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“Well, one of the guys I met during the time I was doing online dating wanted to know if I was open to the idea of him using nipple clamps on me. Can you imagine? He asked me that question on our first date. I hadn’t even been sitting there for fifteen minutes when he blurted it out. I didn’t even know what the hell nipple clamps were at the time, but it sounded sordid.” Four voices roar with laughter on the other side. “I’m glad I’m able to provide you guys with some comic relief,” I say, amused.
“What a vivid example, Miranda,” Nikki says. “At least he was up front about his penchant. Let’s move on to the third type of guy. There are many advantages to dating the daddy’s boy simply because money is never an object, since he’s usually burning his father’s cash. He’s either still living at home or Daddy forked out the dough for his expensive penthouse. I found that usually this type of guy tends to be a wimp in bed. Let’s face it, the daddy’s boy doesn’t have to work for anything in his life because it’s handed to him on a silver platter. Why the hell would he bother making any effort to satisfy you in bed? Sure, you end up going to the most expensive restaurants in the city and he usually showers you with lavish gifts that he charges to the Visa Black Card or American Express Centurion card Daddy pays for, but sexually, there are few advantages to dating him because it’s doubtful he’ll stay the course until you climax.”
“God, that sounds like Matthew Brewis,” Ray interjects. “It even happens in the gay community, ladies. Don’t think we’re immune to lazy lovers. Matthew’s father owns a luxury car dealership in Beverly Hills and I swear to God the whole time I was with him he always acted as if I should be honored just to be seen with him. In bed, I had to do all the work.”
Too much information.“All right, I’m coming out again. I’m really not sure about all the shimmery fabric on me, but I’m sure you guys will let me know.” When I step out of the changing room I’m greeted with four thumbs down. “It’s not very flattering?” Four heads shake at the same time. “Crap. Let me try the next one. Hopefully that one works.” Even before trying on the next dress, I’m already defeated.
“The white dress has a slight hipster style. It has a little vintage flair to it, but it could be totally cute on you. Let’s see if it works on your body shape.”
“From the sound of it, Nikki, I don’t think so, but I’m willing to be a good sport about it and try it anyways.”
“Don’t sound so discouraged, we’ll find the right one.”
“Sure,” I respond, unconvinced. Hoping Nikki’s entertaining story might distract me from my nightmarish shopping experience, I ask her to continue. “Wasn’t there one more type of man on your list?”
“Absolutely. Obviously a lot of guys fall between these categories, but these are the biggies. Some might even have all three traits. Think manwhore who still lives at home but only fucks porn-star wannabes. You get the picture.”
“God, that sounds scary.”
“This is LA. He’s out there.” I’m sure she’s right. “I left the best for last for a good reason. The Powerball.” She sighs.
“Just the way you say his moniker sounds dreamy,” I marvel.
“Wait until you hear his description. Your tongue will be hanging out of your mouth like a poodle in heat.”
Nikki is such a beautiful woman she doesn’t have to make much effort to attract men’s attention. You’d never imagine she has such a crazy sense of humor.
“Please don’t keep me waiting. Reveal his identity,” I mock.
“The last man on the list wears his name very well. Just like winning big at the lottery, finding the Powerball is the ultimate for any girl lucky enough to cross his path and to capture his attention. In the animal kingdom, think of him as a white lion with blue eyes—rare, striking, fierce. But there’s so much more to him than just raw primal sexiness. He has impeccable manners, which makes him an instant favorite with your parents. That’s a biggie in my world because my mother always used to say, ‘Money has a smoke-and-mirrors effect, but manners make or break the man.’ He’s smart and he’s funny. He’s richer than the daddy’s boy’s father will ever be, he’s very experienced sexually—think of the slut, but without the sleazy parts. He’s oozing with class. He’s extraordinarily confident. He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to take it without asking for permission. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. He has a body made for sin. He’s versed at dirty talking as if it were a second language and he can go on all night long fucking you like the Adonis god that he is. Oh, did I mention that he’s able to give you the type of mind-blowing orgasms that make you forget your own freaking name?”
Jesus, that’s quite the man. No way I’d ever be lucky enough to meet one.
I’m so riveted by Nikki’s description that I barely peek at myself in the mirror. Still in a daze from her vivid depiction of Mr. Amazing, I reach for the handle, turn it, open the door and step back into the boutique. I look around me, but it’s as if I’m in a haze with Nikki’s words still ringing in my ears.
“I’m going to have to disagree with Nikki on that one. Miranda, that dress is way too bohemian on you. It’s shapeless and it swallows you whole and doesn’t showcase your figure.” Michelle’s fashion verdict is the last thing on my mind.
As I flash back to my morning at the Santa Monica food market, my thoughts are racing at warp speed and my heart is beating even faster when it hits me. Good Lord, so much of that describes Hunter perfectly. Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about the whole god of sex part, but something tells me he’d be a master at inflicting an insane amount of pleasure on a woman’s body. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The realization washes over me like a Malibu wave.
“Okay. It was a bad call on my end.” Michelle chimes in. “This lacy white dress does absolutely nothing for you. I agree it looks a little frumpy and it’s more suited for an afternoon picnic than a glamorous party, but Miranda, you don’t have to look so shocked. It’s just a dress. We’ll find you the right one.”
I shake my head. “That’s not it.” My eyes bounce from Jessica’s, to Ray’s, to Michelle’s and finally to Nikki’s. I swallow hard and I muster up the courage to continue. “I think I spent the morning with a Powerball and he wants to see me again on Monday night after work,” I blurt out.
“You what?” The four shout so loudly, the reverberation from their voices threatens to tumble me over.
“Are you shitting me?” Jessica is on her feet in a flash and she almost sprints towards me. “I thought you spent the morning buying fruits and vegetables? When did you have time to meet a man? Let alone a Powerball? I’m your best friend. How dare you keep something so monumental from me?” she scolds.
“With my bad luck with men, I wasn’t going to say anything until I hooked up with him again on Monday. You never know.” I shrug. “So much can happen until then. Not to mention when we meet again, maybe it’ll be just like it is with all the other guys. Maybe it won’t go anywhere.”
“Before we tackle that negative statement you just made about yourself”—Jess purses her lips, displeased, like she always does when I say this sort of thing—“start from the beginning and spill out all the details about this Powerball.”
Over the next thirty minutes, I relive every single tantalizing moment of my time with Hunter. As I recount the story, I realize how much of an effect he had on me. I’m doing my best not to get my hopes up, but if I’m totally honest with myself, I can’t wait to see him again. I enjoyed my time with him so much. I still can’t believe some of the things he said about me. About my body. I don’t know if he really means them or if he was buttering me up, but hearing them coming from him was such a turn-on.
When I finish telling my story, no one says a word. It’s as if what I just shared isn’t only a big deal for me, but also for each one of my friends staring at me in disbelief. It’s so quiet in the boutique you could hear a pin drop.
“Does he have a brother or a cousin who’s gay?” Ray’s joke breaks the silence.
“So just like that you drop the hot barista from across the street for a relative of a Powerball?” Michelle mocks.
