Do you know what I love about America? Summer time on a Saturday at about 8 o’clock at night. It’s then when everyone is in their cars trying to scurry off to some club or bar and Highway 10 is jam packed. It’s then that the orange lights from the buildings contrast with the pale yellow of headlights and the blinking red lights on the back of the cars. You will probably never get the chance to see it from my perspective. But from the penthouse in a 20 story building in Westwood, there is nothing better. And as I stand on the balcony balls deep in some wannabe actress admiring it all, I think about how lucky I am to be here.
Americans just don’t know how good they have it. When I grew up I went to an all-boys school in puritan London. Do you know how much that stifles a young man’s curiosity? There is something about the presence of girls in a boy’s life that just makes childhood worthwhile. And as I was hitting my shower jacking off endlessly to the thought of half decent nuns, American boys were getting blow jobs by girls named Britney. God bless America. That’s what I say.
I almost didn’t end up here. In fact if I had my choice I wouldn’t be. But fate, ah fate. It’s a mean, mean bitch. But I guess it does have its soft side.
I am, for all intent and purposes, a Sheikh. Yes, I’m Arab, as uncool as that is to say. But I make it work. Back in my heyday I was that obnoxious guy driving a Lamborghini to a club in Dubai. I was the one who bought the entire club a drink and then waited for the women to flock to me. I like to think of myself as a humanitarian. Because after all, if I deflowered every Arab virgin, who would be left for those crazy fanatics in the afterlife? You’re welcome.
At that time I was thinking that my life was probably as good as it was going to get. I had women lined up for me. Everyone turned their head when they saw me. I had access to the family jet and I made use of it. And any young beautiful person who was anyone knew my name. I don’t know if Sheikh is the right word for what I was. But calling yourself an Arab God can sometimes get your head cut off, so I’ll play within the rules.
I think my life, like the lives of many people throughout history, was ruined by the British royalty. I can’t believe how many people just go crazy for those two English princes. The older one isn’t kinda boring. But the redheaded one, now he is a guy who knows how to be a Prince.
The orgies that would go on in the palace… if you only knew. And it’s not like he arranged them anywhere else. It had to be in the palace. The only ones who were invited were royals, and amongst our own, there were no rules.
If you knew the amount of times that a British Duchess lay nose deep in royal pupes one night, and then dressed up in those silly pillbox hats and sipped tea at a polo match the next morning, you would be shocked. Duchess, Princess, royalty? No one can be that prim and proper all the time. In fact, my experience is that the more polite someone seems in public, the dirtier they are in private.
That’s why I considered myself to be a more authentic royal. Who I was in private was the same man everyone saw in public. I whored around in private and was with the same girl naked on top of the Asteria Hotel at 4 PM on a Tuesday. What can I say? I am an authentic person.
But going back to that redheaded Prince. He was more cautious when he was younger. The guest lists of these royal orgies were always very well edited. But that little horny bastard just got sloppy. And hell, I love the idea of adding Japanese royalty. It was about time that a little more spice was added to the mix. But, God damn. Did he have to invite everyone?
Some of those fuckers engaged in some crazy shit. What do they call it? Voodoo? I know that’s not it, but whatever they do over there with their magic, white-faced Japanese theater thing, that messed some people up real bad.
Because what I know was, I was having my usual great time, and then someone grabbed my ass. I swiped them away, as I would do, and then I felt a bite on my neck. And it wasn’t just some nibble like some of those freaks did. It was a full on breaking the flesh, me screaming in pain, sort of bite. That shit hurt. And after that, the next morning, God damn did I feel different.
After that night I seriously could not get enough sex. You could line up a bunch of naked women in front of me, let me hit each one to orgasm and I could keep on going. It was fucking insane.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out why. I had become a wolf. I’m not talking about a metaphorical guy who chases women. I mean someone bit me and now I can turn into a wolf. And whatever came with that came a sex drive that you would never believe.
Now, I went through different stages as I was discovering my new self. First I didn’t notice anything. Some may ask how I could have missed the fact that I was barely dressed anymore. I would say I was busy. But after a few weeks of it, I noticed that I had dropped some weight, I sat down and thought about how many meals I had missed due to my carnal appetite. There were a few. But on the upside, my thrusting muscles were looking very toned.
The second stage is when the moon started to get closer to full. I was getting a little bit more aggressive. Let’s say that I got into a fight at a club. I was not a fighter. I had bodyguards to do that for me. So when I found some guy’s shirt in my grip and my fist continuously pounding on his smug face, I realized that something was going on.
But it was when the moon changed that I realized who I was. I was a wolf. Actually, I was fucking two supposed virgins, then suddenly I was a wolf.
The cleanup on that was not good. And we know exactly what happened because, don’t fool yourself ladies, there is a video camera in every Sheikh’s bedroom. We are very careful about these things. If we ever need to make things go away, we need to know what we’re dealing with. And if no one else in the world, the Saudi Royal family knows how to make things go away.
So there you have it. I was a wolf. It was all recorded. And it took hours before my parents knew.
Great! That was exactly what I needed. My father watching me have sex and then slaughtering some socialites. First he would critique me on my fucking technique. And then he would give me a speech about how royalty doesn’t turn into wolves and slaughter people. I got it Father. I’m not as good as you. That was not what I needed to hear.
My family’s response, however, was swift. It was no less than banishment. Within days everything that they thought I needed was packed up, and to my surprise, I was on a plane. I say ‘my surprise’ because I wasn’t fully conscious at the time. I had become one of the things that the Royal Family needed to go away.
I woke up as we crossed over the Atlantic Ocean. Perhaps my first thought shouldn’t have been about sex, but you must forgive me, I have an affliction. Did I want to be having this much sex? Certainly not. Maybe not. But I couldn’t help myself.
Think of me as a victim of my environment. I’m like one of those kids who grow up in the ghetto and can’t help but rob a liquor store. I mean, if all my brain will allow me to think about is sex, how do you expect me not to have more sex?
So here I was on a plane flying across the Atlantic to America, not yet sure who I was anymore, and with no idea what was happening to me. See, if you were in the same place, you’d be terrified, right? This was a scary time for me. Me! I am royalty. I’m not supposed be dealing with shit like this.
But like I said, it has all worked out well in the end. I ended up in Los Angeles. My jail cell is the top three floors of the most luxurious condo complex in Southern California, if not the world. And I figured out how to have an endless supply of desperate young actresses to feed my unfortunate affliction. See, I’m the sympathetic character in this story. I’m the one you should root for.
So now as I pull myself out of Britney… I am assuming her name is Britney… Every twenty something actress wannabe is named Britney… And I shoot my load on her back, I pulled myself back up and really admired the view. Because as great as Britney was… or did she say her name was Jennifer… anyway, as great as she was, there is no beating Los Angeles on a Saturday night at about 8 PM. There’s nothing better.
“Get dressed,” I said savoring the rush I got right after orgasm. “Wait.” I stuck my hand between her legs and gripped onto her swollen flesh. This was something I did.
When sex happened in a bed, one of my favorite moves is to grab onto her bald, naked pussy and whisper in her ear, “you know I own this right?” And I keep saying that until she finally says “I know.” I’m not sure why I liked it so much. Maybe it’s a feeling of power. Who knows? But it’s more about the feeling of her body in my hand. I feel like I am in control of her.
And before you start thinking anything crazy, I am not some possessive, control freak. I don’t literally think that I own their pussy. It is just what I say to play into the whole ‘possessive Sheikh’ fantasy. If anything, that is the role that the women I’m with force me to play.
Oh, don’t think that I don’t know what your stereotypes of Sheikhs are. We are those super aggressive, possessive guys that chain women up in their harems. I know that’s what you all think… Yeah, who’s a bad person now? Because I will have you know that I have never chained anyone up. Do I have relatives that might have done that? Maybe a few. But to think that I do it simply because I come from a long line of people who did, well, isn’t that the epitome of stereotyping. So to that I say, shame on you.
I just enjoy women. They smell good. They feel good. And as long as they don’t speak, they are the best things in the world. See, I’m practically a feminist.
As Britney got dressed I watched her pale, lean body move in the night’s lights. God, was she gorgeous. “Stop for a moment,” I said just wanting to admire her for a moment longer. “Okay, that’s enough. Get dressed.”
Although Britney did satisfy my night’s urgings, I still had a lot of things left to do for the night. I didn’t exactly have full access to Los Angeles. I was pretty dependant on the people who worked for me. It was them who cooked my food, did my shopping, arranged my parties and made sure I was comfortable.
The only sort of control I had was over who I would invite back after my Saturday night party. Like I said, I had an affliction. I have certain needs that need to be satisfied. And on the second floor of my three-story abode were all of the women who I would have a chance with for the next six days until my next party. Talk about pressure.
“Why don’t you get yourself something nice,” I said as I left her a little cash. And again, don’t think I’m treating her like a prostitute. Girls like nice things. Either I can buy her something that she won’t like, or I can give her the money and she can buy exactly what she wants. Now, if you had the option of a shitty gift or the money to buy a great gift, which would you choose? See, that’s what I thought. So I left her some money.
Leaving the bedroom I made my way down the grand staircase. The party was still in full swing. What I loved most about them, was how much they looked like a magazine ad. You know the ones I’m talking about. They have good-looking people dressed elegantly drinking colorful drinks in martini glasses.
Usually the shot is in black and white and is used to make everyone who can’t have a life like that feel bad. Well, that is what my parties are like. And there is no need to feel bad because practically everyone here is an actor. The women are all struggling actresses, and the guys are paid actors who are there to make sure that although the women have a good time, there is no chance of them being competition for me.
As I stood there picking out the women whose number my bodyguards would acquire, I noticed one person who seemed very out of place. Let me paint the picture for you. Beautiful blonde, beautiful blonde, beautiful brunettes, heavyset girl. Now which of these women do you think is out of place? And here’s a second question, how much do you think I’m going to yell at the guy who let her in?
Now, before I tell you what I’m going to do, let me first admit that I am not a perfect person. Just like everyone else, I have my questionable moments. Perhaps this is one of my questionable moments. Perhaps I could’ve handled the situation better. But cut me some slack. These three floors are all I have in life. If I don’t get my entertainment this way, how do you think I’ll get it?
So walking up to her and intentionally treating her like a waitress isn’t the nicest thing I can do. But I can’t spend every moment of my life being a nice guy, right?
“Get me a drink,” I said to her never really looking her in the eyes.
“Why are you asking me?” she asked as if she didn’t know.
“You’re the help, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like the help?” she asked not knowing what she was in for.
“Well, look around. What’s does it seem like to you?”
This is when I turned and looked at her. She had really poured herself into her dress. It’s not that she looked bad. In fact, for her size, she was cute. But does that mean that I should turn my parties into one of those you know what fests? I don’t think so.
Standards. My parties had standards. My parties looked like the same parties from a magazine. If I didn’t have that, then what did I have?
“Are you always such a jerk?” she asked me with a lot less cowering than I assumed she would have. It didn’t suit her. I felt like she should have been more of the cowering type.
“Are you always so fat?” I asked in reply. Again, are you ready to judge me? Keep in mind that I have an affliction and I am in jail. No matter how expensive the furniture, a jail cell is still a jail cell. And the one bit of social interaction that I get all week is this party. Can’t I at least have this?
“So yes, you are always such a jerk,” she said with way more confidence than she deserved.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked needing to get to the bottom of this.
“So now you wanna know my name?”
“Well, this is my party. I think that if I’m going to be insulted, I should at least know who it is that’s doing the insulting.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
Now that was an interesting question. Did I always get what I wanted? I’m going to say that I never got what I wanted. As to the fore mentioned boys private school, that wasn’t what I wanted. Being banished to Los Angeles, that wasn’t what I wanted. The endless stream of beautiful women… okay, that was what I wanted. But come on people, there is more to life than just women. I can’t imagine what that is, but I’m sure I heard that somewhere.
“Why yes I do,” I settled upon.
“Then I guess this is going to be a rough night for you,” she said with a smile… a smug smile.
Okay, this was interesting. First of all, this was the most I had talked to any woman all night. Second of all, she is coming across as the least perceptive woman that I have ever met.
Let’s go over the facts. Number one, doesn’t she know that she does not belong here? Why would she stay? Number two, I am the Sheikh. That doesn’t mean a whole lot to me, but I know it means a lot to young women. So why isn’t she cowering? And number three, no one calls me a jerk. I may act like a jerk. I may call myself a jerk. But no one calls me a jerk. I don’t want to say that that’s a Saudi law, but yeah, it’s a Saudi law.
“I’m sorry, why are you here?” I asked her again.
“I’m here with her,” she said pointing across the room.
I turned and hell if she wasn’t pointing at Britney.
“You came with Britney?” I asked turning back around.
“Who? No. Samantha.”
Oh, was that what she had said to me?
“Who are you, her bodyguard?”
“Oh, are you one of those girls who holds the purse when the pretty girls go out and dance?”
“No, I’m the one that tells the obnoxious men to go away after we’ve gotten what we want from them.”
Wait, was she inferring something about me? No, that doesn’t seem right. “And what do you do? Are you an actress as well?”
“I’m a law student.”
“Oh, so you’re the bitter, smart one.”
“I imagine that your definition of smart isn’t all that challenging. So I guess comparatively speaking, yes I am.”
Okay, I might not be the smartest guy in the room… okay, maybe in this room, but in a typical room… but I think she might be calling me dumb. I was starting to dislike this girl.
“So I guess you two will be going now?”
“No, why do you ask?” she said smugly.
“Well, you got your drinks. Your friend got laid by a Sheikh. She even made a little money on the side. What else could you all possibly want?”
“Oh, you thought that my friend and I were here because of you. Oh no. My friend has a boyfriend. He’s smart, good-looking… you know, the opposite of you. He’s a real quality guy. But he pissed her off. So she said, who can I sleep with that would get back at him the most. And I said, you should sleep with someone who is so trashy and horrible that it would make your boyfriend feel bad for the stupid shit he did. And then when she got the invitation to come to this thing and meet you, we both thought, who could be more trashy and horrible than a Sheikh. So here we are. And once we have had a few more drinks, then we will have everything we want.”
First of all, who the hell is this girl? Second of all, did she just call me trashy and horrible? I am not what you would refer to as a sensitive soul, but ouch. That stung in a way that I did not expect. I couldn’t even come up with a witty response.
This woman, this girl, was just like one of those mean girls that I grew up with. I wasn’t always the smooth-talking debonair type I am today. Believe it or not I was once a less than confident, only child who got picked on more than once by very mean older female cousins.
You could never imagine anything meaner than a Saudi princess whose boobs have not come out. Those weren’t fun times for anyone, much less me. And this girl with her angry ways and sharp tongue, she was reminding me of that kid I was trying to escape. I didn’t like her very much.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” I said less than subtly.
“Are you throwing us out?” she asked surprised. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
Okay, nothing could have made me feel worse than her asking me if she hurt my feelings when she did. This was all bullshit. I had one night a week to just be myself again, and this woman had taken it from me. I hadn’t invited her here. Yet here she was ruining my night. I was so upset that I couldn’t even speak.
I could’ve signaled my bodyguards to carry them out immediately. I could’ve done a lot of things. I was still a Sheikh no matter where I was. It was just by my good graces that I decided to be the one to walk away. I had to walk away. I was starting to lose control. And if I really lost control, there would need to be a whole lot of cleaning up going on. I am the good guy here. I walked away escaping to my third-floor dungeon.
I could feel my blood boil. That was always the way it would start. I would start to sweat, my skin would begin to itch, and my head felt like it would explode. I needed to get out of here. I needed to get downstairs into my room and allow myself to run it out. I just needed to burn some of this off. It was like nervous energy. The more I moved around, the faster it dissipated.
I pushed past the partygoers toward the downward stairs. I didn’t look at my guys, but I knew that all of their eyes were on me. They all knew about my affliction. I liked to believe that they were here to protect me from the world. But deep down I knew that they were here to protect the world from me. I was the plague that was contained in a jar… or a three-story luxury condo. I couldn’t be allowed out because there was no telling how far the plague would spread.
I started stripping off my clothes as soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs. It was so hot. I couldn’t breathe. My body felt like it was on fire and it took everything in me not to collapse.
Getting behind my closed door, I did my best not to scream. I don’t know how successful I was. Certainly it would bring about a quick end to my party. But I knew that if I could just ride this out, it would all be over soon. So finally relaxing and allowing it to take over me, I felt the wolf come.
In a moment there was barely any more of me left. It was like I was trapped in a bubble staring through eyes that were not mine. I couldn’t control the wolf. All I could do was observe and remember.
I remembered everything. I remembered those first two socialites who had met their untimely end. I remembered the first actress named Britney who got more than she expected. And I remembered the bodyguard who had wandered into my room when he shouldn’t have. It would have been great to always get what I wanted. But clearly, that wasn’t the case.
The wolf ran around more agitated than usual. He ripped at things with its teeth and bobbed back and forth wanting to attack. He was like a stranger when he was like this. All I could do was ride it out and wait for it to pass.
It all would have passed too if something unexpected hadn’t happened next. I must not have locked the door. It might have slipped my mind as I felt the wolf coming on, but there was someone stepping through it who had no idea what they were stepping into.
The wolf seemed like it was in no mood for visitors. He was in the mood to kill. He was sneaky, and he was fast. When he was like this, there was no way anything could survive.
“Hello?” the familiar voice said.
It was that girl, the chubby one. The mean one. How she had gotten downstairs I don’t know. My men must have seen me leaving. It was their job to keep their eyes on me at all times. So how could she be here now much less slowly entering the room?
I could feel the wolf’s heart race as it saw her. It was crouching down. It was on the other side of the room hiding in the shadows. It had locked onto her like prey. And as much as I screamed for her to leave, the wolf didn’t make a peep.
“Listen, we’re about to go but I wanted to apologize.”
‘Get out,’ I screamed helplessly trapped within the wolf. ‘Run!’
It was no use. There was nothing I could do to stop what was about to occur. This girl was about to be shredded to pieces like all of the others had. It was nothing I wanted, but there it was.
It was then that her eyes shifted. I saw her looking right at me. She saw me and now all she had to do was run. Why wasn’t she running? Didn’t she realize that she had to run?
What type of dog is that? It kind of looks like an Alaskan husky mixed with a German shepherd. It is huge, though. Actually, what it really looks like is a wolf. It would be like an obnoxious Sheikh to have a wolf as a pet. But the question is, is it dangerous?
I wasn’t really scared of dogs… and wolves in this case. I grew up around dogs my entire life. I was basically a dog whisperer. The most important thing with canines is to stand tall and be unwavering. Canines were pack creatures. They automatically recognized humans as their masters. It is just a matter of demanding your authority.
So, staring at it in the eyes, I gave it my I-am-the-Alpha look. It stopped. It stared at me. It was working.
“Come here,” I demanded in an authoritative voice.
It wasn’t trained. It didn’t know what I was saying. Dumb animal. Well, if it was going to be like this, I may as well leave.
This was the tricky part. You can’t look like you’re running if you’re dealing with a new canine. New canines are always trying to figure out their pecking order. If I ran, it would decide that it was the alpha and chase me. I had to turn and walk away. But I had to do it in a way that spoke of strength.
I gave it a final intimidating stare, turned around and then reached a little too quickly for the knob. It was quiet but I could hear it running up behind me. I’m not gonna lie, my heart rate picked up pretty quickly.
I was no match for it. It was pretty big and it was fast. So dropping the whole act, I dove for the door trying to put it between me and it.
“Ouch!” I squealed.
It got me, but not too badly. It wasn’t a bite, it was a scratch on my calf. Examining it on the other side of the closed door, I noticed that it barely broke the skin. I was bleeding but I was sure I’d be fine.
This was just another way that my good intentions had turned bad. Here I was coming down to apologize for being a bit of a bitch, and I end up getting scratched by some wolfen creature. I could have just left. I should just leave now. I think that with this scratch, the Sheikh and I were even. I didn’t owe him anything else.
Returning upstairs I looked around for Samantha. She was standing at the bar knocking back a glass of wine when I grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.
“What are you doing?” she asked clearly not ready to leave.
“No we aren’t. I wanna stay. I think he likes me.”
You know, sometimes I look at Samantha and wonder how she manages to get dressed in the morning. Thank God she was pretty because she didn’t exactly have a lot going on upstairs.
“No dear, he doesn’t. He gave you money to get rid of you.”
“How did you know he gave me money?”
“Because he told me he did. And then he told me he wanted us to leave. Come on, let’s go.”
As I dragged my somewhat drunk friend toward the elevator, I had to admit that I wondered about how much money he had given her. Samantha was the type to get money from guys for no good reason. She worked in a strip club, not as a stripper but as a waitress. Sometimes that was more lucrative. There was once a guy who gave her a $600 tip for two drinks. Some men are idiots. Because even if they got what they wanted from Samantha, I slept in the bedroom next to hers. I can tell you, she was a horrible lay.
Calling a car I considered how much of a bust the night was for me. The Sheikh really was an asshole. I don’t even know why I was going downstairs to apologize to him. He should have been apologizing to me. But the way he walked off made it seem like he was very hurt by what I had said. It almost seemed like he had feelings. If you squinted enough, he almost seemed like a real boy.
In truth, I know why I went downstairs. It was because although I would never have admitted it to him, the man was very hot. It’s stupid, I know. Don’t judge me. But I thought that if I gave him a little bit more time, he would come around. And who knows? Maybe we could have had something.
But don’t worry. I’m realistic. I know what I look like and I know what he looks like. I’m just saying that we could’ve had something. I could’ve been a really kick ass friend to him. Like I said, don’t judge me. A hot guy is still a hot guy, and you know it. And following a hot guy downstairs to continue a conversation was not the stupidest thing that I had ever done.
By the time that we got to the lobby, the car was already waiting for us. It was one of those cars that are attached to your credit card. And although it was attached to my credit card, I seriously considered having Samantha pay for it. After all, it wasn’t my idea to come to this party. I came so she didn’t have to come alone.
He was right that I was the one who always held the purses while the pretty girls danced, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him. It was sometimes just nice knowing that pretty girls thought that I was a kick ass friend. Don’t judge me. It’s not like you never had that thought.
Anyway, walking back into our small two bedroom apartment, the real world came rushing back. Although it felt nice to escape to a luxury suite filled with beautiful people, it was just an escape. In my world there were things like bills to pay, and jobs to find. I was about to be a senior at UCLA and I still owed $8000 for my junior year. UCLA had this crazy rule about having to pay off all past debts before starting new ones. That was crazy talk. Who does that?
So now, here I was trying to come up with $8000 in three months or my college career was going to end one year short of a degree. Walking my drunk roommate to bed, I returned to my own slipping on my pajamas. I wish I could choose not to think about the night’s events, but the things that the Sheikh said were in my head. He had called me fat. There were only two people who could make me feel better after something like that, my good friends Ben and Jerry.
And falling onto the couch with the carton and a spoon, I turned on the television to get a little reality television therapy. Ah, ‘Couples’ Therapy,’ a show about people who make worse decisions than I do. I couldn’t resist that even if I tried.
Morning came finding me still on the couch with the tips of my hair in an empty ice cream carton. I wasn’t hung over exactly, but I felt yucky. I had eaten way too much. So when Samantha exited the hallway for the kitchen as spry as a bumblebee, I remembered why I hated her. She had had sex with a hot guy, gotten cash for doing nothing, drank too much, and then had no ill effects in the morning. Bitch!
As much as I wanted to sleep, it was probably good that I was up. I absolutely, 100%, needed to find a job today. It wasn’t just that the rent was due, rent was always due. It was that I had calculated it out. If I was going to have any shot at paying my college tuition, considering how much anyone would pay me, I needed to start working now. I had to drop off my resume at 12 restaurants. And don’t tell anyone, but the last one was a fast food joint. And I’m not talking the types with a buffet. I’m talking paper hats behind a counter.
“He was nice. Don’t you think?” Samantha said cheerily.
“No, he wasn’t.”
“That’s because you didn’t get a chance to talk to him. If you talked to him, you would think he was nice.”
“No Samantha. You didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I actually spoke to him and he was a real asshole. He gave you money for sex Samantha. What type of guy does that?”
“I was talking to some of my girlfriends at work, and they were saying that rich guys give their girlfriends an allowance. That’s just what rich men do.”
I wish I lived in Samantha’s world. A world where guys give you money for doing nothing. How does that happen? How does one person work hard their entire life making sure they get the best grades and make good decisions… well, kind of make good decisions… and then someone else gets paid for being skinny and pretty? How is that somehow fair?
“They give you the money because they think of you as their prostitute. Samantha, no one gets money for nothing.”
“Well, if all he wants is sex, then count me in. Because, Jenny, he was huge,” Samantha said with a devilish smile. “And he was so good.”
‘Bitch!’ is what I thought. I wouldn’t say that to Samantha. Okay, I would say that to Samantha, but considering that she might have to come up with my portion of this month’s rent, I wasn’t going to. But you know what I was thinking.
“Just be lucky nothing happened to you. Did you know that he has a wolf?”
“Seriously? That’s so cool.”
“No, that’s not cool. Crazy people have wolves as pets. Wolves kill people. They are not domesticated animals. Sons of dictators and grisly men have wolves as pets, not people who live in luxury condos in Los Angeles.”
Samantha threw together the ingredients of her breakfast smoothie. “I think it’s cool.”
She would. Samantha was the type of girl to think Trans Ams and muscle heads were cool. She once bragged to me about having given her entire high school football team a blow job. First of all, who would brag about that? Second of all, yuck.
After breakfast my day continued on the same cheery note that it started. I dolled myself up and made myself appropriately dressed to drop off resumes at restaurants. The goal was to show them that I could be a kick ass waitress. I could be, too. Last summer I consistently had the top tips at the café I worked at. They wanted me to stay on, but I wanted to focus on school. I thought that would mean that they would save me a job this summer but no dice. I was pounding the pavement once again.
Eleven restaurants and one immediate refusal from a fast food joint later, I was not feeling my best. All I wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and go back to sleep. It always took everything out of me to job hunt. I would do what I had to, but it certainly took its toll. So when I got home, I was in no mood for Samantha’s good news.
“Guess what?” she began excitedly.
‘Jesus!’ is what I thought. “What dear?” is what I said.
“The Sheikh wants to see me again. And he wants you to come with me.”
‘Ewww.’ Certainly if there were any girl that I would have a threesome with, it would be Samantha. But… “ewww.”
“It’s nothing like that. They sent me an email. They want to invite us over for dinner. They said the Sheikh likes to do that for some of his special guests. Come on, you have to go with me.”
I considered it. The pros were that it was a free meal. It was probably going to be really good and it was kind of nice to pretend to be a part of that world for a while. The cons were, well he was an asshole. He didn’t exactly make me feel good about myself. And what would I expect to come out of it anyway.
There was always something about a pint of ice cream eaten in one sitting that cleared my head. A guy like him would not want to be friends with a girl like me. I don’t even think a guy like him has friends. He just buys people and invites them to parties.
“No thanks. You could ask one of your other friends to go.”
“No, you have to go. They told me to bring the person who I brought last night. I can’t go without you.”
Now that was odd. Why would I have been invited back? The Sheikh had made it clear that he didn’t want me there to begin with. It was something about ruining his perfect picture. Does he think that I turned into some stick thin blonde overnight? No, it wasn’t worth it. There is only so much money I can spend on ice cream.
“I can’t go.”
“You don’t even know when it is,” Samantha insisted.
“When is it?”
“Tonight? Oh, see. I’m busy tonight.”
“No you’re not. With what?”
“I need to plan my job hunting for Monday. If it was Monday night, I could’ve gone. But I can’t tonight.”
“Perfect. Because they actually said Monday night,” she said with a smile.
Wow, how did Ms. Blonde Ambition come up with that plan? “I’m still not going. You might think he’s a nice guy but I talked to him. He’s not. And he wasn’t very nice to me.”
“Well he must’ve liked you because he wants you to come back.”
That was odd. Why in the world would he want me to come back? He was a Sheikh. He had women lining up to talk to him at that party. Why would I even cross his mind again? It didn’t make any sense. And I didn’t have the energy to waste thinking about it. “No.”
Samantha remained silent as she stared at me. She was sizing me up. She had some impression that she could convince me to do this even though I didn’t want to. Who did she think I was?
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Samantha began. “He doesn’t want me to come. He only invited you.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he likes you?”
“And why are you trying to convince me to go?”
“Because they said they would give me $500 if I convinced you.”
What the hell! Holy shit! Why in the world would the Sheikh first ask me to leave and then pay my roommate $500 to have me come back? This was the freakiest thing that has ever happened to me.
I had no idea what I should do. I knew what I was going to do. I was going back to the Sheikh’s place for dinner. Don’t judge me. He was still super hot. But having said that, I had no idea what I should do.
Now, you might be asking, why would I invite the harpy back. Here’s the thing, as much as I said that I remembered everything that happens when I’m a wolf, that’s not exactly the truth. I remember most things. I certainly remember the horrible things. But the exact details are often a little hazy.
I remember seeing her. I remember chasing her. But did I catch you? I feel like I did. And if I did, did I bite you?
Biting her would be a key point. If I got her, then my goons are going to have to make her go away. And before you start saying anything, her disappearance would be for your benefit. Do you want some werewolf infected person who doesn’t know they’re a werewolf infecting people in a major city? I didn’t think so. So don’t you start second-guessing our techniques to keep you safe. Just say thank you.
Unfortunately though, the only way I can figure out the harpy’s wolf status without alerting the goons to this potential threat, is to invite her over as if I wanted to spend more time with her. That couldn’t be further from the case. I’m still scarred from our last interaction. Ladies, here’s a little tip, no one likes a harpy. But now I’m stuck with one, at least for the night, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I have to say that I was little surprised that she agreed to come back. My guess is that, at the heart of it all, I’m still a Sheikh, and she is still a commoner. Say what you want about such elitist attitudes, but the attitudes don’t work unless everyone agrees to play along.
Okay, here’s the plan for the evening. She comes over at eight, we sit silently and enjoy our dinner, I ask her if she happened to be bitten by a wolf and she says that she didn’t. I then feed her dessert, she empties the table and I slip her a little money. I then never see her again and I am done and done.
Now, if I could only relax. I’ve been feeling a little tense ever since I knew she was coming back. Just the thought of her makes me stressed. I don’t like her. I don’t like anything about her. She is so smug, and mean. Why would a woman choose to be that mean?
In my country, women are taught to be seen and not heard. You Americans, sure you give your boyfriends blow jobs in high school, but there are certain traditions that should not be lost.
At around seven I started thinking about inviting one of the Britneys over for a quick session before dinner. It would relax me. It would take the edge off. It doesn’t help when your entire world is 10,000 ft.² and an awesome view. You still feel very trapped. Pacing back and forth only gets you so far. The only thing left to do is the one thing that I hated doing. I would have to go downstairs and let the wolf run for a bit
At 7:15 I did just that. Locking myself in my room I calmly took off my clothes and hung them in the closet. Naked, I positioned myself in the center of the room and I let my instincts take over. Riding quietly behind the wolf’s eyes I could feel the tension dissipate. All it could do is run in circles but it was enough. It burned off some of the stress that I felt.
I don’t know why the harpy made me so tense, but I didn’t want to go through with dinner. How did a girl like her think she was going to find a guy? She wasn’t the type of woman a guy could talk to. She wasn’t congenial like every other woman in my life. It was very frustrating. But letting the wolf loose for a bit did calm me down.
“Come in,” I said with a forced smile.
She had dressed nicely. It wasn’t that she was an unattractive person. She just wasn’t… what’s a good phrase to use without you getting the wrong impression about me… she didn’t look the way women were supposed to look. There, there’s nothing to complain about in the way I said that. Women are supposed to look a certain way, and she didn’t look that way. That was the only problem.… and, of course, her harpy personality.
“Hi,” she said smiling.
“I’m glad you accepted my invitation. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
“I wasn’t going to. My roommate begged me. The favors she will have to do in return for me coming here will make it all worthwhile.”
“So you didn’t want to come?”
“Well, if I remember precisely, you had asked me to leave because I didn’t look enough like the rest of your guests.”
“Yes, I remember. Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.”
We both stood staring at each other as if in a Mexican standoff. Granted, I don’t know exactly what a Mexican standoff is. But it seems to fit in this case.
Staring at her in the eyes, I considered not letting her in. Why couldn’t she just look like every other woman? I could perhaps put up with her personality if she just looked, you know, not the way she looked.
“So are we going to stand here for the rest of the night?” she asked.
“No, of course not. Please, come this way.”
Okay, I did it. I invited her in. I was completely cordial, I was the perfect host. There’s nothing anyone can fault me for so far. I was a perfect gentleman.
“I figured that we could just go right to dinner?” I said being charming.
“Was that a question?”
“No, that was me being charming. You know, I was casually throwing it out there.”
“You do know that you invited me for dinner, right?”
“Don’t worry I’ll feed you.”
“What did you say?”
The way she said that made me think that I might have phrased it poorly. She seemed insulted. It wasn’t my intention to insult her. Get back at her? Maybe. Couldn’t she had just accepted the fact that I was being charming and been grateful? Could that have been so hard to do?
“I said we’re going to dinner.”
“No you didn’t. You said, “don’t worry, I’ll feed you” as if I were some starved fat girl.”
“Whoa, I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that at all.” Sure I meant that. But she would never have any proof.
“I knew it was a mistake to come here,” she said slowing down and practically turning around.
Her leaving wouldn’t be good for anyone. If she left I would be forced to tell my bodyguards and they would be forced to err on the side of caution. If I didn’t tell my bodyguards and she turned, perhaps her roommate and anyone else around her would be in great danger. In the worst-case scenario, all of Los Angeles would be overrun with the afflicted. None of you should want her to leave.
“No, please don’t go. How about we both make a decision to be nice to one another for the rest of the night?”
“What did I do? I’ve been the perfect guest.”
“Really? This is you being the perfect guest?”
“I showed up looking pretty. I was on time. I’ve been friendly. Yet you still insult me for no reason. How about saying that I look pretty? How about thanking me for accepting your invitation?”
“Okay, you’re right. Thank you for coming tonight. And yes you look very pretty,” I tossed out hoping she didn’t think anything by it. The last thing I wanted was some chubby chaser on my jock. Did I use that phrase right? ‘Chubby chaser on my jock?’ I’m not sure.
But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. She was here so I could figure out whether or not my bodyguards would have to kill her to protect you people. But I guess that it didn’t have to be a completely unpleasant situation for either of us while she was here.
“Thank you. And you look handsome yourself,” she said with a smile.
You know, I never hear that. I know I’m a good looking guy so no one has to say it, but no one does. It would be nice if every so often a woman mentioned how I looked.
This whole look I have going on doesn’t just happen. You know how long it took me to develop this look? My experimentation with haircare products, clothes tried on and returned unused… even the way I shifted my body to evoke confidence in women, none of this just happened. Yet no woman ever took a second and just said how nice I looked. It is about time that someone said something, even if it had to be the harpy.
I led her to the dining room and gave her a second to take in the sight. It was an impressive place. It wasn’t so much about the 18th century furniture as it was the wall of windows overlooking the nighttime view of Los Angeles. I was subtle about it but I listened for that moment when it took her breath away. It happened. Her breath was taken away. I liked to refer to this room as the panty dropper. I was not looking for her panties to drop, but hey, there was no harm in giving her the full treatment. Was there?
We silently ate the appetizers. It was goose pâté, by the way. It’s also a panty dropper. The dinner was Beef Wellington. That happens to be my favorite. And as we continued eating, I no longer saw the need to remain in complete silence.
“So what does a girl like you do when you’re not at a place like this?”
“I’m a student.”
“What are you studying?”
“Prelaw. I’m entering my senior year.”
“A lot of girls go there,” I said remembering at least a few Britneys mentioning it.
“Yes, there are a lot of people who go to UCLA,” she said with an almost mocking smile.
“So, you want to become a lawyer?”
“It would seem so considering I’m studying prelaw.”
“Yeah, that was the hint.”
Maybe she didn’t wanna talk. Maybe it would be better to sit here, eat, find out what I need to know, and then do whatever came next. There was no real need to be pleasant about this. I could have just had my men pick her up, lock her in a box like veal, and see what happened on the full moon. But I’m a gentleman. I thought this would be nicer. But clearly she was incapable of being nice. So be it.
“So how do you spend your time when you are not in a place like this?” she eventually asked.
It surprised me to hear her ask a question. I wasn’t sure how to answer it. I could be snide like she was. But then again, why would I. I was clearly the better person.
“I’m never not in a place like this.”
I looked up at her to gauge her response. Her eyes dipped returning to her meal.
“That must be nice.”
“Actually it’s not. These three floors are all I see.”
“Why? Are you under house arrest?”
I examined her face wondering how much I should reveal. Was she a danger? Could she be a threat? Probably not.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Oh. So you’re literally never in a place that isn’t like this, because you can never leave here. I’m sorry,” she said in a way that made me believe that she was.
“I make do. I have parties. I figure out how to get what I need.”
“Still, it must get lonely.”
I was starting to hate her again. Isn’t there some sort of unwritten rule about not poking someone’s weakness? I mean, I’m not the most, how do you say, up to date on the latest etiquette, but pointing out a person’s weakness can’t be what polite people do.
“It has its moments,” I reply.
“So you just have your bodyguards and your parties?”
She was really starting to grate on me. “And of course my lady friends.”
“Whom I assume you just sleep with, like Samantha?”
“It gives me what I need.”
“Don’t you ever want more?”
“I take what I can get. It’s not like I have a lot of options up here.”
“I guess not. Man, I would hate to be you.”
Okay, that did it. A guy can only take so much. Here I was being nice, being open, and here she was rubbing my face in it. Look, I know I don’t have the best situation. I know that my life may be a little shallow. But what else am I supposed to do. Remember, I said I had an affliction. I didn’t choose this for me. This is how my life ended up. And now I’m stuck here, eating dinner with someone who feels the need to rub my nose in it. I think it’s time for this dinner to end.
“So, when you were here the last time, did you see that wolf I had downstairs?” This question was just to get the ball rolling. I knew she saw the wolf.
“Is that what it was? I thought it was some weird breed of dog. Why do you have a wolf in your condo?”
What does a guy say to that question?
“He’s not something that I can leave behind. So, you saw him?”
“He didn’t bite you or anything, did he?”
“Bite me? Why do you ask?”
Because if he did your life is over, is what I would’ve said. “Just need to make sure that you don’t need any shots.” Do you see how I did that? Shots?
“No. Why does he have something?”
“If he didn’t bite you then it’s nothing you have to worry about.”
“Because he did scratch me.”
I froze when I heard this. “With its teeth?”
“No, I think he got me with his claw.”
This was a new one. I knew what happened when someone got bitten. But what happened when someone got scratched? What was I supposed to do in this case?
“Why? Should I be worried? It doesn’t look infected or anything.”
Yeah. It never looked infected. What the hell do I do?
“You’re scaring me. Should I be worried?”
“No,” I said trying to reassure her. “The scratch is nothing. I just wanted to make sure it didn’t hurt you. That’s all.”
She apprehensively returned to eating her meal, but I couldn’t help but watch her. I had no idea what was going to happen next. She could turn, she could not turn. She could turn in a month or two. How do I protect you all from that?
As dinner went on, she asked me a few more questions. I replied with short answers. I wasn’t intending to be rude. I just had a lot on my mind.
She wasn’t a horrible girl. It’s not like she deserved to die or anything. But how do I do what’s right here? Maybe it would be better to sacrifice her just to be safe. Or maybe there was another option.
“Are you looking for a job?” I asked ready to engage with her again.
“Why? Do you know of any?”
“Maybe. Are you looking?”
“I’m looking depending on the job. I’m not looking for a job like the one you gave Samantha.”
“What? Oh, God no. I was thinking along the lines of a social secretary. I have certain limitations being confined here. And as you so bluntly pointed out, it can get a bit lonesome. Perhaps I can use someone like yourself to keep me occupied.”
“What would I have to do? I’m not gonna get you hookers?”
“No. I have others to do that. I’m talking about arranging for interesting people to come over. Maybe you could set up dinner parties for me throughout the week. You know, give me a social outlet. Meanwhile, you would report here every day and make yourself available whenever I needed you.”
“And how much would this pay?”
“How does $1500 a week sound?” I knew that that was half of what my father paid his social secretary. But that had to be a lot of money to a college student. There was no way that she wouldn’t accept it. And with her here every day, I could keep my eye on her and do what’s necessary if she turns.
“And I won’t have to deal with any of your women.”
“I didn’t say that. But you won’t have to go get them.
You should know that I have an appetite for certain things. It is what it is. If you have a problem with that then perhaps I should make other arrangements. But, I do have women in my life. There is no changing that.”
$1500 a week? Is he serious? I would sleep with him every single day for the entire summer for $1500 a week. Don’t judge me. He’s hot.
The question is if this job is just one of a glorified pimp. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sure if that would stop me. It’s $1500 a week. But it might make me pause for a moment before accepting.
I stared at him wondering what the catch of it was. I know I’m young but I’ve learned that nothing comes without a catch. Just yesterday this guy was asking me to leave his place, and today he’s offering me a high-paying job. These things just don’t happen to people like me. They happen to people like Samantha, cute blondes with more hair sheen than brains.
No, I’m more the type that gets mistaken for the waitress at fancy parties. I am more of the type who gets a fancy education and then end up working as a receptionist. I’m not the lucky type. I’m the, nose to the grind stone, 12 hours a day for half the pay type of person. Gorgeous sheikhs just don’t offer types like me jobs with no strings attached.
But I need the money. So if one night he corners me in his room and demands I take off my clothes, I guess I’ll unwillinglly do it. And if he says to me how my job is dependent on pleasing him sexually, I guess that is what I will have to do.
I’m not gonna like it, but I have to think about my education. I will have to throw myself on that hot, hard, huge grenade and take one for the team called ‘my tuition’. I won’t like it, but that is what I would be willing to do for $1500 a week and a college degree.
“So, when would you want me to start?” I said not ready to show him my cards, or nether regions.
“How about tomorrow?”
“Well, I think I might need a day or two to prepare. I wasn’t ready to start immediately. But if you need me to start tomorrow, I guess that could be arranged.”
“Then be here. I expect you to be here before I wake up, and to be here until I no longer need you.”
Yeah, he wants me. It is going to be a long and hard few months. And if I’m very lucky, it will be very hard.
The night came to an end fairly quickly after that. I was expecting dessert but it never came. In fact, he ushered me out as if he had had other plans. And when I asked him what time I should come in in the morning, he repeated that I should be there before he woke up. That didn’t give me much to work with, so I decided on 6 AM.
I was there bright and early at 6 AM the next morning. Sure, I only got three hours of sleep. Perhaps I didn’t look the best that I could. But I was planning on taking his job seriously. If it meant sacrificing a little comfort, I was willing to do it. After all, after only a few weeks of work, I would be able to pay off my debt and save for new ones.
The only problem now was that at 6 AM, there was only one of his guys on duty and he didn’t know anything about me. That meant that I had to stay in the lobby of the hotel part of the condo for the first hour.
At 7 AM I was good to go. That was when the daytime shift started. The guy working was kind of cute. I’d seen him before. He was the one working the door at Saturday’s party. I got the impression that he was the guy in charge of security. He knew about me, thank God. But he still wouldn’t let me up. It was something about not having anyone else there to watch me.
At 9 AM I got into the Sheikh’s suite. Okay, one can argue that I wasted three hours waiting around when I could have been sleeping. That would be true. But I was being paid $1500 a week. What’s three hours of waiting when you’re paid about $30 an hour to do it? I could live with that.
When I was eventually shown around, I was told that the Sheikh didn’t get up until 11. That would make my day a lot easier. And finally left alone to wander, I decided to give myself the full tour.
Allow me to paint the picture for you. The second floor was where everyone entered. It had 9 foot ceilings and a huge open concept. Entering from the door, the oversized foyer was covered in marble and was bordered by long columns.
The marble continued to the main living space. It was where all the partygoers hung out. To the right was a grand piano. Over to the left was a bar. On the far left were couches around a big ass TV.
On the far right was an entrance into the kitchen and dining area. On the right of that was a grand staircase that led both upstairs and downstairs.
The marble continued throughout the rooms. In the dining area was a table which sat eight comfortably, but looked like it could be extended to seat 12.
Surrounding every outer room were wall sized windows. During the day they allowed for an exquisite view. On one side you could see all of downtown Los Angeles, and on the other the Pacific Ocean.
To get a full understanding of what this looked like, just imagine the most impressive white marble beach home that you’ve ever seen in a magazine. This is that. In fact, I’m sure that I saw this exact place in one of those magazines. The place was unbelievable.
Downstairs was a series of recreational spaces. Just off the stairs was a garden that extended out to the balcony. Past that was the gym. On the right-hand side of that was the room with the wolf. I wasn’t about to open it this time. And continuing around, there was the pool. Yes, they had a pool on the 18th floor of a condo. I didn’t even think that was possible. But there it was.
The top floor was where the Sheikh’s bedroom was. His room took up half the floor. I, of course, wasn’t allowed in there… yet. But I did walk through the open bedrooms. The rooms continued the white and off-white theme throughout the core of the rest of the space. And the queen-sized beds had what felt like Egyptian cotton sheets layered in shades of pearl and mauve.
There weren’t a lot of personal artifacts around the condo. It really did look like a space from a magazine shoot. I wondered if this was what his palace back in whatever country he came from, looked like.
My personal tour took an hour, and after that I still had nothing to do. So pulling up a chair from the dining room table, I chose a spot where I could look out over Los Angeles. I made another $30 just staring at the view.
“Oh, you’re here?” A half-dressed Sheikh said as he entered the dining room.
“Was I not supposed to be?” I asked wondering if I misunderstood him.
“No, I mean you’re here, in my space,” he said without a smile on his face.
“Where am I supposed to hang out?”
“You’re at work. You’re not supposed to “hang out” anywhere.”
“I mean, where am I supposed to… wait?”
“Do you think I arrange these things? I have to say that you are not making a very good impression on your first day.”
Without another word I left ‘his space’ and found Gerard, the head of security. I asked him where I was supposed to wait, and he told me that he didn’t know. I then asked him if he knew what I would be doing. He seemed just as confused as I was. Something told me this was going to be a rough day. And when I heard the Sheikh’s voice beckoning me, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Why weren’t you here?” he asked after sending me away only minutes earlier.
“Well I was just here…”
“Do you think you’re here to make excuses?”
“No. I was just…”
“Is there anything you could say right now that you believe will make this situation better?”
I thought for a moment. He was onto something. There was nothing I could say that would satisfy him. So instead, I remained silent.
“Good. Here is what I expect. I expect to get up in the morning, leisurely come downstairs to have breakfast. After I’ve had my first sip of coffee, you should walk in and present me with my schedule for the day. Now, do you have my schedule for the day?”
Was he joking? This was my first day. I couldn’t even get into the building for two hours, and I’m supposed to have some sort of schedule already?
“I thought it would be better to talk to you about what you want your schedule to look like before I presented it.” That was complete bullshit. I had no schedule. And I think he knew that I had no schedule. But if he wanted to play this game, hell, he’s paying me $30 an hour to do it. That was fine with me. I would play along.
“Good answer. Here is what I’m looking for. At noon, or maybe more about 2 PM, I would like to have a light lunch and conversation with someone who is preferably royal, but at least at my stature. They can stay until 3 PM in which case I would like a trainer to appear.
I will work out with him for an hour or two. And then after that, I would like dinner. A group of four or five would be ideal. No one too boring. No one that yammers on. And then around 10 o’clock, I would like you to invite Britney over for dessert. After that I am good for the night. Did you get that?”
Was he joking? I was starting to believe that I couldn’t tell. I had to find five people to eat with him every day? And who was this Britney girl? Did he have a girlfriend? Did she know about his weekend parties? And, where the hell was I supposed to find royalty in Los Angeles? I was starting to believe that I couldn’t do this job no matter how much he paid me because the job couldn’t be done.
“Did you get that?” he asked with a little more petulance.
“Yeah. Does someone have a black book of people I can contact? Like, maybe your friends?”
“I’m sure one of the guys do. But why are you asking me that question? That is a question that I should be asking you.”
I stared at the Sheikh a little lost. A lot was being thrown at me at once. On one hand, it excited me to know that I might soon be meeting royalty. On the other hand, how the hell do you invite a royal person to lunch? Do you just call up their cell phone? Do they even have cell phones? And when did he expect me to start this schedule?
“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked abruptly.
“Is that you saying that you want me to leave?”
He looked at me with one eye brow perched. This was a new look for him. My guess is that this was his way of saying ‘isn’t it obvious’.
I walked out already on edge. I had to find a royal to have lunch with him in three hours on my first day of the job. How do you like them apples? I didn’t. So as soon as I left the Sheikh, I found Gerard and piled him with questions.
Apparently such a black book did exist. But every contact in it had a European address. The Sheikh had only been in Los Angeles for two months and had no local contacts. I think that he wanted me to generate a social network for him that would be okay with only socializing at his condo. How was I supposed to do that? I was the girl who held the pretty girl’s purses. I wasn’t the girl who invited royalty to lunch. My job was starting to seem like mission impossible paid at $30 an hour.
I wasn’t about to give up, though. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I knew how to work the phone, and I wasn’t shy. And with money as no object, I had a few ideas that could work. Though it might take more than three hours to make them happen.
Finding a perch in the garden, I went to work. Although the 2 o’clock deadline was approaching quickly, I thought it best to arrange for the trainer first. I called up the most expensive gym that I could find, and asked them to recommend a trainer that could show up on short notice. That turned out to be pretty easy. I contacted the one that was most highly recommended and told him to show up at 3:30.
The next thing I focused on was his lunch date. What he said was that he needed another royal or someone else of his stature. Finding royalty would be tough, but there had to be others of his stature around.
It dawned on me that I did have an ace up my sleeve on this one. Samantha, my roommate, who technically owed me one, worked at a strip club. I was always amazed at how many guys gave her their phone number thinking that she would call. And I’m not just talking about bankers or lawyers. I’m talking famous actors and singers. Apparently her strip club was the place to be. And the fact that she didn’t actually strip there, made her the girl that every guy wanted to sleep with.
What all of this meant was that Samantha had a black book of her own. If I could get her to open it up a little, gold would fall out. And after all, she did owe me one.
“Samantha, I started a new job today and I need a favor.” I didn’t feel the need to tell her last night.
“Oh, cool. Where?” I’m sure she wasn’t asking because she cared. I was positive it had to do more with where she thought she could now get free food.
“Actually, it’s with the Sheikh. He had invited me to dinner to offer me a job.”
“Really? Then I guess you owe me one.”
Damn it! “Well, I’m not sure who owes who one because you did make $500 because I decided to go. I’m still thinking that you kinda owe me. And I kinda need a favor.”
She agrees to listen without more resistance. It took me a moment to figure out why until I realized that she saw my new job as a boon for her as well.
“I need a lunch date for him. It has to be someone on his stature. I need it for 2 o’clock today.”
“You mean someone as tall as him?”
Wow! “No, I mean someone on his level like royalty or someone famous. I thought that maybe you could give me a number for someone.”
“Well, I could. But that would be kind of a big deal. They did give me the number with expectations.”
“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant even if she didn’t. She wanted something for the number. I didn’t think that I should have to give her anything. It was easy enough for someone to talk their way into her pants, it couldn’t be that hard for me to talk my way into her black book.
“The way I see it, anyone would be lucky to meet someone like the Sheikh. In fact, I think that anyone who you connect with the Sheikh would owe you one.”
There was a long pause on the phone. I could appreciate that. It took a little longer for her gerbil to get up to speed on its wheel, so her replies were never as quick as others might be. But ultimately she understood the benefits of making connections. And she understood the social game even better than I did. I knew she would get this. And after sitting in silence for long enough, she did.
“Well, there might be someone.”
“Really? Who’s that?”
“It’s this guy who gave me his number last night. He’s the lead singer of Juice. Do you know who Juice is?”
She didn’t have to explain who Juice was. They were a massively successful band that had about 10 hits in the last two years. They were major. And it made sense that she would have met the lead singer in a strip club. And more perfect than that, the guy’s name was Royal.
“Oh, he would be perfect. Do you think that he could make it to lunch today?”
“He said he wanted to take me to lunch today. I think I can convince them to have lunch with the Sheikh instead. But you would owe me.”
“Definitely. If you can make this happen, I’ll owe you one.”
I could practically hear her beaming on the other side of the phone. I could already tell that her favor was going to get expensive.
“Then I know what I want,” she said immediately.
“I want to have dinner with the Sheikh.”
Oh, this was working out well. He would certainly not object to having her back… I don’t think. Or maybe he would. Either way, she would be one of four I needed for tonight. With Samantha I would only have to find three others. This was starting to seem less impossible than I first thought. The only other thing I had to figure out was who Britney was, because there wasn’t anyone named Britney in his black book.
My schedule for the day as I saw it was; wake up, harass my new social secretary whose name I think was Jenny. Give her an impossible task, and then spend the rest of the day berating her for not being able to do it.
It wasn’t my first choice on how I would spend my day. My first choice would be exactly what I described to Jenny. But locked away in my jail cell, I couldn’t expect such things. I was a pariah. No one would want to talk to me. At least, no one I would want to talk to.
You can imagine my surprise when Jenny knocked on my bedroom door. She said she wanted to inform me of my day’s schedule. I knew this was going to be rich, so I started thinking of things I could retort as I made fun of her for not being able to do the one simple job I gave her.
But she did surprise me. Well, I think “surprised” is too light a word. She shocked the hell out of me.
In two hours she arranged for me to have lunch with the lead singer of Juice. I love that band. I once traveled to London to see them in concert. I tried to get backstage and couldn’t. It was kind of humiliating really. The problem was that I had no one to present me to them. I was a sheikh but there are a lot of sheikhs. In Europe, I was just one of thousands.
But somehow this harpy of a girl, this person I could barely stand to spend time with, had done something I thought near impossible. And she had done it in two hours. Who the hell did I hire? It took everything in me to not give her a compliment. But don’t worry, I resisted.
Lunch was fucking fantastic. Royal was such a cool guy. He suggested that we hang out again. But I told him I would have to invite him by because my schedule didn’t allow for many external trips.
But I did give him a few contacts from the who’s who of Europe for when he was next on tour. It was pretty much a dream come true. He liked me. I liked him. We were basically new friends. It really did take everything in me to not thank Jenny. But I stayed strong.
After lunch I worked out with Bob, the trainer. I didn’t know this, but Bob was on some TV show where he helped people lose weight. I guess he was a celebrity trainer or something.
Whatever he was, he was a cool guy. It was a good workout. We came up with a weekly schedule. It was three times a week with him telling me that my body needed the extra days to rest. I had a feeling I was going to be ripped in no time. It wasn’t like I wasn’t rocking it now. But give me a few weeks and I would be shredded.
Dinner was another surprise. There were four people total, all of them Britneys. One of them was even a Britney that I had slept with. In fact, it was the one Jenny had come with on Saturday night. And all of them were fighting to get on my jock. It was heaven. The entire day was just fantastic.
I’d spent so long locked away in this hellhole, that I had forgotten what it felt like to be human. Conversation, cool people, it was like I was breathing for the first time since all this craziness happened. Jenny really was something special. I was amazed.
And now let me tell you what happened after dinner. Not wanting to be greedy I chose one of them. It wasn’t the one from Saturday night, although I’m sure that she wouldn’t have minded joining in. Instead it was Britney B as I’ll call her since she was a brunette.
I bade good night to the other women and then led my guest upstairs for the evening. Her body curved in all the right places. She wore a little black dress that barely contained her C-cups and ended abruptly right after the curves of her hips. Her wavy dark hair fell onto her shoulders framing her face. And her electric green eyes mesmerized me.
Closing my bedroom door behind us, I caught up to her and slid my hand onto the soft silk of her ass. It was firm. She stopped moving and tilted her head back as if to moan. Standing beside her with my hands still on her ass, I gripped one of her breasts. She liked that. She groaned deeply in response.
Moving my lips to her neck, I kissed her. It was lightly at first but quickly I started to nip. I always had to be careful not to break the skin. But getting so close aroused me. And her light breaths told me that it aroused her too.
Slowly I slipped my hand off of her ass and between her legs. The naughty girl wasn’t wearing panties. What I found instead was moist swollen flesh that looked to swallow my finger. Her button was evident. I pressed it watching her knees buckle a bit. I could have simply pressed it and waited for her orgasm but I didn’t. We were nowhere near done. But knowing that she was ready, I thought it might be time to let the wolf out.
With sudden disregard for her, I flipped her around. My cock was hard and I pressed it against her stomach. I grabbed her long hair in my hand and pulled it back. She whimpered. I didn’t care.
Grabbing hold of the bottom of her dress, I pulled it over her head. She stood before me naked in heels. I circled her examining my prey. She looked helpless before me. I could do anything to her and she would let me.
Without mercy I wrapped my large hand around her neck and pulled her to me. I kissed her and kissed her hard. Almost as instinct she jumped up wrapping her legs around my waist. I carried her out to the balcony.