Fitty of Pink: A Parody

by Faythe America

  “That isn’t what I was getting at—”

  “Have you ever given someone a rim job?”

  He started choking.

  I tapped my pencil on the side of the paper. “You know, I’m a car mechanic. Actually, how could you know that? Ha ha ha…anyways, I think Faythe meant something else, but what could it be? I know,” I grinned, leaning forward. “Have you ever given your car a lube job? No wait, have you ever cleaned its pipes? Have you ever…I can’t figure out if she was talking about the gas tank or the engine.”

  “Miss Sterling…”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, frowning. Something wasn’t adding up. “All these questions are kinda, well…what I’d really want to know is about how you’re such a fucking stud in the boardroom. So, tell me about your business plan.”

  “Business plan?” He laughed. “I don’t need a business plan, sweetheart.”

  “Wow! Really?”

  “Yes. I just walk into each transaction believing that the other party will bend to my will, and they always do.”

  “Hot diggity dog!”

  “There are many reasons why my opponents call me…ballsy…Miss Sterling.”

  “Wowsers! You must have freaking eight pound bowling balls!”

  He grinned. “They’re pretty fucking epic. Whenever I close a deal, I just slap my junk down on the table and stare down everyone with the alpha glare.”

  Oh geese! I mean, oh gees! We aren’t migrating for the winter any time soon! “Wow. Your junk?”

  “Sometimes the Pink Hammer is mightier than the pen and the sword.” He smirked.

  Pink Hammer! I wonder what he whacked with it! “Damn! Remind me to never play whack-a-mole with you!”

  His smirk deepened. “You’re a smart girl, Miss Sterling. But if I should ever get a chance to play a game of whack-a-mole for certain stakes—say, strip whack-a-mole—then no, I shan’t remind you if you decide to enter into the devil’s dance with me.”

  Devil’s Dance? Oh gosh. He couldn’t possibly mean…

  Some part, deep inside me, began to loosen. As if a freaking happy face flower inside me was blooming, coaxed by the subtle passion laced in his tone…

  I couldn’t move for a second. What had he just said? Dude, what the fuck? Was he…was he….Oh damn, the way he looked at me was so freaking HOT! And, what was I doing? Why couldn’t I think?

  Mr. Pink’s lips curled into a Cheshire smile. “Do you want to dance with me, Miss Sterling, like silver?”

  Shiver me timbers! What the fucking damn? I mean…oh my goodness!

  “Miss Sterling…” he leaned forward, offering me a hand. “You look a little pink.”

  That snapped me out of his siren’s spell. God! Me so stupid! How could I fall for a man with such a devastating smile, such devastating eyes, such devastating…?

  Alright, I had a reason, but what the fuck? I jumped up, my lips moving up and down in flustered motions because, hot damn! I was flustered! “Mr. Pink…I…I…I…FUCK!” I turned and ran. Really, what else could I do? I mean, it wasn’t like he was ever going to think about me again. I’d totally gone freaky wow on his ass!

  But Mr. Pink wasn’t done with me.

  He wasn’t even close.

  Chapter 3

  I live in the dorms with my bff-forever (yes, that’s best-friends-forever-forever), Faythe. She’s a total slut, but that’s okay because she pays two-thirds of the rent. “So, how did the interview go?” Faythe asked as she swirled a tub of ruby lipstick over the crack on her face.

  I groaned and fell face first on my bed. Then I fisted my face. I mean, I rubbed my face with my hands. Hey! People totally do that! Don’t look at me that way!

  Anyways, back to the present—or should I say, the present in past tense. I glanced over at Faythe and said: “Horrible.”

  “Horrible?” Faythe asked. “How could it go bad?”

  “What was up with those questions?”

  “Oh, those.” She paused. “They were real good, weren’t they?”

  “They were god awful!” I shrieked. “What the hell was up with all those questions about his ass?”

  She grinned. Her voice dropped. “Was it hot?”

  “Yes it was—wait, that isn’t the point!”

  She laughed. “You did good, Maggie. Let me see what you got.”

  I handed over the tape. She popped her ear buds in her ears, clicked the start button with her index finger, and put her head on her pillow. Wait, that didn’t sound right. She put her pillow on her head? Fuck! Mindfuck! Anyways, she propped her feet up on the side of the bed. Then, she looked at me with her eyes. “This is really going to make things good.”

  “Wait,” I murmured before handing her my written notes, “you don’t seem sick.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t anything big.”

  “Wasn’t anything big? Then why did I just travel all that way to humiliate myself to interview him?”

  “Don’t get mad at me, Maggie.”

  “Oh my God. What did you do?”

  “Nothing big,” she evaded.

  “Tell me, or I’m taking back this tape!” I dove for it.

  She squealed and stood on the bed, and then started jumping up and down. She held the tape above her head, and kicked her feet at me, as if I’d tackle her.

  “What did you do?” I demanded.

  “Alright,” she said, a bit breathless from all the jumping. “I wasn’t sick.”

  “Oh really? Then why the hell did I go?”

  “I didn’t think I could ask him such personal questions.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So I sent you because…well…when you are in front of someone you don’t know you get really flustered, and I knew you’d just read whatever was on those sheets.”

  “I hate you.”

  “It’s alright to hate me,” she said as she stopped jumping. “But I am so thankful for this. I really needed it for my thesis.”

  I sighed. “Really? How are those questions going to help you with your final project?”

  “Because I’m writing a yaoi fanfic.”

  “You’re writing a yaoi fanfic for your final project in college? What the hell are you thinking! You can’t turn in a fanfic!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not something you did!”

  “But I did do it,” she said. Something dinged in the corner of our dorm. “Oh, pop tarts are ready! Do you want one?”

  I watched the smoke rise from the toaster. Sparks flew. “Not really, because that toast has been in there for, like, fifteen minutes at least.”

  “What can I say? I like it well toasted.”

  Charcoal flakes burst out of her mouth as she gobbled it down. “You really need to get out more, Maggie.”

  “You need to look at yourself in the mirror,” I grumbled back.

  I grabbed my bag and stuck my foot in my flip-flops. I was about to make my grand exit, and yes, it would have been grand. Faythe’s hoodie was hanging on the door. I could have let it fall when I opened it, and then stepped on it, and then kicked it, and as I kicked it I could have accidentally kicked one of my flip-flops off as well, and I could storm off with only one flip-flop all pissed, and then have to come back for the other because Damn! It’s hard to walk around with only one shoe on, ya know? Especially when that shoe is a lonely flip-flop that has no other friend in the world except the other flip-flop, which I so heartlessly kicked away. Wow, what a fucking tragedy, but life is like that sometimes.

  Anyways.

  None of that happened. This is what we like to call a meaningless segue in a novel. (By the way, it took me 21 years to learn how to spell segue. I still actually don’t know if that’s right.)

  Anyways. Again.

  That’s when the phone rang.

  BRING! BRING! BRING! DING-A-LING-A-LING! Then, the “thong song” ringtone started blasting and Faythe swayed her hips and hee-yawed until she reached the phone.

  But she was too late.
<
br />   She missed the phone.

  Our message started playing.

  Faythe Answering Machine: Hello? What’s up?

  “Hello. Is Miss Sterling available?”

  Faythe Answering Machine: “Who did you say this was again?”

  “I didn’t. This is Mr. P—”

  Faythe Answering Machine: “Hello? Hello?”

  “Hello? Oh, it looks like the connection—d”

  Faythe Answering Machine: “HELLO?”

  “One second, I’ll call back.”

  Faythe Answering Machine: “Hahahahahaha! This was just the answering machine! Leave a message after tha beep, SUCKER!”

  Mr. Pink sighed. “Really, that is so bloody juvenile.”

  I fumed. Did she think she was freaking British now? That two timing slut! Oh wait, that was Mr. Pink who said that. Not Faythe.

  Well damn. I should learn to read better.

  Anyways, the message beep—you know, that beep—beeped.

  Mr. Pink sighed again. “Hello Miss America,” he boomed, irritation in his voice evident. “I turned down your offer for a photo shoot when you first asked for an interview.”

  Faythe went still.

  “However, I am willing to reconsider your proposal, if little Miss Sterling is part of the show.”

  Chapter 4

  All of Jonas’ family are lumberjacks. He usually spends about 90% of his time with his shirt off, “because his shirt just can’t handle how sexy his abs are.” Well, it’s kind of true. Everyone knows lumbermen cut down trees bareback, because there’s nothing like the feeling of wood chips slicing your perfectly defined muscles to remind you that you’re alive.

  Anyways, Jonas and I have been friends for a very long time. I mean, we haven’t known each other long enough to be childhood friends exactly, since we met in High School, but we are super close. Jonas is always there for me, regardless of whether I want to talk about my favorite new pair of shoes at 2am, or to drive me to my new boyfriend’s house—though he can be a pain to drive with sometimes because he keeps sniffling and saying silly things like: “that guy isn’t nearly good enough for you, Maggie!” But I know he just says things like that because we are really great friends! He’s looking out for me!

  Awwwww! Cutie boy! I flicked one of Jonas’ nipples. Right back at ya, dynamite! “Thanks for doing this,” I say as I bite my lower lip.

  Jonas’ eyes softened. “Well, someone had to.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the only one I asked,” I whispered.

  “Only because you knew I’d never turn you down.” He stepped forward, grabbing my hands. “Never.”

  Before I could answer, the door opened.

  I spun around, forgetting Jonas the second I see Mr. Pink.

  That fucking stud dropped his coat on the floor. “Miss Sterling,” he purred as his assistant picked up his coat and placed it on a hanger. “So good to see you.”

  “Um, uh, hi.”

  “Is this the guy I’m supposed to pose with?” Jonas said, stepping forward.

  Mr. Pink raised his brows. “Do I sense a challenge?”

  Jonas grabbed the elastic band on his shorts and snapped it. “You’re on, boy.”

  Whoa! “What’s going on, you two?” I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head to the side.

  Jonas immediately blushed. “Sorry Maggie.”

  Mr. Pink snorted. “You allow buffoons like this to be on a first-name basis with you, Miss Sterling?”

  Jonas scowled. “I didn’t ask, asshole. Normal people use people’s names, dude.”

  Mr. Pink’s lips began to twitch. “Normal people,” he repeated, voice as dark as a million black suns as he turned to face me. “Well, now I can see why you’re silver instead of gold!”

  What? I wasn’t gonna take that! Even if I was silver instead of Gold!

  So I slapped him. Jesus being nailed to the fucking cross double crap! The sound was so loud that it was like I had a freaking fish attached to my hand! Can I get a what-what!

  Wait! Supernova no-no bro! I’d just slapped the most important man in the entire city! A freaking billionaire! And I’d done it in front of some guy with his shirt off!

  “Oh no you didn’t!” Jonas squealed. “Dude, he’s gonna go ape-shit on you! Duck and roll!”

  Mr. Pink glared at Jonas. “No, I’m not that kind of man.” He pressed his hand to where I’d struck him and shut his eyes. Slowly, his tongue peeked out from between his lips, a sliver of pink against his creamy skin. It moved from side to side as his eyes opened.

  His pupils were dilated, as if drugged. His lips parted a little further. They seemed to hold some promise he wouldn’t dare speak. But his eyes communicated it—the darkness in them, the passion, as if it were about to consume me entirely until I was nothing but molten gold in his hands.

  “You’re very forward, Miss Sterling,” he said, voice husky.

  Well pardon me good sir. My girly parts jingled like holiday bells on the door of the mall the day after Christmas.

  Just then, Faythe coughed. She had her arms crossed over her chest. I gave her the super mad glare, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “So glad you could make it, Mr. Pink.”

  “I always keep my engagements,” was Mr. Pink’s smooth answer. Then, he glanced at me.

  Holy hog dogs! No, wait. That look was so padded it could have been a corn dog!

  Faythe nodded to a woman to her right. I’m not gonna describe her because…she basically has no part in this story. I mean, I really want to have to avoid describing women other than totally-relatable-me and my slutty-best-friend who’s supposed to make me look better by comparison.

  “This insignificant secondary character shall do your make up, good sir.” Faythe said, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “Dude! What the fuck!” Jonas yelled, throwing up his hands.

  “What a simpleton,” Mr. Pink cooed, “who doesn’t understand class.” He kissed Faythe’s hand, and then glanced up at me with a smile.

  Crapola! It was like fifty Tasmanian devils had just been awakened in my stomach by necromancy and were exacting their revenge on little old me for my race’s role in their extinction! What the fuck was going on?

  Jonas stormed off.

  “Good riddance, I say,” Mr. Pink said.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t say,” Faythe fired back. “This is a two-person photo-shoot, and he’s you partner.”

  ***

  “You’re so gonna thank me for this,” Faythe muttered.

  I shut my eyes and tried, for the fiftieth time that hour, to disappear. I mean, freaking peeping-tom! Shit was going down in the other room. Something about Mr. Pink refusing to put on a thermal band…

  Faythe wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

  “I was not told this would be this kind of shoot,” came Mr. Pink’s voice. “It isn’t usually until the first date that I let a girl get my clothes off.”

  There were giggles.

  I felt my blood pressure spike. “Tell me again, Faythe. Why am I supposed to thank you?”

  Before she could answer, the door swung open.

  I blinked, almost blinded. Holy merciful smiting Father! I’d died and shot like a bottle rocket up to Heaven! Those golden gates were wide, wide, wide open! And in the center was Mr. Pink’s gigantic, euphoric, awe-inspiring, sparkling body. Yes, Mr. Pink was sparkling like a freaking diamond!

  Gee wiz! I just about died again, but just then, Jonas came out of the bathroom. His hair was a bit mussed. His cheeks were flushed. His dark, tan, perfect skin was dark, tan and perfect. So were his muscles. Oh God, he had perfectly and finely defined muscles! I mean, Hot Diggity Dawg! Those muscles were perfectly and finely defined, as stated PREVIOUSLY!

  “Is that going to be my partner for the shoot?” Mr. Pink asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Pink started unbuttoning his shirt. “I see.” He glanced over at me. “You know, it usually isn’t until af
ter the first date that I let a girl take my clothes off.”

  Good Lord! Was he using that line on everybody?

  “She’s not the one you took your clothes off for, champ,” Jonas said, slapping Mr. Pink on the ass with a towel. “I am.”

  Oh goddess Diana! Shoot that man who’s watching you bathe naked! That naughty, naughty boy!

  Mr. Pink rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

  ***

  Jonas was on all fours, moving his pelvis up and down. A bar was in between his knees, forcing them apart. His bare chest glistened with sweat.

  And…And…

  Mr. Pink stood above him, his hands on Jonas’ hips. His chest sparkled like sunlight on a lake as the sun rises early in the morning—when the only things that exists are you, the gentle ripples in the water, and the quiet, distant chirping of songbirds greeting the day.

  Fuck that shit! If I looked much longer, he was gonna blind me! It felt like the backs of my eyes were gonna explode!

  “Told you you were gonna thank me,” Faythe whispered at my side.

  It felt like a wildfire had just spread across my cheeks. No, not my ass cheeks, my face cheeks. You know, the ones between my lips. Not my pussy lips, but my ass lips. I mean my face lips. FUCK! THINKING IS HARD! You know, my fucking mouth okay?

  Anyways… “Ugh, thanks.”

  Faythe clucked her tongue like a chicken leading her little hens across the road. Why did she want to cross? Oh goodness me! Were we really gonna GO THERE?

  I guess the answer was yes, because we did, but—

  “Maggie, are you thinking of something important?” Faythe asked.

  “Um, yeah. And you’d never understand it,” I said, because even I can’t freaking understand it!

  “Look at how Jonas takes Mr. Pink’s abuse,” she whispered as Mr. Pink slapped the other man’s ass.

  “Harder! Slap Harder!” The photographer cried, throwing himself into hysterics.

  Mr. Pink frowned.

  “Slap the monkey! Slap the haystack! Slap that boy till the cows come home!” The photographer continued.

  “Exactly what kind of paper are you writing?” Mr. Pink asked Faythe.

  My cheeks went pink. This wasn’t for a paper, but for her yaoi fanfic! She wanted live models to study to get the anatomy right. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d think that right now that Mr. Pink was supposed to be…