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I guess they just like to see the mighty fall.
“And that’s a wrap. Thank you people, you can now get your clothes on again.”
With a smile, the photographer calls an end to the shoot. For the amount of photos he takes, he’ll get one or two good shots. We might even get called in again. They’ll put the whole thing through post production too, touch bits up here, airbrush bits there, soften the edges. Sometimes they cut off my tattoos depending on what the client wants, sometimes they even put more on, but what they never do is change the size of my dick.
“So, what do you think then?”
I’m not even half way back into my pants and she’s already hunted me down. I like confidence, but I also like a challenge, and for the time being, until I get the owners back on my side, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m officially out of the game.
“Maybe next time.”
Her eyes can’t conceal her disappointment, but she waves it off like it’s nothing.
“Next time.”
I watch another night of incredible sex vanish away in front of me and get back to getting dressed.
“Donkey, Landon I mean, we need you again.” The photographer urgently rushes over. “Just some close ups.”
“Ok.”
I begin to walk back towards the table but the photographer stops me. “You know.” He looks down towards my dick.
“Right”, I say, and begin to get undressed again, a whole row of models watching me.
I don’t give a shit what people think about me, but I do care what people choose to print, especially if it means I can’t do the things I love. When all of this attention dies down, and I’ve kept my head low for a while, when I’ve led Shoreville to a superbowl final and taken home the trophy, when I’ve been voted MVP and everybody loves me again, despite what’s happened in the past, maybe they’ll ease up and slack off from scrutinizing me, and maybe I’ll be allowed to find a girl that wants to go at it with me for real, instead of doing it only to see what it’s like and sell the story to the news.
I’d prefer that to happen sooner rather than later though, I’ve already got a serious case of blue balls, and being here is not helping one bit.
I doubt being in the countryside will either. The last thing I want to be is trapped in the middle of nowhere surrounded by fields full of cows, but I haven’t got a choice. It was part of the agreement I made with the board. It’s apparently part of my rehabilitation plan, to turn me into the squeaky clean quarterback Shoreville have always wanted me to be.
At least I know if I’m with family, there is no way I can get into trouble.
“Perfect, Landon. That’s spot on. Just a few more.”
When I started in this career, I never imagined myself standing in front of a camera lens, my pants around my knees and a wall of supermodels standing to the side to watch me get my dick photographed.
Change a millimeter of fabric and this would be a different thing entirely.
One.
Tilly
The dreaded day has come. This is the beginning of a waking nightmare that is likely to go on for so long I’ll feel like killing myself before we’ve even got halfway through it. A week with the enemy. A week with the biggest dick in the U.S. I’m never going to survive this.
“Are you ready, Tilly? You’ve been in there for hours. Are you alright?”
“Coming.”
Mom and Marvin are waiting patiently for me at the bottom of the stairs. Our plan is to drive to the rented country cottage and meet The Donkey there. With any luck, he won’t come at all. I have books. I have music. I have calming, breathing exercising. I have magazines where the pages flop open naturally at the magazine adverts that have projected his already quite extensive notoriety into the stratosphere.
“Wow! You look gorgeous, Tilly. Is that a new dress?”
“This?! I found this at the back of the closet. It’s nothing special.”
“And you’re wearing make-up.”
“Mom, can we just-. It’s a long drive.”
“I think someone is trying to impress us.”
“Mom!”
What a horrible thought. Imagine me trying to impress The Donkey, or anyone else for that matter. “Am I not allowed to put makeup on once in awhile?”
“Of course you are, sweetie. I like it. I wish you’d do it more often.”
Marvin takes my bag out to the car, while Mom makes sure the house is locked up.
About five minutes pass before conversation turns to him. To drown it out, I listen to music and watch the suburbs melt into countryside. Rolling hills and squares of color as far as the eye can see.
The only place I don’t get a visual reminder of Landon’s enormity, I have the pleasure of his company instead. I guess I should enjoy the peace while it lasts.
I watch the bars on my cell phone drop one by one, before the signal cuts out completely. This is it. We’ve only been on the road less than half an hour, and already I’m out of range of external communication. That means no internet, no facebook stalking, no twenty four hour news updates, no friends.
None of that would matter if I was going on a romantic holiday with a delicious boyfriend, but a family holiday with someone else’s family? I’m going to die of boredom.
Mom found this place on the internet, which is ironic really, considering it was probably built before the internet even existed. The last family holiday I went on was when Dad was still around. I guess that’s the other thing that Landon and I have got in common, not only is The Donkey an only child like me, his parents went through a messy divorce when he was around about the same age.
Mom didn’t tell me that. I read it in his unauthorized autobiography, which as you can imagine, is also called The Donkey, and features several photos in various positions, of his somewhat remarkable appendage. I reckon it’s all enhanced though, even if several people claim otherwise.
Marvin and Landon’s mom split up when Landon was only thirteen years old. That’s when my mom found out that my dad was screwing the next door neighbor. I found out later on that he was screwing her in their bed when I was at school, and he was home, supposedly, on long term sickness.
Every time it comes up, which thankfully isn’t all that often, Mom makes a point of highlighting the fact that the sickness was never confirmed, neither by the doctors nor his previous employers at the time.
After that, I didn’t see much of him again, and I still don’t see him.
Marvin’s different. He knows what it’s like to have someone you are supposed to be in a relationship with screw around on you, and it means he understands what it was like for Mom. God knows how Landon turned out so differently. I guess he just went the other way, and took after his mom.
I’m not the bed them and leave them type, and there is no way I would put up with anyone doing that to me, no matter how famous they were or how much their assets extended to.
I’ve had one one night stand in my entire life, and one sort of long term on and off relationship, which kind of fizzled out in the end like a damp firework. It’s not because I’m not looking either, it’s that I just haven’t found the right man yet. I don’t date players, I don’t date man whores, I don’t date asshole, alpha males, and I don’t date dick heads looking for a hook up, so I guess that kind of narrows the selection down to almost no-one.
Plus, I have no idea where my life is taking me at the moment, so finding a man doesn’t exactly fit into that pattern. I have to prioritize and work that out first, before I even think about settling down.
I’ve absent mindedly flicked to one of the adverts and it takes me a moment to realize who it is I’m staring at, before I close the magazine again, disgusted with myself. He literally is everywhere. I mean, come on, he can’t exactly be the only big dicked model available for photo shoots can he? Why is it always about the size of his dick anyway? Why does that even matter?
Why can’t they talk about his blue eyes, his tousled hair, the bice
ps that make his jersey look like it’s painted on, his cocky smile, the way he leans against his car, taller than he looks on TV.
Oh fuck. He’s here. We’re here. How did that happen already? It’s him. It’s Landon The Donkey Maddox and he’s staring right at me.
And where the fuck am I staring? You’ve guessed it. Where the fuck else?
“I thought it was going to be bigger than that.”
I catch myself just in time, halting an embarrassing response. When I realize what Mom’s really talking about, I shift my gaze quickly over towards the house. Although, it’s not a house. It’s not even a cottage. It’s so small, it looks like the shed they store the garden tools in.
I’m about to complain when my door opens.
