* * *

“Checkmate, bitch,” I exclaim as I do a victory dance that’s comprised of some fist pumps and ass wiggles in my chair while my best friend Elise laughs at me. “This is what winning looks like….”

Elise does a little finger dance herself, cheering along with me. “You go girl. Winner winner, chicken dinner… now let’s eat!”

I laugh with her, joyful in celebrating my new promotion at work, regardless of the dirty looks the snooty ladies at the next table are shooting our way. I get their looks, I mean we are in the best restaurant in the city. While East Robinsville isn’t New York or Miami, this isn’t the sort of restaurant where five foot two inch women in work clothes go shaking their ass while doing something akin to a high school cheer chant.

But right now, I give exactly zero fucks. “Damn right we can eat! I’m the youngest person in the company to ever be promoted to Senior Developer and the first woman at that level. Glass ceiling… boom, busting through! Boys club… infiltrated.” I mime like I’m sneaking in, shoulders hunched and hands pressed tightly in front of me before splaying my arms wide with a huge grin. “Before they know it, I’m gonna have that boys club watching chick flicks and the whole damn thing’s going to be painted pink!”

Elise snorts, shaking her head again. “I still don’t have a fucking clue what you actually do, but even I understand the words promotion and raise. So huge congrats, honey.”

She’s right, no one really understands when I talk about my job, my brain has a tendency to talk in streams of binary zeroes and ones that make perfect sense to me, but not so much to the average person.

The part people do get is when my company turns those strings of numbers into apps that go viral. After my last app went number one, they were forced to give me a promotion or risk losing my skills to another development company.

I might be young at only twenty-six, female as evidenced by my long honey brown hair and curvy figure, but as much as I don’t fit the profile of computer nerd, they had to respect that my brain creates things that no one else does. I think it’s my female point of view that really helps. While a chunk of the other people in the programming field fit the stereotype of being slightly repressed geeks who are more comfortable watching animated ‘girlfriends’ from Japan than talking to an actual woman, I’m different. I understand that merely slapping a pink font on things or adding sparkly shit and giving more pre-loaded shopping options doesn’t make technology more ‘female-friendly.’

It’s insulting, honestly. But it gives me my edge, in that I know how to actually create apps that women like and want to use. Not just women, either, based off of sales.

And so I can celebrate with Elise, hold up our glasses of wine, clinking them together in a toast. Elise sips her wine, and nods in appreciation. “So you’re killing it on the job front, what else is going on? How are things with you and Kevin?”

My joyful buzz is instantly dulled, knowing that Elise doesn’t like Kevin. She’s been my best friend for long enough and knows I’ve been through the ringer with some previous boyfriends, and even though Kevin is fine--well-mannered, ambitious, and treats me right--she just doesn’t care for him for some reason.

“He’s fine,” I reply, knowing it’s not a great answer but I also know she’s going to roast me anyway. “He’s been working a lot of hours so I haven’t even seen him in a few days, but he texts me every morning and night. We’re supposed to go to dinner this weekend to celebrate.”

Elise sighs, giving me that look that makes her normally very cute face look sort of like a sarcastic basset hound. “I’m glad, I guess. Not to beat a dead horse,” too late, “but you really can do better. Kevin is just so… meh. There’s no spark, no fire between you two. It’s like you’re friends who fuck.”

I duck my chin, not wanting her to read on my face the woeful lack of fucking that has been happening, but I’m too transparent.

“Wait… you two do fuck, right?” Elise asks, flabbergasted. “I figured that was why you were staying with him. I was sure he must be great in the sack or you’d have dumped him a long time ago.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to get into this with her… again. But one of Elise’s greatest strengths is also one of her most annoying traits as well. She’s like a dog with a bone and isn’t going to let this go.

“Look, he’s fine,” I finally reply, trying to figure out how much I need to feed Elise before she gives me a measure of peace. “He’s handsome, treats me well, and when we have sex, it’s good… I guess. I don’t believe in some Prince Charming that is going to sweep me off my feet to a castle where we’ll have romantic candlelit dinners, brilliant conversation, and bed-breaking sexcapades. I just want someone to share the good and bad times with, some companionship.”

Elise holds back as long as she can before she explodes, her snort and guffaw of derision getting even more looks our direction. “Then get a fucking dog and a rabbit. The buzzing kind that you can use rechargeable batteries on.”

One of the ladies at the next table huffs, seemingly aghast at Elise’s outburst, and they stand to move towards the bar on the other side of the restaurant, far away from us. “Well, if this is the sort of trash that passes for dinner conversation,” the older one says as she sticks her nose far enough into the air I wonder if it’s going to be clipped by the ceiling fans. “No wonder the country’s going to hell under these Millennials!”

She storms off before Elise or I can respond, but the second lady pauses slightly and talks out of the side of her mouth. “Sweetie, you do deserve more than fine.”

With a wink, she scurries off after her friend, leaving behind a grinning Elise. “See? Even snooty soccer moms know that you deserve more than meh.”

“I know. We’ve had this conversation on more than one occasion, so can we drop it?” I seethe between clenched teeth before calming slightly. “I want to celebrate and catch up, not argue about my love life.”

Always needing the last word, Elise drops her voice, muttering under her breath. “What love life?”

“That’s low.”

Elise holds her hands up, and I know I’ve at least gotten a temporary reprieve. “Okay then, if we’re sticking to work, I got a new assignment. I’m writing a blurb about a certain famous someone who got caught sending dick pics to a social media princess. Don’t ask me who because I can’t divulge that, yet. But it’ll be all there in black and white by next week’s column.”

Elise is an investigative journalist, a rather fantastic one whose talents are largely being wasted on celebrity news gossip for the tabloid paper she writes for. I can’t even call it a paper really, with the downfall of actual print news, most of her stuff ends up in cyberspace, where it’s digested, Tweeted, hashtagged and churned out for the two-minute attention span types to gloat over for a moment before they move on to… well, whatever the fuck they’re into.

Every once in awhile, she’ll get to do something much more newsworthy, but mostly it’s fact-checking and ass-covering before the paper publishes stories celebrities would rather see disappear. I know what burns her ass even more is when she has to cover the stories where some downward-trending celebrity manufactures a scandal just to get some social media buzz going before their latest attempt at rejuvenating a career that peaked about five years ago.

This one at least sounds halfway interesting, and frankly better than my love life, so I laugh. “Why would he send a dick pic to someone on social media? Wouldn’t he assume she’d post it? What a dumb ass!”

“No, it’s usually close-ups and they’re posted anonymously,” Elise says with a snort. “She knows of course because she sees the user name on their direct message, but she cut it out so that it’s posted to her page as an anonymous flash of flesh. Look…”

She pulls out her phone, clicking around to open an app, one I didn’t design but damn sure wish I had. It’s got one hell of a sweet interface. It takes Elise only a moment to find the page she wants.

“See?” she says, showing me her phone. “People send her messages with dick pics, tit pics, whatever. If she deems them sexy enough, she posts them with little blurbs and people can comment. She also does Q-and-A’s with followers, shows faceless pics of herself and gives advice sometimes. Kinda like porn but more ‘real people’ not silicone-stuffed, pump-sucked, fake moan scenes.”

She scrolls through, showing me one image after another of body part close-ups. Some of them… well damn, I gotta say that while they might not be professionals or anything, it’s a hell of a lot hotter than anything I’m getting right now. “Wow. That’s uhh… quite something. I don’t get it, but I guess lots of folks are into it… wait.”

She stops scrolling at my near shout, smirking. “What? See something you like?”

My mouth feels dry, and my voice papery. “Go back up a couple…”

She scrolls back up and I read the blurb above a collage of pics. Little titty fuck with my new boytoy today. Look at my hungry tits and his thick cock. After this, things got a little deeper if you know what I mean. Sorry no pics of that, but I’ll just say that he was insatiable and I definitely had a very good morning. ;)

The pictures show a close-up of her full cleavage, a guys dick from above, and then a few pictures of him stroking in and out her pressed-together breasts. I’m not afraid to say the girl’s got nice rack that would probably have most of my co-workers drooling and the blood rushing from their brains to their dicks, but that’s not what’s causing my stomach to drop through the floor.

I know that dick.

It’s the same, thick with a little curve to the right, and I can even see a sort of donut shaped mole high on the man’s thigh.

Yes, that mole seals it.

That’s Kevin’s...

His cock with another woman, fucking her for social media, thinking I’d probably never even know. He has barely touched me in months, but he’s willing to do it almost publicly with some social media slut?

I realize Elise is staring at me, her previous good-natured look long gone to be replaced by an expression of concern. “Kat, are you okay? You look pale.”

I point at her phone, trying my best to keep my voice level. “That post? The one right there?”

“Oh, Titty Fuck Girl?” Elise asks. “She’s on here at least once a month with a new set of pics. Apparently she loves her rack, I still think they’re fake. Why?”

“She’s talking about Kevin. That’s him.”

She gasps, turning the phone to look closer. “Holy shit, honey. Are you sure?”

I nod, tears already pooling in my eyes, “I’m sure...”

She puts her phone down on the table and comes around the table to hug me. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I am so sorry. That douchebag doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’re too fucking good for him.”

I sniffle, nodding, but deep inside I know that this is always how it goes. Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had ended up cheating on me. I’ve tried playing hard to get, I’ve tried being the good little go-along girlfriend, I’ve even tried being myself, which seems to be somewhere in between.

No matter what, I just can’t seem to find that ‘sweet spot’ that makes me happy in a relationship. It’s even worse in bed, where I’ve tried being vanilla, being aggressive, being submissive, and again being myself somewhere in the middle.

I’ve tried being everything, depending on the guy, but it never works out. The boyfriends I’ve had, while few in number considering I can count them on one hand, all eventually cheated saying that they just wanted something different. Something that’s not me.

Apparently, Kevin’s no different. My mood shifts wildly from self-pity to anger to finally, a numb acceptance. “What a fucking jerk. I hope he likes being a boytoy for social media slut, because he’s damn sure not my boyfriend anymore.”

“That’s the spirit,” Elise says, refilling my wine glass. “Now, how about you and I finish off this bottle, get another, and by the time you’re done, you’ll have forgotten all about that loser while we take a cab back to your place.”

“Maybe I will just get a dog and I sure as hell already have a buzzing rabbit. Several of them in fact,” I mutter. “You know what, they’re better than he ever was by a damn country mile.”

“Rabbits… they just keep going and going and going…,” Elise jokes, trying to keep me in good spirits. She twirls her hands in the air like the famous commercial bunny.

Fuck Kevin.

My black leather office chair creaks, an annoying little trend it’s developed over the past six months that’s the primary reason I don’t use it in the studio. Probably for the better, if I had a really comfortable chair in the studio I’d be too relaxed to really be on point for my shows. Still, it’s helpful to have something nice like this office, it’s a hell of a big step up from the days when my office was also the station’s break room coffee table. “Alright, hit me. What’s on the agenda for today’s show?”

My co-star, Susannah, checks her papers, making little checkmarks as she goes through each item. She’s an incessant checkmarker, and I have no idea how the fuck she can read her sheets by the end of the day. “The overall theme for today is cheaters, and I’ve got several letters pulled for that so we can stay on track. We’ll field calls of course, and some will be on topic and some off like always. I’ll try and screen them as best I can, and we should be all set.”

I nod, trying to mentally prep myself for another three-hour stint behind the mic, offering advice, hope and sometimes a swift kick in the pants to our listeners. Two years ago, I never would’ve believed that I’d be known as the ‘Love Whisperer’ on a radio talk segment called “Real Relationships.” Part Howard Stern, part Dr. Phil, part DJ Love Below, I’ve found a niche that’s just… unique.

I started out many years ago as a jock, playing football on my high school team and had dreams of college ball. A seemingly short derailment after an injury during senior year two-a-days led me to do sports reporting for my high school’s news and I fell in love.

After that, my scholarships to play football never came, but it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would at first. I decided to chase after a sports broadcast degree instead, to put my passion for football to good use with my love of reporting.

I spent four years after graduation doing daily sports talks from three to six as the afternoon drive-home DJ. It wasn’t a big station, just one of the half dozen stations that existed as an alternative for people who didn’t want to listen to corporate pop, hip-hop, or country. It was there I’d received that fateful call.

Looking back, it’s kind of crazy, but a guy had called in bitching and moaning about his wife not understanding his need to follow all these wild superstitions to help his team win.

“I’m telling you D, I went to church and asked God himself… I said, if you can bless the Bandits with a win, I’ll show myself true, and wear those ugly ass socks my pastor gave me for Christmas the year before. And you know what happened?”

Of course everyone could figure out what happened. Still, I’d respectfully told him that I didn’t think his unwashed socks were doing a damn thing for his beloved team on the basketball court, but if he didn’t put those fuckers in the washing machine, they were sure going to land him in divorce court.

He’d sighed and eventually given in when I’d told him to wash the socks, thank his wife for putting up with his shit, and full-out romance her to bed and do his damndest to make up for his selfish ways.

And that was that… a new show and a new me was born. I’ve been the so-called ‘Love Whisperer’ for almost a year now, helping people who ask for advice to get the happy ever after they want.

Ironically, I’m single. Funny how that works out, but all the good advice I try to give stems from my parents who were happily married for over thirty years before my mom passed. I won’t settle for less than the real thing, and I try to advise my listeners to do the same. And then there’s the sex aspect of my job.

Talking about relationships obviously involves discussing sex with people, as that’s one of the major areas that cause problems for folks, and at first, talking about all the crazy shit people want to do even made me blush a little, but eventually it just got to be second nature.

Want to talk about how to get your wife to massage your prostate? Can do. Want to talk about how your girlfriend wants you to wear underoos and call her Mommy? Can do. Want to talk about your husband never washing the dishes, and how can you get him to help? I can do that too.

All in one, real relationships at your service, from six to nine five days a week, syndicated nationally and available for download on various podcast sites.

So I want to do a good job. And that means working well with Susannah. “Thanks. I know this week’s topics from our show planning meeting, but spaced on tonight’s focus.”

Susannah nods, unflappable. “No problem. Do you want to scan the letters or just do your thing?”

I smile at her, she already knows the answer. “Same as always, spontaneous. You know that even though I was a Boy Scout, being prepared for this doesn’t do us any favors. I sound robotic when I read ahead. First read real reactions work better and give the listeners knee-jerk common sense.”

She shrugs, scribbling on her papers. “I know, just checking.”

It’s probably one of the reasons we work so well together, our totally different approaches to the show. Joining me just before the show went national, she was a fill-in after my old producer got a case of bird flu that put him on his ass. Two shows with Susannah, and I had a new producer. Her almost anal retentive penchant for prep totally doesn’t come across on the air, where she’s the playful, comedic counter to my style.

“Then let’s rock,” I tell her. “Got your drinks ready?”

Susannah nods as we head towards the studio. Settling into my broadcast chair, a much less comfortable but totally silent one, and surveying my normal spread of one water, one coffee, and one green tea, one for every hour we’re gonna be on the air. With the top of the hour news breaks, I’ve gotten used to using the exactly four minute and thirty second breaks to run next door and drain my bladder if I need to.

Everything ready, we smile and settle in for another show. “Gooooood evening, America! It’s your favorite ‘Love Whisperer’ Derrick King here with my lovely assistant, Miss Susannah Jameson. We’re ready for an evening of love, sex, betrayal, and lust if you’re willing to share. Our focus tonight is on cheaters and cheating. Are you being cheated on? Maybe you are the cheater? Call in and we’ll talk…”

The red glow from the holding calls is instant, but I traditionally go to a letter first so that I can roll right in. “While Susannah is grabbing our first caller, I’ll start with an e-mail. Here’s one from P in Des Moines. Dear Love Whisperer, it says, my husband travels extensively for work, leaving me home and so lonely. I don’t know if he’s cheating while he’s gone, but I always wonder. I’ve started to develop feelings for my personal trainer, and I think I’m falling in love with him. What should I do?”

I tsk-tsk into the microphone, making my displeasure clear. “Well, P… first things first, your marriage is your priority because you made a vow for better or worse. It’s simple, talk to your husband. Maybe he’s cheating, maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s working his ass off so his bored wife can even have a trainer and you’re looking for excuses to justify your own bad behavior. But talking to him is your first step. You need to explain your feelings and that you need him more than perhaps you need the money. Second, you need to get a life beyond your husband and trainer. I get the sense you need some attention and your trainer is giving it to you, so you think you’re in love with him. Newsflash… he’s being paid to give you attention. By your husband it sounds like. That’s not a healthy foundation for a relationship even if he is your soul mate, which I doubt.”

I sigh, and lower my voice a little. I don’t want to cut this woman’s guts out, I want to help her out. “P, let’s be honest. A good trainer is going to be personable, they’re in a sales profession. They’re not going to make it in the industry without either being the best in the world at what they do, or have a good personality. And a lot of them have good bodies, their bodies are their business cards. So it’s natural to feel some attraction to your trainer. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to stick by you. Here’s a challenge, tell your trainer you can’t pay him for the next three months and see how available he is to just give you his time.”

Susannah snickers and hits her mic button. “That’s why I do group yoga classes. Only thing that happens there is sweaty tantric orgies.”

I roll my eyes, knowing that she does nothing of the sort. “To the point though, fire your trainer because of your weakness and tell him why. He’s a pro, he needs to know that his services were not the reason you’re leaving. Next, get a hobby that fulfills you beyond a man, and talk to your husband.”

I click a button and a sound effect of a cheering audience plays through my headset. It goes on like this for a while, call after call, letter after letter of helping people.

Well, I hope I’m helping them. They seem to think I am and I’m certainly giving it my best shot.

I see Susannah gesture from her mini-booth and give the airspace over to her, letting her introduce the next caller. “Okay, Susannah’s giving me the big foam finger, so what’ve we got?”

“You wish I had a big finger for you,” Susannah teases like she always does on air, it’s part of our act. “The next caller would like to discuss some rather incriminating photos she’s come across. Apparently Mr. Right was Mr. Everybody?”

I click the button, taking the call live on-air. “This is the ‘Love Whisperer’, who am I speaking with?”

The caller stutters, obviously nervous, and in my mind I know I have to treat this one gently. Some of the callers, they just want to laugh, maybe to get their pound of proverbial flesh by exposing their partner’s misdeeds. But there’s also callers like this, who I suspect really needs help. “This is Katrina… Kat.”

Whoa, a first name. And from the sound of it, a real one. She’s not making a thing up. I need to lighten the mood a little. “Hello, Kitty Kat. What seems to be the problem today?”

I hear her sigh, and it touches me for some reason. “Well, it’s my boyfriend, or my soon-to-be ex boyfriend I guess. I found out today that he slept with someone else.”

“Ouch,” I say, truly wincing at the fresh wound. A day of cheat call? I’m sure the advertisers are rubbing their hands in glee, but I’m feeling for this girl. “I’m so sorry, I know that hurts and it’s wrong no matter what. I heard something about compromising pics, please tell me he didn’t send you pics of him screwing someone else?”

She laughs but it’s not in humor. “No, I guess that would’ve been worse, but he had sex with someone kind of Internet famous and she posted faceless pics of them together. But I recognized his… uhm… his…”

Let’s just get the schlong out in the open, why don’t we? “You recognized his penis? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Kat says, her voice cutting through the gap created by the phone line. “He has a mole, so I know it’s him.”

There’s something about her voice, all sweet and breathy that stirs me inside like I rarely have happen. It’s not just her tone, either. She’s in pain, but she’s mad as fuck too and I want to help her, protect her. She seems innocent, and something deep inside me wants to make her a little bit dirty.

“Okay, first… repeat after me. Penis, dick, cock.” I wait, unsure if she’ll do it, but holding my breath in the hopes that she will.

“Uh, what?”

I feel a small smile come to my lips, and it’s my turn to be a little playful. “Penis, dick, cock. Trust me, this is important for you. You can do it, Kitty Kat.”

I hear her intake of breath, but she does what I demanded, more clearly than the shyness I’d expected. “Penis, dick, cock.”

“Good girl,” I growl into the mic, and through the window connecting our booths I can see Susannah giving me a raised eyebrow. “Now say… I recognized his cock fucking her.”

I say a silent pray of thanks that my radio show is on satellite. I can say whatever I want and the FCC doesn’t care.

I can tell Kat is with me now, and her voice is stronger, still sexy as fuck but without the lost kitten loneliness to it. “I recognized his cock fucking her tits.”

My own cock twitches a little, and I lean in, smirking. “Ah, the plot thickens. So Kat, how does it feel to say that?”

Kat sighs, pulling me back a little. “The words don’t bother me, I’m just not used to being on the radio. But saying that about my boyfriend pisses me off. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

“So what do you think you should do about it?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and pulling my mic towards me. “Is this a ‘talk it through and our relationship will be stronger on the other side of this’ type situation, or is this a ‘hit the road motherfucker, and take Miss Slippy-Grippy Tits with you?’ Do you want my opinion or do you already know?”

“You’re right,” Kat says, chuckling and sounding stronger again. “I already know I’m done. He’s been a wham-bam-doesn’t even say thank you ma’am guy all along and I’ve been hanging on because I didn’t think I deserved better. But I don’t deserve this. I’m better off alone.”

Whoa now, only half right Kat with the sexy voice. “You don’t deserve this. You should have someone who treats you so well you never question their love, their commitment to you. Everyone deserves that. Hey, Kitty Kat? One more thing… can you say cock for me one more time? Just for... entertainment.”

I’m pushing the line here, both for her and for the show but I ask her to do it anyways because I want, no need, to hear her say it.

She laughs, her voice lighter even as I know the serious conversation had to hurt. “Of course, Love Whisperer. Anything for you. You ready? Cock.” She draws the word out, the k a bit harsher and I can hear the sass, almost an invitation, as she speaks.

“Oooh, thanks so much Kitty Kat. Hold on the line just a second.” My cock is now fully hard in my pants, and I’m not sure if my upcoming bathroom break is going to be to piss or to take care of that.

I click some buttons, sending the show to a song, Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me” coming over the airwaves to keep the cheating theme rolling. “Susannah?”

“Yeah?”

“Handle the next call or so after the commercial break,” I tell her. “Pick something... funny.”

“Gotcha,” Susannah says, and I’m glad she’s able to handle things like that. It’s part of our system too, when I get a call that needs more than on-air can handle, she fills the gaps, usually with less serious questions like ‘But what do I do? I poop from there,’ and ‘How can she slap?’

Checking my board, I click the line back, glad that Susannah can’t hear me now. “Kat? You still there?”

“Yes?” she says, and I feel another little thrill go down my cock just at her word. God this woman’s got a sexy voice... or else I really, really need to get laid.

“Hey, it’s Derrick. I just wanted to say thanks for being such a good sport with all that.”

“No problem,” she says, as I make a picture in my head of her. “Thanks for helping me realize I need to walk away.”

“I really would like to hear the rest of the story if you don’t mind calling me back. I want to hear how he grovels when he finds out what he’s lost. Would you call me?”

I don’t know what I’m doing, this is so not like me. I never talk to the callers after they’re on air unless I think they’re going to hurt themselves or others, and certainly never invite them to call back in. But something about her voice calls to me like a siren. I just hope she’s not pulling me into the rocky shore to crash.

“You mean the show?” Kat asks, uncertain and confused. “Like... I dunno, like a guest or something?”

“Well, probably not to be honest,” I reply, crossing my fingers even as my cock says I need to take this risk. “We’ll be done with the cheating theme tonight and it probably won’t come back up for a couple of weeks. I meant… me. I want to make sure you’re okay afterwards and standing strong.”

“Okay…”

Before she can take it back, I rattle off my personal cell number to her, half my brain telling me this is brilliant and the other half saying it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I might not have the FCC looking over my shoulder, but the satellite network is and my advertisers for damn sure are. Still... “Got it?”

“I’ve got it,” Kat says. “I’ll get back to you after I break up with Kevin. It’s been a weird night and I guess it’s going to get even weirder. I just realized, you’re local.”

“Really?” I reply, surprised. I mean, my show is nationally syndicated, but time zones tend to mean I get calls from only some areas... but a quarter of the country is still a damn big place. “Wow, I didn’t know that. I don’t see the phone numbers you call in from on my board.”

“Well, you are. So, I guess we’ll be on the same schedule when I hand Kevin his nuts. I can do this.”

“Damn right you can,” I tell her. “You can do this, Kitty Kat. Remember you deserve better. I’ll be waiting for your report.”

Kat laughs and we hang up. I don’t know what just happened but my body feels light, bubbly inside as I take a big breath to get ready for the next segment of tonight’s show.