Holy crap.
I can’t believe I’m here. In this room. With ten horny, skanky women who are all waiting on a private meet-and-greet with Don Dean.
Well, ten women if I include Janine and myself. I wouldn’t exactly toss us in the “horny and skanky” group right away, but at this point, I’m not sure where we belong. Probably in the “horny moms and wannabe skanky best friends” category.
I mean: what the hell are we thinking?
In the last three days, we’ve managed to:
- See multiple live strip shows, all touted as “opening act entertainment.”
- Sat in on six Q&A sessions, where some wildly inappropriate questions have been asked, and should have been renamed T&A.
- Gotten autographs from countless porn stars. (Remind me to wash my hands after carrying those around.)
- Seen more intimate—naked—body parts than I ever cared to see in my life, and trust me when I say those naked body parts aren’t all that pretty when they’ve been used that much.
I’m officially traumatized.
My retinas are officially bleeding.
I have seen things I can never un-see. I may never want sex again in my life. But I’ve been trying to go with the flow for Janine’s sake; she is my best friend, after all, and the poor thing appears to be having a good time.
She doesn’t have me fooled, though. The private meet-and-greet we’re sitting around waiting for makes me nervous, and I can tell by her body language that for once in her life, Janine might finally realize we are in over our heads. She’ll never admit it out loud, though.
We spend what seems like hours observing the other eight women with us in the room discuss each other’s boob jobs, feel each other up under the guise of “checking out how real they feel,” and discuss blow job techniques.
Finally, the door opens.
And in walks the current king of porn.
Don Dean.
I’ll give him this: the man is tall. And he has good hair. His eyes aren’t the worst… but truthfully, that’s where the good looks end. I mean, he’s not ugly—but he’s not that attractive either.
Then again, who’s really looking at faces when they’re watching seedy porn films?
My perusal of Don Dean is broken when the women sitting around the table begin to loudly squeal and clap like a group of overgrown cheerleaders, obviously ecstatic about his arrival. They should be; at two hundred dollars a pop, the next forty-five minutes had better be worth it.
Yes, two hundred dollars a head for everyone sitting in this room. Janine surprised me with these tickets. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s independently wealthy, because she may very well have dropped more cash on this convention than Jeremiah makes in a year.
“Hi, ladies.” Don Dean’s voice comes out in a deep, sexy drawl as he pulls up a chair and sits next to me.
Me.
Of all the women in the room, Don Dean is sitting next to me.
I can feel my eyes widen and a blush creep up my cheeks. Not because I’m attracted to the man, no. It’s because I’m sitting right next to a real, live famous person. He may be famous for having sex, but he’s a famous person!
A famous person who’s had his wiener in hundreds and hundreds of vaginas, but still! He’s famous!
Janine knocks her knee into mine, drawing me back to the moment.
“How’s everyone doing?” he asks, looking around the room. The lone security guard is sitting in a chair off to the side, presumably to make sure no one actually tries to jump his bones.
“So, so good now that you’re here,” a large, buxom, silicone-implanted blonde across the table coos at him, like a baby. She toys with the loosely tied spaghetti straps of her skimpy ruby-red lingerie top. “I’m just so thrilled to be this close to your giant cock.”
What? Did she just say that? Did she just say…?
Out loud?
I can’t help whipping my head over to look at Janine, who’s shocked expression must mirror mine. We gape at each other when the sound of Don Dean’s amused laughs fills the room.
I guess he’s used to the random use of the word… um.
Dear lord, I can’t even think it.
He twists his wrist and checks his gold watch. “Well, since we only have forty-five minutes, does anyone have any questions to get things started?” He glances around at everyone, his slow survey of the room landing on me. I’m still too stunned from the use of the word cock that I don’t even know what to say.
“Um…” I squeak out before Janine jumps in to save me.
“Actually, she does have a question.” My best friend clears her throat. “We’ve watched a lot of your films, and you have sex against a wall while standing up quite a bit.”
My jaw drops as I look over at Janine. I honestly didn’t think she was serious when she said we were going to get some answers this weekend. Now I’m nervous about what, exactly, she’s going to say.
She forges on. “I know the girls you’re with are usually pretty petite. But how do you keep from getting a cramp in your legs when you’re, you know—banging standing up?”
I groan and duck my head, feeling the blush creep up again.
Don Dean stretches out in his chair and chuckles. “Sounds like someone has been trying unsuccessfully to recreate some of my scenes.”
“Oh, not me,” Janine declares to the room before her damn finger points at me. “Becky and her husband have been trying to spice things up in the bedroom, and they tried standing up a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, Don—can I call you Don?—her hubby got a leg cramp and caused them to fall over. The poor man almost broke his penis.”
“JANINE!” I burst out, shooting daggers in her direction, absolutely mortified. I was okay with asking questions, but not giving details of my own sex life!
Suddenly, I feel a large hand squeezing my shoulder in reassurance.
Holy crap. Is Don Dean comforting me?
“Becky? Is that your name?” he asks me, drawing my gaze to him. I nod. “Please don’t be embarrassed, Becky,” he says gently. “That happens to everyone. It actually happened to me on set last week, and it wasn’t the first time. We just edit that out.”
“It did?” I ask as his hand moves to the back of my neck, squeezing gently. It’s strangely comforting.
He nods. “To get the right angle while in the moment is all a matter of physics.”
Holy shit. That’s exactly what Jeremiah said! Either my husband is a sex god, or Don Dean is an expert at more than just sex. A scientist and a sex god.
Imagine that.
I ignore the murmurs of agreement coming from around the table, transfixed by the warm sensation of Don Dean’s hand. And his eyes. And what he’s saying with those lip-shaped lips. Yeah. What was he saying? Something about physics?
“The key is to have a strong back and strong thighs,” he continues to explain to the room. And to me. “It’s a big reason I work out five to six days a week. I have to be strong to stay in a position like that for an hour.”
“An hour?” Another buxom blond blurts the question out loudly. “I wish my boyfriend could go for an hour!”
Don Dean just chortles and continues with his lazy assault on my back. What is happening and why am I enjoying it so much? Janine glances at his hand, my eyes, his hand, my eyes—and smirks as if to say, I told you this was a good idea and I know you’re enjoying this, you naughty little whore.
“Well, it takes years of practice to build up the stamina,” he answers with a smile. A charming smile, I might add. With those plump, heart-shaped lips.
Then he looks back over at me. “But keep trying new things. Experiment. There is no reason for sex to be boring. It’s really true when they say ‘practice makes perfect.’”
He winks at me.
Don Dean winks at me.
And I’m struggling with how I feel about it because it makes me simultaneously giddy with excitement that a famous person winked at me, and slightly repulsed that I’ve been enjoying the affections of a porn star so much.
A porn star who’s had his wiener in hundreds and hundreds of vaginas.
He finally moves his hand off my back and I almost groan at the loss of his touch. Janine smacks me—hard—in the leg under the table, and I look at her, eyes wide. She knows exactly what is going through my head right now, and I know she finds it funny. But we don’t have time for a silent exchange as the meet-and-greet continues.
“Thanks for that great question,” Don says, turning to address the rest of the skanks. And yes, I have officially included myself in that category. “Anyone else have a question?”
“I do,” says yet another blonde, waving her hand in the air. “Since there’s only a few of us in this room, and if we promise to stay in our chairs and not touch anything, can we see your dick?”
Please say no, please say no, please say no, I chant to myself.
“Sure,” Don says, pushing his chair back and unzipping his pants. “It’s not like you guys haven’t seen it before.”
Everyone giggles, and I whip my head to look at Janine, who has the same wide eyes and dropped jaw as I do.
This can’t be happening, and certainly not while I’m sitting so close to him! I’m a mother, for heaven’s sake! I shop at Target and wear terry cloth to Vegas. I have officially moved myself back out of the skank category.
But of course, we all know I’m going to look. I mean, it’s not like I have a choice.
Back in the skank category I go.
All the blondes are leaning forward to get a closer look, and when they start “oohing” and “aahing,” I can’t help myself. I turn my head slowly to find Don Dean’s heated gaze on mine.
Is he flirting with me? Trying to seduce me with his intense gaze? Or merely daring me to look my fill?
I slowly drop my eyes to where his hand is slowly stroking and…
O.
M.
G.
It is huge!
And it’s fully erect!
And it’s not Jeremiah’s!
I quickly turn away, feeling the deepest blush I have ever felt in my life, refusing to look again and ignoring the chuckle I hear from behind me. I feel like I just cheated on my husband! Even though I didn’t.
How could I have known Don Dean was going to drop his pants and expose himself? I can’t look.
I just can’t anymore.
I’m so beyond mortified and embarrassed and just… just… just no.
A few minutes later, after all the blondes are done ogling Don Dean’s member, he zips up and we get back to our meet-and-greet like nothing strange just happened.
I remain tight-lipped for the next thirty minutes as he answers everyone’s questions, and even asks questions of his own. He seems to genuinely care for his fans, which is nice. But I’m still not over the whole one-eyed-monster meet-and-greet.
Five minutes before time is up, the security guard lets us take out our cell phones to get some selfies with Don Dean. I’m torn on whether or not I want one. On one hand, he’s a famous person. On the other hand, I just saw his giant porn penis up close and personal.
As everyone starts to filter out of the room, he makes the decision for me, grabbing my phone and putting his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. Before I know it, he’s snapped several pics of us together and has handed me my phone back.
“Becky,” he says, taking my face in his hands. “You are a beautiful, sexy, sensual woman. Don’t be afraid to try new things in the bedroom. Don’t be afraid to enjoy new things in the bedroom. You deserve to have a healthy, satisfying sex life, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Then he kisses me on the corner of the mouth and walks out of the room with security flanking him on both sides.
“Well,” Janine says behind me as I’m still staring at the door. “That was not at all like I expected it to be.”
“Uh huh,” I say, still shell-shocked by the entire thing.
“You okay?”
I shake my head a little, trying to shake the stunned expression off my face, and turn to look at her. Surprisingly, she looks about like I feel. “Yeah,” I finally say. “That was just…”
“Weird?” she supplies for me.
“For you, too?” I question.
She snorts. “I was up for talking to the guy and asking questions. But I promise you, even I never expected him to rub up all over you, whip out his dick, and then act like he wanted to dry hump you before he left. It was sexy and all, but I feel like I need a shower now.”
I laugh quietly as I begin gathering my things. When I pick up my phone, I realize I don’t even know what the pictures look like. So I start scrolling.
Janine looks over my shoulder and chuckles. “Yup, that’s quite the deer-in-the-headlights look you were sporting.”
In every single picture.
In fact, they are terrible pictures of me.
But at least I have proof that I met a famous person.
Thank goodness there’s no proof that I met his penis, too.