Page 4 of Last First Date
Instead of bringing me the turn out gear, which is what I’m supposed to be wearing for this photo shoot, they left me an idiotic banana hammock with a butt floss back. I know I look ridiculous, but I’m also man enough to not back down from what is, essentially, a dare.
Because the hell with that. I’m not the kind of man who’s got concerns about what I’m carrying around in the dick department.
I’ve been told more than once that my cock is exceptional, spectacular, and fucking amazing. Usually while the other person is naked and exhausted after having an up close and personal encounter with the merchandise at issue. And don’t mistake this for cockiness.
I love women. I love the way they look, the way they laugh, and most especially the way they feel. And for me, there is no better feeling in the world than getting a woman off, whether it’s with my fingers, my tongue, or my dick. I’ve devoted as much of my adult life as possible to the fine art of the female orgasm, and I’ve definitely bedded more than my fair share of beauties.
That’s why I decided to strut out of that dressing room like I own the place, rather than chickening out. I figure if the guys will see that this little joke of theirs doesn’t bother me, then maybe they’ll move on to easier quarry. Or maybe they’ll see that I have nothing to be embarrassed about and rethink their prank.
But the guys aren’t out there waiting for my dramatic reappearance. Nope. The guy or guys in question have apparently fled the scene of the crime like a bunch of little rats fleeing from this sinking ship.
And that’s how I find myself standing before the fancy pants photographer, the most vicious of all the area’s rich wives club, and her sexy as hell firefighter daughter with my ass literally hanging out.
The photographer finally manages to stop staring at my junk long enough to make eye contact with me. “Is that really what you’re wearing?” His words are dripping with disdain, but I’m used to dealing with this kind of guy. I’ve certainly seen plenty of his type during my lawyer days.
I keep my face as still as possible. Got to sell this. “Obviously.” I cross my arms, showing off the biceps that I’ve worked hard to build.
This photographer guy isn’t out of shape or anything, but he’s got a much more slender build overall. Even with him fully dressed, I can tell he doesn’t have the same set of muscles that I do, and I don’t feel bad at all about reminding him who the bigger man is here.
And with that thought in mind, I reach down and fake casually adjust my red-clad junk with one hand. Because I am definitely the bigger man here, and it’s better if he figures that out right away.
One of the women makes a strangled, choking noise but when I look over at them, Darcy Albrecht is practically in tears from trying to hold back her laughter. Yeah, she’s definitely been on the job long enough to recognize a prank on the new guy when she sees it.
Her dark eyes are alight with laughter, and I look down for just a second to make sure everything of mine is still tucked in where it’s supposed to be. Well, at least I’m not involuntarily flashing the water hose at the entire room.
Unfortunately, her mother, Millicent von Albrecht, is looking at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra head or perhaps laid an egg. She’s the most stuck up woman I’ve ever met in my entire life, I swear.
In her defense, she’s only ever known me in the context of a fancy suit and a high-powered luncheon. I’m positive she wasn’t expecting me to show up to her annual sexy firefighter calendar shoot. Especially not in a ridiculous red thong.
Well, I’m just full of surprises these days. And sometimes I feel like the person who is most surprised by everything about my life right now is me.
Last month, I’d gone into work on a regular, uninteresting Thursday with a couple of files in hand and a power bar for my usual desk lunch where I’d planned to grind away at some billable hours. But before noon, I’d been escorted to the elevator with a box full of my personal belongings and told not to let the door hit me on the way out.
Literally the only good thing about the otherwise shitty situation of getting canned without any warning is I got the push I needed to finally chase my dreams of being a firefighter. I’ve always loved doing good things for other people, but I learned early on there isn’t much chance of really helping people when I was stuck practicing law.
No, being a lawyer got me expensive suits, steak dinners at places I’d never dreamed of being able to afford once upon a time, and a seemingly endless supply of fancy dress wearing wanna-be sugar babies lining up to hop in my bed. It did less than nothing to fuel my desires of helping others.
The only thing that made that difference for me was the charity I founded, First Impressions. But most of the people in my life don’t even know about the work I do that I’m most passionate about. I want to help kids who are growing up rough, like I did, get mentorship and get ahead.
It’s not about getting my name out there, no matter what those jerks at the firm wanted to make it out to be. Considering how hard I’d hustled to get to the corner office, when the initial bruises to my ego wore off, I was surprised to find that losing my fancy lawyer job didn’t bother me much at all.
I’m not saying it doesn’t bother me though because what happened to me was some straight up money-motivated firm politics bullshit. Lucky man that I am, it turns out I now get to enjoy doing something that I actually care about and feel good about doing.
But I know better than to let the firefighters at the station know I’m happy at work because I’m helping others. They’d laugh me right out of the job if they found out I’m soft. So instead, I tell them that I like the badge bunnies much better than the gold diggers. They don’t need to know anything more than that about me.
Besides, there’s no way I’d be showing off all of my assets to Darcy right now without the intervening job loss. She’s gorgeous—don’t get me wrong—but she went out of her way not to run in the same circles that I’d fought and clawed my way into.
Seeing her all crumpled up with barely suppressed laughter is doing something very unexpected to me. She’s got these seriously muscular arms bare and her hair is more than a little wild, almost like she’s been kissing someone or would like to be kissing someone.
I probably shouldn’t think it’s hot to have someone that attractive laughing at me right now, but I even like that she thinks this stupid prank is funny. And that she’s the type of girl who can’t help laughing at something like this. Darcy is honest, right down to the inside of her, and damn if that’s not the most attractive thing I’ve seen in a woman in ages.
Well, I’d better change that train of thought before things go flying past PG-13 at this photo shoot due to a wardrobe malfunction. The thong underwear is currently at maximum capacity as is.
Besides, Millicent is Darcy’s mother. It’s considered poor form to get a boner for a woman right in front of her mother, no matter hot she is.
This rule applies whether you’re a rookie firefighter or a fancy pants lawyer. At least, that’s the rule I’m going to live by, even when there’s just a tiny speedo between me and complete nudity thanks to the dumbasses I work with.
“All right then. Let’s get this done. I heard you say the group of you are heading for lunch, and I’ve got a date myself.”
