking the bucket.
"Calm down?" he asks me incredulous. He lunges towards me and I take a step back. Too quick for him and he misses me as he reaches out. His hands move past my chest grazing my skin. And somehow they land on my giant cock. I swear that thing has its own fucking gravitational pull.
We both pull back at the same time, but the condom sticks to him and it comes off with him.
With all of my man juice in it. It doesn’t stay in the condom either. It splatters. All over Mr. Network’s suit. On his clothes. On his face. Jesus, on his face. For America to see.
Can you say mess? With all my fuck juice spraying his face?
Yeah. Bad luck, mate.
I look over at the camera.
"Take a good look, everyone!” I yell, waving my crotch in a circle and holding my cock out. I've lost respect for this network - where the fuck is their security? “You want a piece of this, America? I’m right here, waiting for you!”
I grab my cock and point its glistening head at the camera.
“Eleven fucking inches!” I boast, as I wave my cock in circles in front of the camera.
The network honcho's going apoplectic, trying to wipe himself off.
Maybe time to go. Besides, I've had enough. "See you all later," I say, reaching down and grabbing my boxer briefs. I slip into them and jump into my jeans and grab my wife-beaters as I head out the door.
I run to the elevator. People are standing up staring at the televisions all over the floor. They stare at me as I go by. Shock is on everyone's faces.
Outside the building, there are some people who seem blissfully aware to what's just transpired.
I run to the motorcycle, hop on, rev up the engine and peal out down the street as I hear sirens in the distance.
Alicia
The alarm clock wakes me up and I groan, trying to turn it off. I open one eyelid and look at the clock. It's only 6:30 am in the morning! I wish I could sleep more! I'm not supposed to be up till 7:30.
But I can't sleep. I guess that's the part they forget to tell you in college. You're so excited to be getting out into the real world but they forget to tell you that it means being responsible. And being responsible means worrying about bills and that means your body waking you up at 6:30 to go to a job because it's worried about paying back student loans. So you can pay for your apartment and, well, I guess life.
I'm not complaining. Please don't take it like that. It's just five years out of college, I'm living what many people think of as the dream. I mean, I have an apartment in New York City - in Manhattan as well, not priced out of the city into Astoria - that I share with a roommate and a cat. I also have a stable job. That’s more than a lot of people I graduated with have.
But that's where the dream ends and it looks more like a facade. I wake up at 6:30 every morning to go to work at the News of the Times. It's the biggest tabloid newspaper in New York City. But it's not what I expected when I got my journalism degree from Yale. I was thinking The New York Times, or the Washington Post. Instead, I work on stories for the News of the Times - maybe you saw my last story that got a front page. They put a headline on it to grab as many readers as possible when I wrote the story about the Governor of New York State being caught with a hooker in a cheap New Jersey hotel room. Want to guess the headline?
Give up?