Dirty SEAL (A Navy SEAL Romance) (The Maxwell Family)

by Alycia Taylor

  When I finished shaving, I spiked my hair up with some gel and looked at it. It still looked like shit, but it was better. I opened the new package of t-shirts I’d bought and pulled one on. It was a little wrinkled, but there was no fucking way I was pulling out an iron. I had to dig to the back of my closet to find a pair of jeans that looked halfway decent, and, after I pulled them on, I put on my boots and looked at the final product in the full-length mirror. It would have to do because it was already after six and I was afraid that I was going to end up at the back of the line. That was exactly what happened, and, by five that evening, I still hadn’t even made it close to the doors. I stayed as the line thinned out some, the people not hardcore enough to brave the streets of Burbank overnight. My fucking head was throbbing and I could have really used a joint. But I dipped down deep and found a shred of the determination that I used to have, back when I was a kid, and I stayed.

  By about three in the morning, most of the contestants that had stayed were asleep. I spotted a girl, just barely over legal sitting about three people away from the door. She looked lonely, so being the good guy I am, I went forward to keep her company. I ended up spending the rest of the night in her sleeping bag. We fooled around inside the bag, and, when the sun came up on Tuesday morning, I was suddenly contestant number four, right behind my new girlfriend…Veronica? Valerie? Fuck, something that started with a V.

  Around eight a.m., I was finally shuffled into a room with about fifty other losers and then, sometime around nine, taken backstage by a chick with a lisp but a nice rack. Imagine my surprise when I got back there and saw that Sweet Lips from Huggys was on the production crew. Sweet Lips was the perfect nickname for her. God, were they magnificent.

  From the way she looked at me, I could tell that she recognized me. I had to give her props for staying professional and not letting on. Now I had three reasons not to blow this: a million bucks, a record contract, and Elly. Shit! I even remembered her name.

  I walked through the curtain when they called my name. It had been a long time since I had to audition for anything. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, but I was nervous as fuck. My hands were shaking so bad that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to play my guitar. In all honesty, it was probably more that I needed a drink or a smoke than nerves. Whatever it was, I stood under the spotlights, staring at these three famous people feeling like I wanted to throw up.

  “Tristan Rogers, wow!” Diva in the center yelled as soon as she looked at the paper in front of her. Of course, she didn’t recognize my face.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

  “Where have you been?” the soft-spoken country singer on her right asked.

  Fuck! How do I field that one?

  “After the band broke up, I did some traveling, and since then, I’ve just been spending time with my family…playing a few gigs here and there…”

  Family? Yeah right, but it sounded better than the truth.

  “Wow,” Diva with the big, fake tits said again.

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” the guy who got famous off his mother’s name to her left said.

  I sat down on the stool in the center of the small, makeshift stage, took a deep breath and tried to go to another place in my head, a place where I was a superstar and not a loser. When I opened my mouth actual music came out. I was impressed with myself.

  They stopped me about half-way through. Diva had tears in her eyes. “That was…wow!” she exclaimed.

  Shocking.

  “Fabulous,” Country Boy said.

  “Amazing,” was Mama’s Boy’s comment.

  I walked out with a golden ticket. I had to field the same, “Where have you been?” comments from the Emcee, and then I actually got asked to sign two autographs on my way out. I made my way back to the other room, the first one I’d waited in, and found the girl with the lisp.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. Can I go to the back again, real quick? I forget something in there, I think.”

  She sighed like it was taking everything in her not to say no and then she said, “Okay, but quickly, I’m busy.”

  “I can find my way,” I told her. She started to protest, but the guy at the door called her name. I went through the other door, walked up to Elly, and took her pen from her hand. I wrote down my number on her clipboard, smiled and left without saying a word. I was going to treat myself to a drink…and a smoke…and maybe a line or two.

  Chapter Seven

  Elly

  “Pass me the dip,” I told my roommate, Susie.

  We were supposed to be studying for the final we had coming up. Our summer classes were coming to an end, and I was actually looking forward to having a couple of weeks off before the fall semester began. Susie handed me the dip, I grabbed a handful of chips and put them on my plate, and Susie said, “So, are you going to call him?”

  “Who?” I said, facetiously. I knew exactly whom she was talking about.

  She rolled her eyes and said, “You know who, don’t act dumb. Are you going to call him?” I had broken down and told Susie everything. I told her about my crush and about going to the seedy bar and, Lord help me, I told her about the sex in the bathroom. God bless her, she didn’t seem to judge me at all. She actually told me that when she was a kid, she had the hots for the lead singer of Blink 182 and, given half the chance, she’d do him in the bathroom too.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?”

  “It’s not up to me,” she said. “But just for argument’s sake…why not?”

  “Because, he’s not exactly the guy I had the hots for all of those years ago. He’s hardcore now, Susie. He drinks like a fish, and I suspect he does a lot of drugs too.”

  “Do you want to marry him?”

  “What?”

  “Marry him! If not, then why not just screw around with him some more?”

  I had my reasons for worrying about the outcome of getting into any kind of relationship with an addict, but I didn’t feel like expounding on them at the moment. Instead I said, “For one thing, he’s a finalist on the show now, and it’s against the rules. I could lose my internship.”

  “If they find out, but if you’re just having fun with the guy, you can do it at our place or his. No one else needs to know.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve heard that the press goes out of their way to try and find these things out. Especially because of the big scandal last year. I don’t think I should risk it.”

  Susie was looking at me with that look that said I didn’t take enough risks, as she said, “You’re not going to be young forever, Elly. One of these days, you’re going to wake up and be fifty years old and you’re going to wish that you had taken a risk or two when you were young. It might be too late then.”

  She was probably right, but what I might also regret at fifty was losing the job opportunity of a lifetime for a night of hot sex with a virtual stranger. As good as that was, I doubt it was worth all that.

  “I’ll think about it,” I told her.

  She rolled her eyes and said, “Gimme some of those chips.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tristan

  We finished our set at the most recent dive bar Mitch had booked for us. He was on cloud nine when he heard I had made it through to the finals of Fresh Voices; little did he know that the first thing I was going to do when I won all that money was fire his ass.

  “Hey, you going out tonight?” Les, our bassist asked me as we packed up the equipment.

  “I was thinking about heading over to the Gold Mine for a while,” I told him. Besides the fact that it was the only strip joint in the city with women who looked like they were under the age of forty, I had a guy who lived close to there that sold me the best coke I’d ever tasted. I planned on hitting him up on my way to the club.

  Les was curling his lip. “I think I’ll hit the Mayan tonight. I feel like dancing, and maybe taking home a real girl.”

  “Alright dude, keep it cov
ered, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Les took off, and Billy drove Brad home to the old lady. I got on my old, ’95 Harley that I’d bought cheap off some tweaker a few years ago and headed out to Santa Monica Blvd. I turned off two blocks before I got to the club and pulled up in front of Marco’s apartment building. I’d already told him I was coming, so he met me out front. It was a quick sale, and as he headed back inside, my phone rang.

  “Yeah,” I answered it.

  “Hi,” a sweet little female voice said. I had no idea who it was, but maybe it was someone who was looking for a party.

  “Hey there,” I said.

  She laughed. “You have no idea who this is, do you?”

  “No fucking clue,” I said.

  She laughed again and said, “It’s Elly.”

  “Oh, hey…I was just about to guess that.”

  “You’re full of shit,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s true. How are you?”

  “I’m good. I thought you might want to hang out sometime.”

  I looked at the vial in my hand. I wanted to see her, but tonight I also wanted to get fucked up. I didn’t know for sure, but I had the feeling that wasn’t something Elly would be up for so I said, “Yeah, sounds great. I can’t tonight though; I’m…practicing with the guys. How about you come by my place Sunday night? We’re playing again tomorrow night, but Sunday I’m all free.”

  “I can do Sunday,” she said. “Where do you live?”

  I gave her the address. When I hung up, I had a twinge of regret that I had to wait two days to see her. I did one spoon of the coke…damn! That was some good shit! I put the pretty, professional girl in the back of my mind and headed on to the Gold Mine.

  I parked the bike right up front; it was one of the privileges of riding a bike over a car. I found a table once I got inside. I didn’t like the counters. That was where all the old fat guys in their business suits liked to sit. I wanted to be in the back where I could enjoy my treats and have the opportunity for the kind of lap dance that you aren't going to get sitting at the bar.

  I ordered a pitcher of beer from the hot, little waitress. She had reddish brown hair, and when she smiled, she had a deep dimple on each side of her face. She had nice round tits that pressed up hard against the red halter-top she was wearing, and her long, black stockings started just underneath her tight black leather shorts and ended underneath a pair of black come fuck me heels.

  “Hey, sweets, what can I get you?” she asked.

  Her name tag said, “Jessica,” so I said, “Well, Jessica…I‘d love a pitcher of dark beer, whatever you have on tap, and maybe a handful of that fine ass.”

  “The beer will be ten bucks and throw in another ten and you can grab a handful. Just make sure you do it quick and don’t touch anything above the level of the tables or the bouncers will bounce you right out of here on your own pretty, little ass.” I threw a twenty up on her tray and copped a nice feel. My cock was at half-mast and I was sure it wouldn’t be long before I’d need some relief.

  The place was pretty slow for a Friday night. I could see a few of the strippers mingling with the mostly middle-aged crowd, and a couple of waitresses lounging around the bar, chatting it up with the dirty, old salesman crowd. There were a lot of those in this place. This was one of the nicer clubs in the city. It was actually capable of holding five-hundred people, although I’d be willing to bet there weren’t even a hundred there that night. It was more expensive for the cover charge than the others were, and the member’s only area scared off a lot of guys who were just in a club like this looking for anonymous pussy. They didn’t really want to have to break a twenty for it, if you know what I mean. I went there instead of going to the cheaper joints because it reminded me of places I used to go back before I was crowned the king of the sleaze bars.

  It was decorated nicely, with plush red carpet that didn’t look like people had been crushing cigarettes out on it, and comfortable, plush, deep red chairs and mahogany tables. The walls were black and the lighting was dark like a movie theatre, making the stage the definitive focal point. The stage was well lit and, as the dancers entered under the lights, they tapped their sexy heels down a long flight of black and white marble stairs and then down onto the spacious stage. The girls would perform for three songs each; with each song they’d become progressively more seductive—and progressively more naked.

  The first girl that came down the stairs was dressed in a tight little mini-skirt and a skin tight cotton shirt that tied up over her naval. She had on knee socks and had her hair in braids like a schoolgirl. That schoolgirl shit didn’t do anything for me, but a lot of guys like it, I guess. She strutted around in her stiletto’s, only taking off her blouse during the first song, but doing a lot of bumping and grinding. During the second song, the skirt came off and she was in a skimpy blue bra, barely containing her giant, fake tits, and a skimpy thong that contained exactly as much as it should.

  The third song said good-bye to her bra and, somehow, a silk sheet appeared on stage and she lay back on it and simulated torrid sex and masturbation. Like I said, I didn’t get into school girls, but once that uniform was shed, it was a pretty hot show.

  The next girl was more my style. She had long, dark hair, and she wore a skimpy little business suit. Each piece of clothing she took off revealed a nicely toned and tattooed body, and everything looked real, not plastic or rubber or whatever that shit is they use to plump things up. She had long tan toned legs and medium-sized, firm tits. She lay down during her third song, naked, besides an almost invisible white thong. She spread her legs, pumped her hips and had both her hands between her legs, presumably masturbating herself for all to watch. That was hot, but the hottest part was when she rolled over onto her knees and put her ass up in the air towards the audience as she worked her own pussy. She had a fine looking ass too. It was nicely rounded, and looked like she either worked out, or she just kept it in good shape from all the arching and bending and bumping and grinding for her clients.

  When the girls weren’t dancing onstage, they would circle the crowd, looking for lap dances. The ones I’d seen making the rounds in there that night were all pretty hot in their see-through lingerie and high heels, long blonde or brunette hair cascading down around their shoulders. Some of them were petite and some tall; some had little boobs and some gigantic ones. But the one that had my cock twitching in my pants was the brunette in the business suit…go figure.

  “Here you go, honey.” The waitress smiled and flashed her dimples as she sat the beer down.

  “Thanks, I got anything left on my grab-ass-tab?”

  “Not on tab baby, but cash is always welcome.”

  “We’ll see how the night goes,” I told her with a grin. “How about you ask that one up there to come see me when she finishes her dance.”

  She looked up at the stage and said, “Mm, you have good taste, she’s my favorite too.”

  “You’re welcome to join us,” I told her.

  She winked at me and said, “Sorry sweetie, you wanna play, you have to pay. Besides, Bianca’s my roommate; I can play with her all I want.” Then she winked at me again and licked her big, full lips before she walked away. Damn! Now my cock was aching.

  Chapter Nine

  Elly

  I woke up on Sunday morning with butterflies in my stomach. I almost wished I had never called Tristan. It all seemed too overwhelming to me now. For one thing, he’s obviously just looking for another piece of ass. Was that what I was really looking for, after everything I’d been through already? Then, there was the fact that he’s obviously hit some kind of brick wall in his career. He was a finalist on Fresh Voices, and that would be great if he hadn’t already been a star and just pissed it all away. Did I really want to waste my time with a guy like that? What if someone found out about us? I wasn’t just risking my internship to spend a little time with him; I was risking my entire career. If I got fired and he got disqualified, it would be front page news on
every rag in every grocery store across the U.S. Not because I was important, but because he used to be. If there was a scandal, people would suddenly remember who he was. That was how Hollywood worked.

  Sighing, I threw back the covers and got out of bed. I found Susie in the kitchen eating waffles and reading Greatest Films of all Time for our final this week. That’s what I should have been doing, concentrating on what was good in my life rather than inviting in more drama. I had a 3.8 GPA that I wouldn’t have much longer if I didn’t crack open a book or two.

  “Hey!” she said, closing the book. “Looking forward to tonight?”

  I put my hand on my fluttering stomach and said, “I don’t know. I feel kind of sick.”

  “It’s just nerves, you’ll be fine,” she said.

  I poured a cup of coffee and sat down next to her at the table. “What if it isn’t nerves, Susie? What if my body is trying to tell me that this is a huge mistake?”

  Susie smiled and put down her fork. “Your body doesn’t know anything except that you haven’t dated in a while because of the terrible thing that happened to you the last time you fell in love. The universe is not against you. Tragedies happen and people move on. Tristan is probably just a stepping stone on your way. Have fun, don’t overthink it and you’ll be fine. Oh, and make sure he wraps it in foil before he checks your oil.” She laughed at her own wittiness.

  I smacked her on the side of her arm for that comment. “I’m not going over there to have sex with him,” I told her.

  “Riiiight!” she said.

  I smacked her again and went to get in the shower. It was only nine a.m. I had a good ten hours to stew over it before I actually saw him. Maybe I’d go buy a new outfit to wear. It was doubtful that Tristan would notice what I was wearing, but I’d feel better if I looked nice. I decided that was what I’d do, and after some shopping to clear my head, I might be able to concentrate and get some studying done.