by S. E. Law
“I think Jay Gatsby has fantasies that he’s going to be upper class,” says Coke slowly.
“But see, he never will be,” adds Danger. “The social set that he wants to join will never see him as anything but an imposter even with the gazillions he has. To them, he’s just a faker.”
“A faker?” I ask with a wry smile. “Even with Daisy on his arm?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” says Danger with conviction in her voice. “He can’t fake it, no matter what he buys with his money.” she says.
I laugh.
“Do you think Daisy’s faking it? Lots of women fake it in life,” I add.
“In what way?” retorts Coke. “Do you think women fake it at work, or at school, or when they’re in bed with a man? Or when were you thinking?”
I shrug with a naughty glint in my eye.
“Let’s start with in bed.”
My two friends rub their hands with glee and lean in.
“Okay, so we’re definitely not talking Jay Gatsby anymore, right?” asks Coke with a wink. “Just to be sure.”
I nod.
“Definitely not.”
“Okay, well then when are women faking it in bed?” asks Danger sassily. “Do you think our moms fake it when they’re with our dads?”
Coke squeals and wrinkles her nose.
“Oh my god, that’s so disgusting! I can’t. I just can’t. Can we change the topic please? Ugh, gross.”
I merely giggle.
“I don’t want to talk about our parents either. But you know I watch my phone sometimes and see those free clips. I wonder if the women are faking it then.”
My two buddies lean forward again.
“What clips? What do you mean?”
I shrug, as if nonchalant, but inside, my heart is pounding.
“Well, you know the ones where the girl is being shared by a bunch of guys. I mean, she’s literally being pummeled on all sides by a group of men, and I wonder if she’s faking it. She’s smiling and moaning, but really. Is it just the money doing the talking?”
My friends sit back, their eyes round with shock.
“Oh my god, are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” asks Coke.
“She definitely is,” muses Danger with a giggle. “Junie, you’re so bad!”
I merely shrug innocently.
“But don’t you guys ever wonder? I mean, what would it be like to be with multiple men at once? Is it traumatic? Is your body destroyed after servicing so many hungry, athletic alpha males? Or is it really as good as it looks? The women often look like they’re going to melt from ecstasy, and I don’t blame them. Some of those guys are hung and hot, and it could be a lot of fun.”
My two friends are still staring at me with wide eyes, shaking their heads slowly.
“I heard it’s good,” says Coke practically in a whisper. “But that’s just secondhand hearsay. I don’t really know.”
I nod encouragingly.
“Where did you hear it from?”
Coke swallows and her blonde braids shift a bit.
“Well, you know my sister is a stripper now, right? We lost touch with Heather years ago, and when she resurfaced, she was working at that place over on the edge of town.”
Danger and I nod with bated breath. This isn’t news, but what comes next is.
“Well,” continues Coke, “evidently some of the girls she works with are pretty wild. They’re on the market, so to say, for more than just dancing. You can buy that with them, and one of the options is a three on one.”
“Three?” I interrupt, my eyebrows knitting. “Oh my gosh!”
Coke smiles secretively.
“Yeah, I heard it’s a safety thing. They don’t sell sessions where it’s a true gang bang because they want to make sure that things don’t get out of control.”
Danger lets out a low whistle, and her eyes are round.
“Wow,” is all she can say. “Double wow.”
I nod.
“So what did your sister hear specifically?”
Coke grins again.
“Heather’s never done the three on one herself, but she says the girls who do do it can barely walk afterwards. They’re limping because it’s so much hard and fast action. They don’t have to go to the hospital or anything, they’re just sore,” she adds quickly.
I lean forward, flushed with curiosity. My pulse is accelerating, and my heart feels like it might beat out of my chest.
“But did they like it?” I ask. “You know, did they go back for more?”
Coke grins again.
“Yes. My sister says that the girls who do three-on-one love it. She said that sometimes, that’s all they’ll do because they can’t be satisfied any other way. There are three holes, and it takes three men to plug them full each time. As a result, you get addicted, is what I heard.”
I sit back my heart thumping. Oh my god, is that true? Can you actually get addicted to being with three men non-stop? I lean forward again, about to ask another question, when suddenly there’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Cokie? Danger? June? I brought some cookies for you fresh-baked from the oven,” Coke’s mom chirps from outside. The door opens and Mrs. Lewis pokes her head in. She’s got salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a plump, motherly look.
“Hi girls,” she greets us. “I just want to make sure you get a snack while you’re studying. All three of you are such good students,” she praises while putting the cookies down on a nearby table. “Don’t mind me!” she sings while exiting and closing the door again.
We giggle while looking at one another and then make a dash for the baked goods. They’re so good and I moan dramatically while swallowing a mouthful of sugary dough and yummy chocolate chips. Coke and Danger are doing the same, and we settle down once more to study. There’s still some lingering excitement in the air, but the mood has shifted and we’re back to The Great Gatsby. Books are opened, and study guides pulled out as we ask one another practice questions.
However, in the back of my mind, I’m still wondering about three-on-ones. Do the ladies like it for real? It certainly seems so, if the girls where Coke’s sister works keep going back for more. I’d love to be in their position just to see what it’s like once, but who am I kidding? I’m not Coke’s sister, with her lean, lithe body, long legs, and wavy blonde hair. I’m June Merchant of the generous curves, wide hips, and Double Ds that jut out like the prow of a ship. Three guys aren’t going to be interested in me unless I get very, very lucky.
Little do I know, but luck has just happened to look my way, and my life is about to change for the better.
92
June
One week later.
“Hey,” I say, with a small smile. “So my dad brought me here,” I say, gesturing to the Lodge. “I didn’t even know it existed until last week, to be honest.”
The girl, who was introduced to me as Alizeh, lets out a trill of a giggle.
“Oh really?” she asks. “What did Owen tell you exactly?” she presses.
I already dislike Alizeh. For one, Alizé is a line of liqueurs, so I find it extremely hypocritical that Owen criticized my friends’ names when his friends have even more ridiculous names. Even more, Alizeh gets on my nerves. She’s got long, blonde hair like a mermaid; a figure like a sylph; and a high, tinkling laugh that makes me think that glass is shattering somewhere.
But I’m taking one for the team. Hopefully, after this sisterly “consultation,” Owen will get off my back and we can return to our formerly peaceful existence. I smile at Alizeh wanly again.
“Well, he told me that the club has a secret meeting place called the Lodge, which is where we are now. He said that the club is very private, which is why they purchased this place out in the woods to begin with. He said that the group is called Dads and Daughters, and that there are more men in the group than women, but that the ratios can change. Oh, and he told me that it has to do with trucking, which makes sense,” I say sm
artly. “Owen has been a long-haul trucker for as long as I can remember.”
Alizeh nods, while looking thoughtful. She steeples her fingers together and I notice the long, press-on acrylics decorating her fingertips. Ugh. It’s not a bad look, it’s just not for me. I don’t want my nails adorned with snowflakes and sparkles, and having nails any longer than half an inch makes me twitchy. I can’t type very easily, much less take out my contact lenses with claws that long.
But Alizeh merely hums in her throat, still thinking.
“Well!” she says brightly. “It seems Owen really didn’t tell you much,” she says. “And you just turned eighteen, right?”
I nod.
“Yes, about a month ago. I’m an adult now. No more permission slips from my dad, although I fake signed them all the time. Just kidding, I didn’t.”
My joke falls flat, and Alizeh merely continues thinking. I wonder if she even heard me. She’s tapping her nails together now, and the clickety sound gets under my skin. I’m tempted to tell her to stop, but it seems rude.
“Well, why don’t I tell you a bit about the club then?” she begins brightly, looking at me.
“Sure,” I say nonplussed. “No problem.”
“Well, the club is a club for long-haul truckers,” she says with a smile. “It’s a difficult job. Our men are on the road for weeks at a time, if not months. As a result, many years ago some long-haul truckers banded together to form a group.”
“Dads and Daughters,” I interject quickly.
“Yes,” Alizeh nods. “The truckers often had needs on the road, and they wanted a way to meet those needs. This was ages ago, when there wasn’t internet or even satellite TV,” she adds quickly. “That’s how long we’ve been around.”
I nod, getting a little confused.
“Sure, but why does that matter?”
Alizeh nods.
“Well, the truckers wanted to meet women in a natural way while they were on the road,” she begins.
“Couldn’t they just meet someone the old-fashioned way, at a truck stop bar?” I interject, wrinkling my brow. “I realize this is pre-internet, but surely there were bars back then.”
The other girl shoots me a chilling look.
“Yes, but please let me finish my story, June.”
I hold my hands in apology.
“Sorry, sorry. Go right ahead.” Mentally, I’m rolling my eyes but I manage to keep a smile pinned on my face for good measure. The “mentorship” my dad hoped for is really not working out. Already, I can tell that I have nothing to learn from Alizeh, and that she’s not interested in me either. But the other girl continues.
“So the truckers wanted to meet women, and they came upon an ingenious solution,” she says in a light tone. “Many of the men had daughters, and they decided to trade daughters, if you will. I don’t like to use the word “trade,” actually,” she corrects herself. “Maybe “swap” is a better term.”
I stare at her.
“What does that mean?” I ask, trying to understand. “I don’t get it.”
Alizeh lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Of course you wouldn’t, June,” she says. “You’re not that type of girl.”
At this, I’m offended.
“What do you mean, I’m not that type of girl?”
Immediately, Alizeh looks penitent and she apologizes.
“I’m sorry, June. I didn’t mean to say that, and that was unkind. I just … well, I want to help Owen, but I don’t know how,” she says helplessly. “He hasn’t told you anything, and we’re due at the hotel in two hours.”
“The hotel?” I ask, my brow scrunching. “My dad definitely didn’t mention we were going to a hotel. This lodge in the forest was already a surprise to me.”
The blonde girl nods miserably.
“Yes, there’s a hotel. We’re at the Lodge, where you’re going to be pampered, and then we’ll bring you to the hotel, where the initiation will occur.”
I scrunch my nose at her.
“Pampering? Like getting my nails and hair done? Sweet! I love spa treatments.”
I don’t ask her about the initiation because, to be frank, my mentoring with this woman is done. I’ve decided that Alizeh has nothing to teach me, and evidently, she thinks the same. She purses her lips and whispers a curse under her breath, but like a lady, I ignore it. Instead, I smile brightly at her.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go for a day of pampering!” I say merrily. “Girls rock!”
An uncertain look comes over Alizeh’s features, but then her brows lift and she smiles.
“Yes, let’s do that,” she says in a firm tone. “I’ll tell you more about what to expect as we’re getting our nails done. I have to get this one fixed,” she says, staring at her left ring finger where the sparkles seem to have fallen off. “It tore, and it looks terrible. Come on, June. This way,” she says, leading me down the hall.
I trail after her slim figure in this exotic hunting lodge in the middle of the woods. What was my dad thinking, bringing me here and pairing me with this nincompoop of a woman for some girl talk? We have nothing in common, and Alizeh definitely has no wisdom to impart. But just a few more hours of this, and I’ll be done for good. I’ll be able to put my dad’s fears to rest once and for all before heading out into the world to follow my own path. Or so I think.
93
June
“What?” I ask, straining to hear in the hallway of the hotel. “What did you say again?”
We finished the pampering, which went by much too fast for my taste. Alizeh told the ladies who did our hair and nails that we only had an hour, and upon hearing those words, they began to work like machines. Soon, I was brushed, pampered and primped within an inch of my life. My skin glows and my hair has never looked better. My make-up was done by a professional, emphasizing my Cupid’s bow lips and big brown eyes.
“Oh wow, I don’t even recognize myself without the deep red lipstick,” I said, pressing my lips together while staring at myself in the mirror. “It’s so different!”
The make-up artist merely clucked.
“The red lipstick was pretty, but a bit vampy,” she said. “You look more natural and fresh this way. The dads will love it.”
I turn to her.
“The dads? Which dads? My dad?”
The make-up artist exchanges an alarmed look with Alizeh.
“You didn’t tell her?” the older woman asks in a low voice.
The blonde girl looks grim.
“Not yet. And it’s almost show time too.”
“Oh my!” the make-up artist exclaims before scurrying off. “Good luck!”
I didn’t know what to make of that interaction, so I ignored it. But now, we’re in the darkened corridor of a hotel hallway. I have no idea what’s going on. Why they primped and pampered me only to have me shipped here for god-knows-what, is a complete mystery. Even more, the dress I’m wearing is ridiculous. It’s a thin, white silk slip that caresses my curves, creating mysterious shadows while emphasizing my generous figure.
“What’s going on again?” I ask Alizeh. “Seriously, what are we doing? I don’t get it. Is this some kind of debutante ball? But if so, how can I be wearing this?” I ask, gesturing to my feet. Because in addition to the silky slip, they’ve procured a pair of clear, acrylic platform heels for me to don. Seriously, I’m beginning to feel like a stripper crossed with the Virgin Mary. This is such a weird outfit.
The older girl merely leads me down the darkened hallway before stopping in front of a set of double doors. I can tell that there’s a conference of some sort on the other side because there’s a square of light beneath the closed doors, and the low growl of voices. Odd. It sounds like a conference of men, but then again, that would make sense if Dads and Daughters consists of long-haul truckers.
Alizeh takes a deep breath and looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time since we’ve met.
“June, I haven’t done r
ight by you,” she begins.
I stop her.
“But how so?”
She shakes her head impatiently.
“Owen should have told you more. It was your father’s responsibility to tell you what was happening today. When I realized he hadn’t told you, I should have stepped in. But it’s too late now, and I just want to say good luck, okay? Go with what the voice tells you. You’ll enjoy it and it’ll be easier that way.”
I stare at her.
“The voice? What are you talking about? Do you mean my inner voice or my conscience?”
But then the double doors swing open and the blonde girl pushes me out of the hallway and into the conference room.
“Listen to the music!” she calls from the shadows. “Go with the flow and enjoy yourself!”
I turn to ask Alizeh another question, but the door has shut with a resounding slam. Then, I turn slowly, and suddenly realize that I’m the focus of attention. I’m in a ballroom of sorts, but it’s dark with the exception of a spotlight on me. Oh my god, what’s going on?
My eyes peer into the gloom, and all I can make out are the silhouettes of hard, huge, muscular men. These must be the truckers. My pulse accelerates as my eyes dilate. Are they all here for me? Again, Alizeh’s words ring in my mind. Go with the flow and enjoy yourself.
But what am I supposed to be doing, exactly? Suddenly, a mechanical voice rings out. It’s a woman’s voice, low and soothing.
“Welcome to the initiation of June Merchant. June is eighteen, curvy, five foot four and a brunette with brown eyes. Step to the dais, please, June.”
My inhale slowly as my pulse beats. Oh my gosh, this must be the voice that Alizeh was talking about. I search the room slowly, the spotlight hot on my skin, and see a raised circular area which is surely the dais. My knees wobbly, I make my way over as the voice speaks again.