She arrived back at the Sky Park Building on South Grand Avenue at 2:30, tipped the limo driver fifty dollars, and then the doorman another ten. She rode the elevator up to the twenty-second floor and opened the door to her new condo. It was a luxurious place, but she still thought it was rather depressing. Most of the floor space was still empty. There was no one here but herself. She really had no one she could call for company since Jake and Laura were now in New Zealand and Suzie had returned to San Diego. There was not even a maid or a cook since she had not yet hired anyone for the job since she would just be returning to the road in a few weeks.
She went to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. This, she carried into the room she had designated her music room, although she currently had no operating sound system. Her twelve-string guitar was here, however, the one she had bought in the Portland Music Store the day she and Jake had ... well ... it was useless to ponder the events of that day.
“And it never happened,” she sang softly, almost unconsciously, laying down the chorus line from her hit song inspired by what she would not let herself think about too often.
She took down the guitar and sat in her chair in front of the desk. She strummed it a few times, wincing at the sound. It was out of tune, of course. It had been un-played for nearly five months now. She tuned it by ear and then began to strum out a few simple melodies, searching for inspiration. She found none and a few minutes later she put the guitar back in its place and walked back into the living room. She had no television either so she could not even engage in that mindless pursuit.
Her eyes caught the glossy magazine on her coffee table, the latest issue of Smooth Operator, which she had been reading earlier, reveling over the Mindy Snow stories. She had not finished the article. With nothing else to do, she leaned forward and picked the magazine back up. She quickly flipped through the Mindy Snow article pages, skimming for a rehash of the tale of the propane delivery man and the hay delivery man.
I wonder if the hay guy has a big dick? she found herself wondering, feeling a little naughty for having the thought. Conventional wisdom and urban legend suggested that he might. She had never had sex with a man with a huge member before and she wondered if it actually felt better than the normal size. The biggest one she had ever had was ... well ... she wasn’t supposed to think about that. And anyway, it was not that much bigger than Greg’s, the member that she was most familiar with in her life.
With a sigh, she flipped through a few more pages until she found the next section of the Mindy Snow article, the part that described the third encounter. The picture this time was of a smiling, well-muscled white man. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a pullover t-shirt that did justice to his physique. He was displaying for the camera a blue work shirt that the caption stated he had saved from his previous place of employment—a major regional drug store chain—that, like the others, had the name of the business blurred but that anyone who lived in LA and had patronized the establishment would recognize as a shirt from Lister Drug Store.
Daniel Marks was the man’s name, and he was currently a baggage handler at Burbank Airport. Two years ago, however, he had been a stocker at the aforementioned “regional drug store chain” in the San Fernando Valley and Mindy Snow had paid his place of employment a little visit.
“I was stocking those scented candles,” Marks told the reporter, “and, all of a sudden, Mindy Snow is there talking to me. She smelled a few candles but didn’t really seem interested in them. And then, out of nowhere, she just comes out and asks me if I want to go up to her house after my shift and fuck her.”
“She put it just like that?” he was asked.
“Just like that,” he confirmed.
“And you did it?”
“Of course I did it,” Marks replied. “Wouldn’t you?”
The reporter’s answer was left unprinted, but Marks did go on to describe a lengthy sexual encounter with Mindy Snow at her house. He told of a blowjob in her bedroom; a blowjob that involved Mindy’s fingers penetrating his ass. He told of Mindy shoving his face between her legs and instructing him to eat her pussy out until his mouth was sore and cramped and he could barely speak. And then it was time to start fucking.
“I brought a pack of condoms with me,” Marks said. “I mean ... I knew what I was going there for and I assumed she would want me to use protection, so I bought a pack before I got off shift.”
“Did you use any of those condoms?” he was asked.
“No,” he replied, “she wouldn’t let me. She had her own supply. I used three of them while I was there; all condoms that she gave me.”
The tale continued, with allegations of an episode of analingus that Mindy demanded he engage in, of Mindy biting his nipples until they bled, of demands that he stick his cock in her freshly licked asshole and spank her, of a lengthy doggy-style slam that led to his second orgasm (the first had been in her butt, sooner than she liked and she had slapped him for this transgression) and a third and final shag that involved Mindy mounting him in the female superior position and riding him like a bronco for the better part of thirty minutes, telling him all the while that she was going to rip his balls off if he came before she was ready for him to.
After the final fuck, he was told to put his clothes back on and “get the fuck out”. He did so.
“I limped and couldn’t touch my own dick for like three days after that, but goddamn if it wasn’t worth it. I mean ... I got to fuck Mindy Snow. How many guys can say that?”
Quite a few, apparently, Celia thought with a smile as she read this line.
As in the previous two tales, the reporter was able to verify that Daniel Marks had actually worked at the drug store in question and that it was, in fact, on the route between Mindy Snow’s house and the greater Los Angeles area. They could not verify that Mindy had actually been in the store that day (and no one made the connection with Emily Strough, who had worked in the same store and had been the one to break the birth control pill aspect of the Condom-Gate saga) or that Daniel had actually met her on that day, but Daniel did describe Mindy’s property and the inside of her house in a manner that matched up with the previous two lovers’ depictions. And he also still had the piece of paper with directions to Mindy’s house written on it. There was a picture of this piece of paper displayed in the article.
Reading the rest of the story served to put Celia in a better mood. She sipped a little more from her wine and thought, I guess I was wrong to imply that she was a whore in my statement. Whores charge for their services.
She giggled a little at her own wit—she was feeling more than a little tipsy at this point—and then began to flip through the magazine again. She looked first at the pictures of Ginny Jacobs, the girl from the front cover. These shots did little for her but make her feel a little dirty. Ginny was very young; eighteen years old according to the bio at the beginning of the pictorial (and she was into puppies, smooth jazz, silk sheets, classic American literature, and double penetration by two big cocks).
She flipped a little bit more and happened across the “Amateurs Show Their Smooth” section. These shots were a little more interesting. They were not professional models. They were not models at all. Instead, they were shots of ordinary, everyday American women posing in the nude and showing their smoothly shaven vaginas (as well as everything else). The shots were generally credited to a boyfriend or a husband, but a few were allegedly taken by “my best friend”. There were chubby women, older women, younger women, and a few who were certainly beautiful enough to be professional models of their smooth. Most of them were actually wholesome looking, or at least not slutty looking like the primary models in the magazine.