by Lauren Rowe
Without asking for permission, Kurtis swoops right into my face and kisses me deeply—holy hell, does he ever. Goodness gracious, this is one heck of a damned kiss. This man is kissing me like he owns me. I’ve never been kissed like this before. Woo-wee! When Wesley used to kiss me, he was a hungry little squirrel looking for an acorn—and, don’t get me wrong, I loved it. But Kurtis? He’s a ravenous lion tearing the flesh off a gazelle—and, damn, he leaves me breathless.
To be honest, I’m thrilled by the mechanics of Kurtis’ kiss, maybe because I’ve never kissed anyone but Wesley before—and certainly never a man twice my age. The stubble on Kurtis’ chin is rough and scratchy and masculine, and the feel of Kurtis’ tongue inside my mouth is making my knees go weak. Sweet Jesus, kissing Kurtis is more exciting than a roller coaster ride.
When I used to kiss Wesley, I always kind of knew whose tongue was fixin’ to go where. But with Kurtis, when I think he’s going to go left, he goes right, and when I’m sure he’s going to close his mouth and pull away from me, he opens wider and demands more. His arms around me are big and strong, too, enough to make me swoon like a ninny—and when he presses his body into mine, and I feel his erection poking me in the crotch, begging me to let him in—well, hell on a biscuit, I want to let him in. Truth be told, I want to take this man’s body into mine like a Hoover sucks up a shag carpet.
I slowly pull away, sighing. “Well, hello there and howdy do,” I breathe. I smooth my dress with my hands, not knowing what else to do. At the movement of my hands down the front of my dress, Kurtis’ eyes snap right to my chest, and I can see unadulterated appreciation flicker in his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking, “I don’t remember them being that big.” Or maybe his expert eye instantly knows my boobs have gotten a little man-made boost since he first laid eyes on me, and he’s thinking, “So that’s what she was doing this past week.” Whatever he’s thinking, his eyes tell me he approves of how I’m filling out the top of my dress.
Kurtis looks back up at my face, and his intensity surprises me. Damn, the man looks like an axe murderer again, just like he did in the restaurant during our lunch-turned-dinner date—and, oh my, I like it.
And just that fast, I suddenly realize I’m walking a tightrope here. This is a grown man, not a boy, and one who’s plainly accustomed to getting everything he wants, when he wants it. Just one look at his house and his fancy suit tells me Kurtis is as big as life and twice as natural. Sooner or later, and I’m guessing sooner, this grown man is going to become awfully tired of chasing a little girl who doesn’t do much of anything but kiss him and bat her eyelashes, and yet, on the other hand, I reckon he’s gonna grow equally tired, if not more so, of pursuing a little girl who jumps right into his bed with no chase at all.
I reckon I’m gonna have to figure out a push-and-pull strategy here, if I’m ever gonna get this man to stay interested in me long enough to make a movie starring me—no matter how much my body’s already itching to make like a vacuum. “Tell me more about your big movie idea,” I say, licking my lips from our kiss.
Kurtis’ face is flushed. “Sit down.” He motions to one of the seats in the theater.
I sit.
“I’ll be right back.” Kurtis bounds to the back of the room to set something up and then returns and takes the seat next to mine. “I’m gonna show you my favorite movie so I can explain the film I’m gonna make with you.”
The screen flashes “Casanova Productions,” and then, “Suzy Gets Hammered and Nailed,” followed by “Rated XXX.”
My eyes go wide. I haven’t seen too many movies in my life, and certainly not one with the rating “XXX.” My stomach convulses and I leap out of my chair.
“Lord have mercy, Kurtis. I can’t be in a porno.”
Kurtis looks shocked at my reaction.
The movie casts flickering light throughout the room.
“I’ve never done any of that stuff in real life,” I sputter. “I’m not gonna do it for the first time in front of a camera.” The minute I blurt out these honest but mortifying words, I wish I could recall them and stuff them back into my mouth. I never should have admitted this truth to Kurtis before finalizing my tight-rope-walking-strategy. Surely, I’ve just blown any chance I had of Kurtis discovering me like Lana Turner in the malt shop.
But, hey now. Wait. One look at Kurtis’ beaming face and I know everything is fine as snuff and half as dusty. I need only look at Kurtis’ glowing face to realize my blabbering just now has helped my standing in his eyes, not hurt it. Because Kurtis is looking at me like he’s just captured a genuine unicorn—and promptly discovered three fistfuls of diamonds stuffed up its ass.
“What do you mean, you’ve never done ‘any of that stuff’?” he asks, his excitement bursting out of his pores.
Up on the screen, a woman with enormous boobs takes off her clothes while a man in a tool belt and hardhat (and nothing else) stands by, watching her. I turn my back. I don’t want to see what happens next.
Kurtis bolts to the back of the room and turns the movie off, and I sigh with relief. When he returns to me, he’s panting. “What do you mean you’ve never done ‘any of that stuff’?” he asks again, his voice urgent. When I blush and don’t respond, he asks, “None of it?” When I remain silent, he adds, “Nothing at all?”
“Well, no, not nothing at all,” I finally shout, crossing my arms defensively. “I mean, I’ve kissed a boy before, and...”
He smiles broadly at me, happier than a fox in the henhouse. “And...?”
Boom. My brain clicks into place and I realize what’s just fallen into my lap. Kurtis’ whole world is strippers and naked girls and pornos, so I must be something close to a mermaid juggling flaming bowling pins on top of a barn to him. Going into this conversation with Kurtis, I had no idea how I was going keep this hunting dog on the porch, but I sure as hell know now. For once in my life, the near-truth is gonna be my best friend.
“And, well, holy smokes, Kurtis,” I add, exasperated. “That’s it, okay? All I’ve ever done is kissing and not a whole lot of that. Don’t embarrass me about it.”
Kurtis’ face makes it clear he’s happier than a two-peckered dog.
“And I’ve actually only kissed one boy before.” That’s the God’s truth. “One time.” Not at all true. I’ve kissed Wesley thousands and thousands of times under the big oak tree. For a fleeting second, I think about how much I always enjoyed kissing sweet, puppy-faced Wesley with the heart of gold, and my heart twists and pangs. “You only just now gave me my second kiss in my whole life. And my first kiss with tongue.” Not even close to true. Wesley and I have swapped enough spit to fill the Rio Grande. “Gosh, now that I’ve kissed you, Kurtis, I realize I’ve never been kissed good and proper before.” I’m not sure if this is true or not—because I sure did enjoy kissing Wesley all those times. But, holy heck, kissing Kurtis just now sure did set my panties on fire in a whole new way. I lower my eyelids to half-mast and part my lips the way I’ve seen Marilyn do it in the photos in her biography. “What you just did to me might as well have been my first kiss, ever,” I whisper softly.
Kurtis’ eyes light up like a Christmas tree.
I turn my head, feigning embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Kurtis. I’m sure you’re accustomed to girls with lots and lots of experience, and I just don’t know how I could ever compare to any of them.”
Kurtis lunges at me and grabs my shoulders roughly. “You’re better than all of them combined—they can’t compare to you.” He looks me up and down. “Just look at you, baby. Oh my God, you’re sexy as hell. And now, to find out you’re a virgin? I mean, like, a total and complete virgin?” He throws his head back and guffaws. “You’re a four-leaf clover, baby. You shouldn’t exist, but you do. And I’m the luckiest bastard in the world, ’cause I’m the one who found you.” He rubs his hands together. “I found you.” He grabs my face and kisses me firmly on the lips yet again, like he’s claiming a treasure trove, and, yet again, my knees wobble and my
crotch ignites. When we pull apart, his eyes are ablaze and I’m sure mine are, too. “Tell me, how did this happen?” He motions at my body, gaping in amazement.
I have no idea how to answer this question. I’m certainly not going to tell him my entire life’s story. But before I can say anything at all, Kurtis blurts, “Oh my God—you’re a preacher’s daughter, aren’t you? Am I right?”
Oh, thank the Lord. That’s a great explanation, and I can plainly see how titillating the idea is to Kurtis. Of course, my background didn’t come up during our three-hour lunch a week ago because Kurtis used his ten-gallon mouth to yammer about himself and his magazine almost the whole time.
I nod my head furiously. “You guessed it—I’m a preacher’s daughter.”
“I knew it.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Kurtis buckles over chuckling. “Yes, it’s that obvious.”
We laugh together at the obviousness of it.
“You just can’t hide that country-preacher’s-daughter thing you’ve got going on, especially from a connoisseur like me.”
I feign offense. “But goodness gracious, Kurtis. I’m not country. I’m cos-mo-politan.”
Kurtis throws his head back and guffaws, yet again. He’s slurping me right up. “No, you’re not, but that’s your charm, honey. I just knew you were a preacher’s daughter last week during lunch, but I decided not to say anything.” He winks. “Didn’t want to embarrass you or anything.”
I look down, blushing like a mail-order bride. “And here I thought I was putting one over on you.”
He laughs again. “Tell me more.”
“Well...yes...” I say, collecting my thoughts on how to proceed here. “My daddy was a holy-roller. Fire and brimstone, that sort of thing? Woo-wee! He sure did beat back more than a few boys, I tell you what.”
Kurtis laughs a full belly laugh at that one. The man is positively giddy.
“My daddy absolutely forbade me from going out with anyone, not even on a single date, ever, not even to the 7-Eleven for a dang Slurpee, and he made sure I was homeschooled to keep me away from boys, and he just kept me under lock and key.”
“Oh my God, the world’s gonna gobble you up.”
“But then, bless my daddy’s heart, during a Godly mission to feed the starving children of Africa, Daddy met his maker in a tragic incident with a hippopotamus, may he rest in peace.” I look up to the heavens and tears spring into my eyes, right on cue. “Before he left for Africa, though, my daddy made me promise—no, he made me swear—to always keep myself pure in the eyes of the Lord.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“God bless his soul, my daddy always told me I’m just too beautiful a creation to give myself away to just anyone. He made me swear to wait for someone”—I can physically feel Kurtis holding his breath, waiting for my next word—“special.”
If I blew on Kurtis ever so lightly, he’d tump over like a sleeping cow. He nestles his mouth into my hair and murmurs right into my ear, “Am I special, Buttercup?”
I lean back and gaze at him, as if I’m considering his question with utmost seriousness. “Kurtis Jackman, you’re sweet as sugar-cane candy.” I touch his face gently. “And I already know you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” I shake my head like I’m trying to gather my senses. “If you want to know the truth, your kiss makes me wanna forget my solemn vow to my daddy for the first time in my life.”
Kurtis pulls me into him and presses his body into mine—and, howdy-do, his hard-on against my hip makes me shudder with desire.
“You’ve got me hotter than a two-dollar pistol, Kurtis,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
“Buttercup,” he groans, swooping in for another kiss.
I pull back suddenly. “But I made a solemn oath to my daddy, and I’ve got to stay true to it.”
Kurtis looks like he’s going to burst out of his skin. “Come here.” He grabs my hand and leads me back to the chairs. He’s deep in thought for a moment. “You’re blowing my mind right now. Someone like you only comes along once in a lifetime, and I’ve got to handle it just right.”
“Kurtis, I told you—I’m not gonna have sex for the first time in a porno.” On this, I’m firm, my melting panties and sacred destiny be damned.
“Oh God no,” Kurtis quickly agrees, sounding alarmed. “You’re not gonna have sex for the first time in a movie.” He chuckles like I’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. “No, no, no, you’re gonna have sex for the first time with me.”
Every hair on my body stands on end.
His eyes suddenly devour me. “And, trust me, baby, when we have sex for your first time, it’ll be just you and me, all by ourselves.”
I’m sure my face registers my shock, despite my usual expertise at keeping a poker face.
Kurtis leans toward me, within an inch of my face. “And trust me, I’m gonna do it right.” He leans in and kisses me ever so gently.
I’m flooded with relief at the softness of his kiss and soothing words, though it kind of feels like he’s just told me he’s gonna execute me by beheading rather than a slow blood-letting.
“I’ve been wanting to make a legitimate movie for a long time,” Kurtis says, “something people respect. You know, branch out from the adult movie industry.” He runs his hand through his hair, his thoughts clearly going a mile-a-minute. “Maybe you walking through my door at this point in my life, and looking like you do, and being who you are, maybe it’s just a sign from God it’s time for me to make that mainstream feature I’ve been dreaming of making my whole goddamned life.”
My heart’s gonna bang right out of my chest. “What kind of mainstream feature have you been dreaming of making, Kurtis?” My voice isn’t working properly. It’s catching in my throat.
Kurtis grins. “A movie about a small-town girl who becomes the biggest sex symbol the world has ever known.”
I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, intently watching Kurtis’ mouth as it moves and holding my breath.
“It would be a fresh retelling of a certain mythology,” Kurtis says. He opens his hands like a magician revealing a white bunny in a hat. “A movie-homage to Marilyn Monroe.”
I knew it. Kurtis is here to deliver me to my destiny. I’m in very real danger of hyperventilating right now. But hang on, I tell myself. I’ve got to handle this just right. How the heck am I gonna keep this lusty porno-king interested in me long enough to get a movie-starring-me made? My brain clicks and clacks and suddenly locks onto a book I read last week while recuperating from my boob surgery, all about King Henry VIII and his second wife, Anne Boleyn. I reckon I’ll just have to take a page out of Annie B’s playbook.
You see, Annie B knew it was her sacred destiny to become queen one day—which, back then, was the same thing as being destined to be seen by audiences in cineplexes all over the world. But when King Henry wanted to get his junk inside Annie without promising her a kingdom in return, she wasn’t having it. “I’m just too special to be one of your tramps,” she told her lusty king—and she said it with a straight face, too. Well, goodness gracious, that girl was placing a tall order, seeing as how King Henry already had himself a queen and all. But that genius-woman stuck to her guns, by God, and damn if Henry didn’t finally do whatever the hell she wanted, just so he could get in her pants.
Now, granted, the end of Annie’s story is a real tearjerker, bless her heart (and her neck)—but the point is that Annie B had a plan; she stuck to it, and it worked like gangbusters. So that’s what I’ll do, too—I’ll make a plan and stick to it.
How long could it possibly take? I reckon if an actual king could be lured into tossing a queen and a church aside to get with a girl, it ought to be a piece of cake to coax a porno king into doing something as simple as making a goddamned movie to get with me.
Chapter 9
13 Years Old
2,561 Days Before Killing Kurtis
It’s been a year and nineteen days since Daddy left
. And exactly one year since I received Daddy’s one and only letter to me. All I wanted to do from the moment I held that unopened envelope in my hand a year ago was sprint right out the door of our trailer, right to the front gate of the trailer park, and wait for Daddy to pick me up. But before darting out the door as my body was itching to do, I quickly tore open the envelope, just in case Daddy had asked me to pack something in particular or meet him at a particular spot.
“Yes, it’s true,” Daddy wrote in his swirling script. “Hollywood is sunny all the time. And there are movie stars and mansions on every corner, too.” I could barely breathe as I read Daddy’s flamboyant handwriting for the first time. My eyes could scarcely focus on the words, so I just sort of absorbed them in large chunks and blocks rather than actually reading them: “. . . working really hard... miss you terribly... Nothing but the best for Charlie Wilber’s Daughter... prettiest dress you ever saw... always deserve the best...”
Finally, towards the very bottom of the page, just above the big, bouncy heart Daddy had drawn with my name printed smack in the center, my eyes finally locked onto a full sentence: “It’s going to take a bit longer than I thought to talk to Mr. Moneybags,” Daddy wrote. “But don’t worry, I’ll come back to get you just as soon as I’ve got myself situated in our mansion.”
I dropped the letter onto the floor, my head spinning and throbbing.
And I haven’t heard from Daddy since.
Every night before I go to sleep, I read and re-read Daddy’s letter, and then I tuck it under my pillow for safekeeping. And just before I turn off my flashlight for the night, I say to myself, out loud, “I love you bigger than the sky full of stars.”
Most nights, I dream of Daddy. And in every single dream, he’s big as life and twice as natural, too. In some of my dreams, I’m in Hollywood with Daddy, in the backyard of our mansion, and we’re laughing and laughing in the sun, right next to our fountain with the naked ladies and cherubs and the little cupid with wings. Sometimes, dream-Daddy comes to me and sits on the edge of my cot in the trailer, just like old times. “Nothing but the best for Charlie Wilber’s Daughter,” he always says. I hug him close and ask him, “Why’d you leave me, Daddy?” And he always says, “Because you deserve the very best in life.” Every single time, I reply, “But, Daddy, I just want you.”