Main disclaimer(s): Believe it or not, they belong to me and they damn well like it that way. If you've read "Stud" then you know what I mean. If you haven't then you'd better or this won't make any sense. It might not anyway, but then it's your problem.
Love/sex: Stud gets a clue, but that's about it. Sorry.
Language: Like the Prague commercial says, "It's in there."
It's been two weeks and she hasn't called. I'm feelin' more and more like a chick. It makes me wonder how many chicks have waited for my call. I never made any promises; I'm not that big a bastard, despite rumors to the contrary. I haven't gone two weeks without a good bangin' in years and that was only because it's hard to perform with a broken pelvis. I just can't stand to screw some chick whose name I don't know and don't give a fuck about anyway. I've tried, but all I could see was hazel eyes gone dark green with passion gazing up from between my trembling thighs. No chick could compete with that.
It's been so long since I've been just Sydney Brogan, not Stud. That's my name, Sydney Brogan. I didn't think it was important last time, but hell, if you're gonna keep listening to my pathetic babbling, the least I can do is introduce myself. Stud is what most people know me as. It's a name I earned; that I used to be proud of. Now I think it's stupid. It's amazing what a woman can do to destroy your life. I know what I had wasn't much of a life, but it was all I knew. I ain't gonna bore you with all the details, but sufficient to say that my childhood wasn't one of the happy kind, and my young adult hood wasn't a hell of a lot better. I saw a lot of things a child shouldn't see, and was forced to do a lot of things a child should never have to do. If that don't tell you enough to guess, then you don't need to know. I was one fucked up kid. Filled with rage and shame. Did bunch more things no one should ever have to do just to survive and a bunch more trying to stop. It wasn't a very productive time in my life.
But one day, for reasons that I don't care to go into, I decided to make something of myself. So I did, with nothing more than pure cussedness, I put myself through school and now I make a good living. I ain't telling you what I do, just that it's legit and a lot of God-fearin' people are seriously pissed I do it and so well, too. I'm still fucked up when it comes to relationships, but I'm finally ready to try to change that. I just hope she wants to help.
I jump. The phone's ringin'. I run to answer it, then stop and wait a couple rings. Can't look too eager, y'know. It's her! I try to sound causal, like I hadn't spent two weeks, three hours, forty-six minutes, and twenty-seven seconds waitin' for her to call. Not that I was countin' or anything. She apologizes for skippin' out on me like she did and for waitin' so long to call. Turns out she had to go to Tokyo on business. Someone else was supposed to go, but came down with the goddamn chicken pox, of all things, the night before and only just then decided to call her. He got fired. I wasn't real sure if I believed her, but I went with it. I was hopin' for a repeat of a couple weeks ago. Or even just talkin'. Hell, I just wanted to be in the same room as her. She says she'd like to get to know me better, her voice sultry. I stammer out something that might possibly pass as agreement. She laughs, a low, incredibly sexy chuckle that makes me wish I could reach through the phone and screw her right then and there. She utters the five magic words -- "Pick me up at seven." Then she gives me her address and hangs up. I think this must be love 'cuz I'm actually gonna do it. I don't take orders well.
The time between her call and seven passes entirely too slowly. I shower and shave slowly and carefully, making sure every inch of me is squeaky clean and smooth. Hell, I even unearth a bottle of lotion I'd once bought as emergency lube and slather it on. I iron my damn clothes, for pete's sake! I've never ironed anything in my life, which is my only excuse for the fire and last minute Wal Mart run. Thank God for that SuperSoaker I confiscated from my cousin's boy.
But finally, it's time to go. I'm nervous as hell. I've never gone on a date in my life. At least, I assume this is a date. She's waiting outside for me when I pull up at 6:53. She looks disappointed that I'm driving my car. Damn, I knew I shoulda taken the bike! Chicks dig bikes, y'know. I just didn't want to have helmet hair on our first date. If it was a date. She's in the car before I can get out to open the door for her. "We've got reservations in twenty minutes. Hope you brought your Visa."
Great, my first date and I'll be shelling out a hundred bucks for a hamburger. I shoulda known Cynthia Harvey wouldn't be a McDonald's girl.
Dinner goes well. I don't spill anything and I manage to find something on the menu I can pronounce. It's a damn good thing I make a good living because the bill ends up being more than most people earn in a month. She fills the time telling me funny stories about her trip and others she's had to go on. I laugh and nod a lot to show I'm listening. I know she knows I'm hangin' on every word without it, but I do anyway.
After dinner, she tells me we're going to go to the movies. The incongruity of the outrageously expensive dinner and the relatively inexpensive movie makes me just stare at her and laugh. She stares at me for a minute, then grins and shrugs. "I really want to see Harry Potter."
"For that you had to have a dinner that cost enough to feed a third world country?!"
She shrugs. "This was the only day my secretary could get reservations this month, and I really wanted to go. I also wanted to see you again. Made sense to me to combine the two."
I'm too busy grinnin' like a jackass to ask her why I had to pay then.
Harry Potter is an excellent movie. It must be to keep my attention with her beside me, holding my hand. And I don't even try to put my arm around her or kiss her. After it was over, we don't even talk. We just look at each other and I go back and buy tickets for the next showing. And this time, I put my arm around her.
It's very late by the time it's over. I drive her home nervously, wondering what will happen when we get there. Will she give me a kiss good night? Invite me to spend the night? Just say good night and go inside? I don't even know what I'm hoping for.
Whatever it is, it doesn't matter because we're here. I stop the car and turn to her. I'm waiting and looking for a sign of what she expects of me.
She smiles and kisses me on the cheek. "I had a good time. Wanna go see it again tomorrow afternoon, then go get some McDonald's?"
I beam and agree a bit too quickly and eagerly. She smiles again. "Pick me up at 1:30. Night, Stud."
"Call me Sydney or Syd," I said softly.
She smiles a bit smugly. She knows. Not that there was ever any doubt. "Night, Syd," she corrects herself, acknowledging my surrender causally. Tomorrow's going to be an interesting day.
I wake up way too early for as late as I stayed up last night. I couldn't sleep after dropping Cynthia off. I couldn't believe myself. I was perfectly happy *not* to screw a chick. Hell, I was too scared to if she'd thrown herself in my lap screamin' "Take me, I'm yours!" Okay, okay, so I still am. That woman's got me so whipped it ain't funny. And I've only seen her twice. God only knows what's goin' on with me. I guess I'm finally becoming the woman I could've been, if my life hadn't been what it was. Does that sound as corny and cliched to you as it does to me? Thought so. Good lord, I'm becomin' a friggin' livin' chick movie! What makes it even worse is I find myself wondering if I should go shopping. I don't have any thing good enough to go out with her in. Shoot me if I start thinkin' about buyin' makeup, will ya? That's goin' too far. Even for a wonderful, beautiful, perfect, did I mention beautiful? woman like Cynthia. Enough thinkin'. I gotta go shoppin'.
Sweet Jesus, how do chicks do it? I spend three hours shopping in the next town over and I'm exhausted. I hit four stores before I find the right kind of jeans. They're tight enough to show off my ass, but not so tight I can't move. And not so tight they make it look fat. I hope. Three stores later, I find some pretty silk shirts. They too are tight enough to show off my best attributes -- my awesome biceps and shoulders -- but not so tight I can't move. (Have I mentioned I'm buff as hell?) Oh, my God. I bought *pretty* shirts. I buy a new pair of steel toe work boots.
By the time I get home from shopping, I have about an hour to get ready for our date. Shopping is fun. But I'll kill ya if you tell anyone I said that. I can always find someone else to listen to my story.
Standing in my shower, I realize what I forgot to buy. Sexy soap. Come-fuck-me aftershave. Run-your-fingers-through-my-hair shampoo. All I had was the cheap crap I grab at the Dollar store. It works fine for keeping me clean, but it doesn't scream "Fuck me!" Damn. Who knew this dating stuff was so hard? Causal sex is so much easier. Sighing, I wash with what I have, then carefully shave. I don't really need to, since I shaved just last night, but I'm not taking any chances with stubble. It's not very likely we'll get naked, but it *could* happen. Cynthia has proven to be very unpredictable.
Cynthia. I can't believe I told her to call me by my name. But I'm glad I did. Might as well stop fighting it. Yeah, right, like *that's* gonna happen.
I pull up in front of her house at 1:25. She's not out front this time. I don't know whether I should just wait in the car -- I *am* early -- or go knock on the door. Before I'd reached a conclusion, she came out. Shit, here it was our second date, and I'd yet to bring her flowers or something romantic like that. Chicks dig that kinda thing, right? Fuck! Maybe I'm not cut out for this after all.
She slides into the car and leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "Hello, Syd. You look good enough to eat. Too bad I'm full."
Blushing, I stammer, then give up trying to talk. She laughs. "You're so fun to tease."
I just blush harder.
The movie is even better the third time. I notice things I hadn't the previous times. Mostly about the movie, but I can't help noticing how good she smells, or how soft her hair feels under my arm. I hope I'm not pulling it. I'm not used to cuddling. Then I go back to feeling like a child molester for thinking the girl who plays Hermoine is hot. (Well, she *is*!)
I insist on taking Cynthia to the Halfway House, a moderately priced restaurant in town. It's halfway between fast food and a fancy restaurant. I wasn't about to actually take her to McDonald's. Like I said before, she just ain't a McDonald's girl. She protests, but lets me have my way for once. I think she feels guilty for making me pay for that expensive dinner last night. Maybe some day I'll be able to tell her I'd give all my money just to spend thirty seconds looking at her shadow through a pair of binoculars.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Syd. Anything wrong?"
Other than the fact you're way too good for me? "No."
"Want to spend the night?"
Oh, my God. Did she just say what I *think* she just said? "Um, well, are you sure?" I finally manage to spit out.
She giggles. "You're so cute. Of course I was joking. I don't sleep with people on the second date."
I pout. Not only did she call me the 'c' word, she was teasing me again. "How many dates does it take?" I can't believe I asked. First, I'm too scared to screw her, now I'm disappointed I don't have the chance.
She smiles mischievously. "Wouldn't *you* like to know?"
I groan. It's going to be a long night.
I hate saying goodnight. To delay the inevitable, I shyly ask her to come over and watch TV or something. Hey, I don't have any practice at this sorta thing. I didn't even mean too. It just slipped out. I wish I hadn't asked, because she says no. She has to go to the office for awhile. I feel stupid for sayin' anything. She gives me a quick peck on the lips, our first lip-to-lip contact since I fell asleep and she slipped out two weeks ago.
"I'll try to make some time for you soon, Syd. I really enjoy your company. I wish I didn't have to work such crazy hours. I hate to cut our evening short, but there's no other way to get everything done by deadline. It's going to be close as it is."
"I understand. Work has to come first. Some other time?" I try hard to be mature, but it's hard.
"Definitely. I'll try to call you sometime this week. Goodnight."
"Okay. Night." She kisses my cheek again and slips out of the car. I hate saying goodnight.
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