Anthony’s hands clasped against the side of my head, and he started shaking his hips. I knew what these signs meant, and I knew what to do from there. I started sucking Anthony harder and faster, taking as much of him into my mouth as I could—then I slowed down and sucked at the tip of his cock for a bit, massaging that throbbing vein at its back with my lips and tongue.
I abruptly went back to deeper sucking, and even went so far as to throat Anthony’s cock a little, which made me gag. But, that wasn’t a bad thing. Anthony shuddered at the sound and feel of it, and, within a few seconds, he was convulsing as he exploded in my mouth.
“Fuuuuckk,” Anthony roared as he came, and the sound of it almost made me cum too. The moment he stopped shooting his load, he bowed down, took my face into his hands, and kissed me firmly on the lips.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Kirby,” he said. “But we’ve got to do something.”
I looked up at Anthony and wiped my lower lip and chin with the back of my hand, to clear away his drippings. “We do,” I replied. “But first things first… Right now we need to come up with a new cover story. What should I tell my parents about our meeting today?”
Chapter 15
It was almost 6 p.m. when I finally left Stonegate Tower. Anthony and I spent some time coming up with our cover story after our encounter, and then we chatted for a bit. The story we came up with wasn’t the best one in the world, but, I must admit, I’m pretty proud of it.
I was to say that I met with Mr. Swift, as planned, and that he explained to me all the splendors that a career in advertising held. I wasn’t interested in what he said, however, and I told him that my professional interests were elsewhere, which was something my parents would surely believe, as I’d already expressed as much to them directly.
Well, good ole’ Mr. Swift didn’t like me so instantly ignoring what he thought was good business. He insisted that I wasn’t giving the industry a shot and wasn’t giving it enough credit. He said I was in no position to judge it since I’d never been involved in it, and he suggested that I come back and shadow him on a project or two, just so that I could see what the advertising world was really like; so that I could base my opinion on observation, not conjecture.
It wasn’t a job offer or an internship, and there’d be no money, or compensation of any kind, that changed hands. It was just a chance for me to get the inside scoop, and for Mr. Swift to defend the integrity of his profession.
And, as our story went, I agreed to shadow Mr. Swift, as he’d suggested, out of respect for him as my father’s boss, and out of an inkling of my own curiosity.
I didn’t necessarily like that last part, but Anthony insisted on it. He said my parents would want to hear it.
I rehearsed our story over and over again in my head as I drove home. I was in the tail-end of traffic hour, so the drive took a little longer than usual, but it didn’t bother me much, since it gave me more time to practice.
Naturally, I wasn’t looking forward to talking to my parents. Even though I was getting really good at it, I still didn’t like lying to them, and this lie was going to be a big one. I had to lie about what I’d already done and set the groundwork for more lies to come. Now, that’s daunting!
Also, I felt a little bummed out about the Dessert Oasis situation. I was very happy about my looming job offer, and was looking forward to telling my parents about it, and about my intention to accept it. But in light of everything else I had to tell them—all the lies about shadowing Anthony—my news about a shop job would zip right past them. All they’d hear was what I had to say about Mr. Swift, and anything about Dessert Oasis would fade away to nothing, like a mirage dissolving in daylight.
Sure, I’d still tell them about Dessert Oasis, but I knew they really wouldn’t care about it, and I tried not to think about that too much as I went over the cover up story a few more times.
Traffic had me hung up and out until about 7, and Mom and Dad’s cars were both already in the driveway when I got home. I parked my car on the street and went to the house, psyching myself up for my performance. I forced a big grin on my face. After all, everything I had to tell them was good news—a potential job at Dessert Oasis and a shadowing arrangement with Mr. Swift—and I should be happy about it.
I got to the back door and opened it. As soon as I looked in, I saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table. She looked over at me with a cold, hard look on her face. Dad was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and main hallway. I couldn’t see his entire body, but I could see that he was bent over, with his head down and his hands resting against his knees.
As quickly as Mom turned to look at me she turned away and shook her head violently way, the kind a crazy person would do in a haunted house movie.
“What’s going on here?” I asked as I stepped into the kitchen.
As soon as I made it past the doorframe, the rest of the scene unfolded, and it became unnecessary for anyone to answer my question.
Dad stared at his feet, and Mom buried her head in her hands. But I couldn’t care less about what either of them were doing. I was more concerned with the third person in the room, the person sitting across from Mom at the table.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I had to do the right thing, Kirby,” he said. “I had to tell them.”
“And thank you for doing that, London,” Dad said, stepping out from the doorway. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, maybe you should go home now. Judy and I have a lot to talk about with Kirby.”
I couldn’t speak. My jaw had dropped so far that it would have taken me ages to pick it up. What the hell was going on here?
“Yes, London, thank you so much,” Mom said, lifting her head up from her hands. Her eye makeup was smeared, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from friction or tears. “But now we need to talk to Kirby.”
Both of my parents looked at me, but my eyes stayed locked on London. He quickly, covertly flashed that crooked grin again—the one I really, really hated.
I hated it even more now.
Chapter 16
“Is it true, Kirby?”
“Tell me this is some type of joke.”
“Did what London said happened really happen?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”
“You and Mr. Swift?”
“Please tell me London made it up.”
“He’s in his 50s!”
“Please tell me London is crazy.”
“You didn’t really do anything with him, did you?”
“Tell me I’m drunk.”
“Why would London say something like that if it isn’t true?”
“Tell me I’m dreaming.”
“Did you guys have a fight? Did he make this up to get back at you?”
“This is too much. I can’t take it.”
If you’ll notice, none of these statements are paired up with a speaker. That’s because they all—along with others—came at me so quickly that I couldn’t identify who said what or when they said it. The above is a mix of what Mom, Dad, and I said after London left out house, but it’s only a small sample of our entire conversation. There were so many other questions, comments, observations, and accusations tossed around that, believe you me, there’s no way I could have ever kept account of it.
I was bombarded by everything that Mom and Dad had to say, but I was still in shock over something else… Why did London do what he did? Why did he tell my parents? He had nothing to gain from it, and actually stood to lose. Why would he do harm us both like this?
As Mom and Dad kept talking, asking, and yelling, I felt both sickened and saddened by the ugliness around me, and I realized that maybe that was why London ratted me out. Maybe he wanted someone else to experience the ugliness that he felt in his own life. They say that misery loves company, and some people are just prone to dragging others down with them.
Whatever London’s excuse was, it sucked, and I could never forgive him
for it. But, at the moment, he was beside the point. I had bigger fish to fry in this kitchen. Mom and Dad were starting to ask more questions. They weren’t just trying to confirm London’s story now; they were trying to get details, and they were moving on to making harsh statements.
“Are you dating?”
“Did he try to pay you?”
“That fucking pervert.”
“How many times did it happen?”
“What were you thinking?”
“You can’t keep seeing him.”
“Did you use protection?”
“This can’t go any further.”
“Does anybody else know about this?”
“Enough is enough, Kirby.”
Again, who said what and when they said it was lost on me. It all came at me in a torrent. All I know is that I barely spoke this round, and didn’t speak it all over the next few minutes.
During those next few minutes, Mom and Dad did something akin to conferring over a game plan, or coming up with a method of damage control. They brainstormed back and forth for a bit, discussing how I should end things, if I hadn’t already; how we should explain things to anyone who may have heard any “rumors,” if they’d already started to spread; and what should be done to make sure that I didn’t spiral out of control, if it wasn’t already too late to stop that from happening.
I felt like one of the high-priced paintings on the wall. I was being talked about, not too, and what was going on in my own mind didn’t seem to matter. So much chatter. So much plotting.
“Stop!” I finally shouted. I shouted it so loudly that I think my voice resonated off of a pot or pan somewhere. Mom and Dad both fell silent and looked at me.
“I’m 22 years old,” I said, firmly. I was still talking loudly, but was no longer shouting. “You want to know if what London said about me and Mr. Swift—about me and Anthony—is true? I’ll tell you… Yes. Yes, it is. I don’t know exactly what London told you, but, whatever it was, the bottom line is true. Anthony and I have been seeing each other—and, yes, we’ve been intimate.
“We’ve had sex. And, we’ll probably do it again. I don’t know if we’re in love, or if we’re dating—or what’s going on—but, I do know that there’s something between us, and we both want to explore it. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you getting in my way. But, now that you know, you know, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. You’re either cool with it, or you’re not… I’m not going to stop seeing him.”
Mom and Dad both had stunned expressions on their faces. I’d never stood up to either of them before, so they were probably shocked by that alone, and what I said probably really sealed the deal for them. I’d certainly said more than a mouthful.
Mom looked at Dad, then looked back to me. Her messy eyelids pooled with tears.
“Get out,” she said. “If you can’t live by our rules, you can’t live in our house. As long as you date that man, you’re not welcome here.”
“Alright then,” I said. I threw my keyring on the table, surrendering my keys to the house and to my car, I turned, and I walked out the door. Like a good girl, I did as my mother had instructed. I got out.
Chapter 17
So, that’s it. That’s my story. That’s Kirby Miller’s Adventure… or at least that’s how the more dramatic parts of it played out.
The night that my parents kicked me out was eight months ago—and, since then, a lot has happened. I’m sure you’re wondering what, and, don’t worry, I’ll tell you. But, first, let me tell you something else. Let me share with you a great wisdom I’ve learned.
I’ve said it before… Life’s full of surprises. Some of them are really good, and some of them are really bad—and all of them are unexpected, just like the outcome of my story.
After my parents kicked me out, of course, I immediately called Anthony. He hopped in his car, sped over, and got me. He took me back to his incredible house, held me in his arms, and promised me that everything would be okay.
I tried calling my parents the next day, but they wouldn’t answer; and it wasn’t until two days later that I received any word from them, when Mom texted to tell me that she’d packed up some of my stuff, and that I should send a courier to retrieve the boxes. That was all she said, and it was enough to let me know that my parents were taking this all very seriously.
I stayed on with Anthony for a few days, and, for the most part, despite what was going on with my parents, we had an incredible time together. We shared some mindblowing sexual experiences, and he spoiled me with clothing and gifts. At first, it was to make up for the fact that I’d left so much back at my parents’—but, after a certain point, it was just about the process.
Around the sixth or seventh day at Anthony’s, my phone rang with a vaguely familiar number. I answered the call to hear Michelle Robins’ voice on the other end. She was calling to tell me that her higher-ups at Dessert Oasis had approved of her recommendation, and she offered me a job at the shop.
I was so pleased to hear that I’d been hired—and so pleased to hear any good news—that I instantly accept the position and told her to put me on the schedule.
I started working at Dessert Oasis less than a week later. And, I’ve been working there ever since. It’s a pretty decent job. I make a little over minimum wage, plus tips, and I get a huge employee discount, which I probably use a little too often. I end up spending a lot of money on cake and pies, but, rest assured, I always have enough left over to pay the rent.
That’s right, I said “pay the rent,” which means, you guessed it, I have my own apartment. It’s not the best place in the world. It’s just a step or two above a crappy efficiency somewhere, and it’s just cheap enough that I don’t have to have a craigslist roommate. But, hey, it’s mine, and I worked had for it.
Why work so hard when you have a billionaire boyfriend, you might ask. I hate that question! In fact, it’s because of that question that I don’t have a billionaire boyfriend anymore.
I started working full-time at Dessert Oasis right away, and Anthony started giving me a hard time about it shortly thereafter. He said I didn’t need to work so much at a blue-collar job, and he urged me to either lighten my load at the shop or pursue a more esteemed profession, such as a career at Parker & Swift.
I told him to mind his own business, but he still tried to influence me. I eventually got to the point where I couldn’t really feel free with him anymore, since it felt like he was trying to control me.
At first, we simply separated. I’d saved up enough money over the past couple months to pay the first month’s rent and deposit on an apartment, and I refused to let Anthony help me pay for it, or anything related to it, in any way. I did let him help me move my stuff there, however. But, that was it.
And, that was it for our relationship, too. As passionate, hot, and irresistible as it once was, it all kinda just fizzled away at some point. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear right now, but it’s the truth—and, it relates to the surprise that you’ll find in my story.
It may seem unfortunate that Anthony and I broke up, and perhaps it is, but that doesn’t mean that my story ends on a sad note. I still got to have my fairy tale love story and my happily-ever-after ending. It just wasn’t with Anthony. It was with me.
This is the story of how I came to love myself. It’s the story of how I finally became independent and found my way out of the mess I was in for most of my life. I had to go through a lot to get to where I am today, but I’m where I’m supposed to be, so it all was worth it.
I’m happy now, and I feel like I have a purpose. I work to support myself, and I’m starting to think about what I’d like to do with the rest of my life. I haven’t come up with all the answers yet, but at least I’m still asking the questions.
Speaking of questions, I’m sure you’re wondering… Whatever happened between me and my parents? Did things ever get better?
A week or two after Anthony and I
called it quits, Mom came to Dessert Oasis during my shift. She ordered a pear torte and a daughter, and things picked up from there. At the outset, I made it clear that I didn’t break up with Anthony because of anything they’d said or done, and I tried to act like I didn’t know that they only reason they’d accepted me back was because I was done with him.
After we were back in the familiar familial swing, my parents offered to let me come live with them again, so that I could save money on rent and go at the rest of life with an even larger nest egg. But, I declined their offer. I didn’t need their help anymore, and I didn’t need to backpedal.
Other than that, there really isn’t much more I can say about what happened and changed in my life over the past several months—and, I guess that’s a good thing.
You see, I’ve been there, done that, and am ready to move past it. I’m not so much concerned with what already happened anymore as I am with what’ll happen next, now that I’ve found my independence and feel comfortable in my own skin.
Why look back when you can look forward? This isn’t the end of my adventure… It’s the story of how it started.
~~~
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