One of my favorite things about writing is the character building. Giving each and everyone a backstory, whether revealed in the manuscript or not, allows them to develop and change.
I can admit it, one of my very favorite characters is Jetnia Akbari– tattooed librarian with more spunk than some can handle. As I was writing A Toast to Starry Nights, whenever Jet made her appearance, she’d pretty much steal the scene.
She’s heavily based off my bestie since third grade, Bre. Although I can say with perfect candor that Jet’s tendency to take things too far isn’t a trait Bre has– that’s all Jet.
It didn’t take long for me to decide that Jet needed her own book, and with how things play out in A Toast to Starry Nights, it gave me the perfect opportunity to set up where Jet takes over the continuing story and visit with Kay and Dmitri, as their lives are interwoven.
The Engagement Party from A Toast to Starry Nights inspired the following story, and it’s the first thing I’ve written of The Jetnia Phenomenon– whether it’s the first chapter is something that remains to be seen.
So here it is, the first of many saucy showdowns between Jet and Wiley.
From THE JETNIA PHENOMENON
Stupid son of a bitch. How dare he imply that I’m a whore? At my best friend’s engagement party no less. Classless son of a elderberry-munching hamster. Best Man? Yeah, that’s fucking debatable, my friend.
I marched my ass straight up to the lanky fucktard standing next to Dmitri — my bestie’s hubby to be — and addressed said numbnuts as nicely as I could, given the circumstances. Dimi just warned him with “Silence”, but as anyone could see, he wasn’t sated. The bastard had something against me. You know, I learned to keep my trap shut at the last Christmas party Dmitri and Kaylis hosted. Evidently assjacket here didn’t get the memo.
“No, Dmitri, it’s okay. Your friend is indeed entitled to his opinion of me. He’s ignorant.” I got into Wiley’s lean face, resisting the urge to pimpslap some respect into his smug mug. “You may think whatever you like about me. The fact is you know nothing about me. Nothing. You may see a tatted slut, bimbo, whatever blows your skirt up, but that’s because you are an ignorant fool. I don’t know what I did to piss you off last year, so unless you stop acting like an assjacket and tell me what the fuck is up, I won’t apologize.” Even in my anger I recognized this man smelled good. It just added fuel to the fire.
I almost touched his nose with my patriotic fingernail. Gods bless the Fourth of July with sanctioned pyrotechnics. After his snarky date remark, I planned on blowing the asshole right out of the water. “You don’t need to call me a whore, because unlike some people, I don’t cash in on free dinners in exchange for sex. I actually pay for myself, just so fucktard males can’t pull that kind of fucked up train of thought out of their pants with the fucking expectation of it being swallowed. Fuck assjackets like that. Like you. Chauvinist bastards like you are the downfall of a modern society evolution because you think its a God-given right to keep a female ‘in her place’, which is either on her back or in the kitchen, right? Fuck you, asshole. Why don’t you go have another beer?” I smiled when I spoke and used a pleasant tone. See, it is possible to tell someone to fuck off nicely.
I had nothing else to say to Mr. Choad.
After a little bat of my eyes and a cheeky grin, I turned around and snatched Kaylis by the arm to pull her inside the house with me as regally as I could, considering I wore nothing more than a bikini and sarong. If I stood out there one more minute with the jerkoff who suggested he buy me dinner so I’d get kinky with him, I’d probably rip the elastic waistband from his undies and McGuyver a garrote. Bad idea, considering asshole is not just a fucking scumbag, but a law enforcement officer as well. Yay oh fucking yay.
“I hate men. Fucking overabundance of testosterone makes them assholes.” It’s an evolutionary fact. Machismo and all that stupid posturing crapola. Under my breath I said, “At least vibrators don’t talk back.” Except for that delightful hum.
Redheaded and pale, Kaylis looked concerned about everything. Her one downfall is the penchant for over-thinking, Friends since college years, her steadfast nature helps me to channel some sort of normalcy.
“Want me to find out what his issue is, Jet? Because I have never heard him ever talk like that. Way not cool. You are not a bimbo, Jet. You are a serial monogamist.”
I laughed on the inside. I’m in a committed relationship with BoB, my battery operated boyfriend. He keeps me happy as long as he gets fed AA’s on a regular basis. “I don’t give a shit what he calls me. But to do that at a party without deliberate provocation is fucked up. What did I say to him to set him off? Jesus, I learned my lesson from that misery of a mistletoe-decked party. I’ve been behaving, dammit. Can I go chug a beer? No. I have to behave. See the things I do for you, Kaylis? You say behave, so I behave and yet Trouble finds me. My deodorant must be magnetic or something. Want to sniff my pits and tell me if I’m attracting assholes?”
“What exactly did you say to his girlfriend at the Christmas party?”
The urge to roll my eyes took over. “I told her she needed to take the stick out of her ass and live a little because Heaven isn’t in the clouds when one dies, its here on Earth as we live. We make our own Heaven. She disagreed with me and we ended up talking Biblical scholars and evidently Bible Thumpers hate it when Atheists know more about ancient writings from early saints than they do. Why is it that people assume the Church advocated for celibacy from the get-go? Don’t they know it was Saint Augustine that said celibacy makes for a stronger faith in God?” I couldn’t repress a sigh. “And people wonder why I hold organized faith as hokum. The sheeple who supposedly know more than me don’t even know why their saints got canonized in the first place. And her, in particular… incredibly ignorant. She was such a tight ass that if he stuck a lump of coal up her ass during foreplay, by the time she managed to fake an orgasm, she’d pop out a diamond.”
I continued on, “He never entered the conversation. Not once. In no way, shape or form. I don’t know what his problem is with me. I only dropped knowledge on her… don’t know why it hurt him.”
A tiny frown knit between Kay’s brows as she replied, “Like two weeks after the Christmas party, she cheated on him. Ended up moving in with the fling. Wiley was going to propose on Valentines. He already had the ring and everything. He’s still upset at that.”
So… I get to be the fucker’s verbal punching bag because his ditz of a girlfriend ditched his ass? Any wonder why? “Well, then I did them both a favor. She got spared from a misogynistic asshole and he got away from a hypocrite who was both ignorant and intolerant. Could you imagine the freakazoid they would breed in their eagerness to fulfill tradition?” I faked a shudder. “I have done society a favor. I saved the world from a hypocritedemic.”
Kaykay, ever the diplomat replied, “That may be, but that doesn’t nullify his anger. He loved her. And if you told her to extract the stick from her ass, and then he asks you if the stick has been removed from his ass, one could easily grasp the conversation they had, don’t you think?”
What those two dill-weeds did in their spare time is none of my business, especially if the ass-play was consensual. Fucker doesn’t need to take his bad mood out on me. I shrugged my shoulders and tilted my head. “Maybe. But I’m not the reason she cheated on him. That’s on her. It was her choice. He cannot blame me for that. I never said she should cheat. Just live a little. How much you wanna bet if that’s the bug up his ass, he’s been wanting to grudge-fuck me ever since? I can see it happening. Skeevy bastard.” And now I want to grudge fuck him. Maybe ruin an orgasm and give him blue balls. Serves him right.
Kay frowned. “Well, obviously something got lost in translation. Chill out for a while in here, I’ll see what Dmitri has next on the agenda. Get on my laptop and watch scampering ferrets on YouTube or something. Let’s see if we can get this little wrinkle smoothed out before the finale.” Ah, fireworks and champagne to celebrate our nation’s liberty and the newly engaged couple’s want to leg shackle each other for tax breaks.
Gods Bless Amerika.
Ever the busy bee, Kay made her way outside to do whatever and I headed for her office. Yeah, I’d get on her laptop, not for YouTube though. My thoughts on entertainment veer toward the written word, not movie clips and people bored out of their gourd.
I’m a Browncoat at heart. I aim to misbehave. And Kaykay is known to hoard entertainment of the written sort on the laptop she invited me to pillage. Fuck ferrets scampering about. Gimme book.
Most especially, gimme a book I’m not supposed to read.
That as a carrot on a stick guided me to the room set aside as Kay and Dimi’s shared office. One can almost imagine the stripe of white tape running down the middle, separating the femme half from the masculine part. Her side: maple desk with matching chair and white ceramic holders of everything. The laptop. A small Army-green file cabinet sat in the corner with a printer on top. Oil pastels and silk paintings framed, bunches of viney things growing by the window.
His side: dark wood, framed lithographs, a full size desktop computer and a slot car track on a shelf right below eye level dedicated to housing the boy toy. A sharp turn in one corner led to a small hill then the last half of the track. Had to admire Dmitri’s ingenuity. That track settles bets and questions. The modern way of dueling in this household.
I got comfortable in Kay’s chair and turned on her laptop. When it booted to desktop, I ran a search for ‘novels’. Nothing. Figured Ms. Organization would have her work filed away somehow, neatly. Ran a search for ‘works in progress’.
A folder! Double-click later and I’m in like Flynn.
The contents are revealed in alphabetical list form. First entry, labeled A Note For Jet.
I smiled. Ah, a little love letter for me. Aren’t I special? How could I not enjoy the blatant invitation to click and read?
So I did just that, first with a smile on my face.
Jet, you Dewey Decimal-humping she-pirate;
You are wasting your time because I have password protected every single one of my manuscripts. Dmitri told me of your book-pirate tendencies and chocolate chip doubloons used to convince him of your evil and dark ways. So, go ahead and try to read something. But I promise you an empty-handed result. If I want you to read something, I’ll give it to you. Otherwise, make friends with YouTube.
Well, fuck me running with scissors. My smile evaporated. I’m not going to play Guess the Password. Got better things to do. Hmph.
YouTube my ass, if this is how she wants to play, fine. I don’t like being thwarted. And yeah, I know, it’s her intellectual property and whatnot, but hey, it’s entertainment, and that said, pretty decent entertainment.
I’m all for making statements. YouTube? Oh no, my friend. SexTube time. Maybe some gay bareback porn to bring levity to Kay’s dull life and cockblocking ways. Or something with a glory hole. Yeah. Glory hole time!
In all fairness, she invited me to play on her computer and cool off. So, in any regards, Kay should anticipate something, I mean, she wrote me a damn memo, calling me on my shenanigans.
Heh. I’m kinda proud of that, really.
I wouldn’t be me if I behaved nicely.
* * * *
So, there I was, shoulders hunkered down with my back to the door as I opened the internet browser and typed in a porn site. Clicked on the heading “Flavors” and perused my selection. Hmmmm. Solo Female, Gangbangs and Trains, Masturbation, Toys for Girls and Boys, Kink Factor 10, and See More… Which one to unleash upon Kay?
So a click and double-click, later, I find myself in a very interesting predicament of what sort of toys (Monster Cock Dildo) and the chosen orifice (Ass of Goatse. By the way, if you don’t know what Goatse is, just do not google it. Spare yourself the pain, my friend.)
I had the movie cued– the first three seconds showed a man in a white-tiled shower. The enclosure had a built-in seat and attached to that seat by a suction cup, none other than the said Monster Cock Dildo. Huge. Epic, even. And glittery purple.
As I started to shut the laptop, a voice behind me made itself known. “Am I interrupting quality time with yourself?”
I screamed like a little bitch. Seriously. Did not expect anyone to come into the office, let alone him. I jumped up and whirled around.“What the Hell are you doing here?” How long had he watched me watch porn to find something worthy of shocking Kay?
“I came to apologize. But I didn’t realize you were… busy.” Wiley nodded toward the now-closed laptop on the desk.
“That was not for me– it’s for Kaykay the next time she opens her laptop.” I sat back down, trying to calm my racing heart. He wanted to apologize? Fine. Whatever. And he can get his little guilt release and get away from me. I have mischief to attend.
“That’s what you do to your friends?” He wandered off to Dmitri’s side of the office and sat in the big computer chair, then wheeled himself over to me.
Crap. He’s getting comfortable. That means it’s going to be awhile. “Only when they thwart me. Otherwise I am the loyalist of compatriot.”
“Look, I wanted to say I’m sorry and offer an explanation. Being as you and I have been selected by Dmitri and Kaylis to stand up with them at their wedding, I’d like to offer a truce so we can move forward from this awkward point without messing up their big day.”
I couldn’t stop looking at this guy. Except for calling me a whore, Wiley was yummy. I don’t poach on other womens’ men, but I totally eyefucked him last Christmas. Tall with a wiry build. Fit, athletic. His navy tee-shirt fit snugly over biceps. Golden eyes peeping from behind wire-framed glasses kept me in focus. Dark blonde hair, clean cut. “I’m willing to listen to your terms for the truce.” Try as I might, I couldn’t resist watching his lips move when he spoke. As his smokey cologne floated over me in an intoxicating haze.
“Article the first: I apologize for calling and insinuating you were a diseased bimbo. You are not. You were a scapegoat for my bitterness. It was not acceptable and if my mother were here, I’d have a mouthful of Palmolive by now.”
“I accept the first article of your proposed truce.” He had a good point with not ruining Kay and Dimi’s wedding. That’s a shitty thing to do to friends. It’s taken years for Kay to achieve the level of happiness she has now. I won’t mess that up for her. “What’s the second article?”
“That is the article where I explain myself, because a simple ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it.” Wiley drew in a deep breath. His chest expanded and I got a nice view of toned pecs beneath his shirt. “I don’t even know where to begin. I was going to propose to my ex on Valentines. Instead she took off and moved in with some guy. I’m stoked for Dmitri having things work out for him, but I’m not a robot. I resent that my own plans for settling down were fubar and now get to sit shotgun while Dmitri does his thing. It pisses me off royally. Not that Dim’s getting married, but that my emotional investment went belly up when I thought it was sound.”
I raised a hand up. Kay was right. Glad we didn’t make a bet. I could be generous where the name calling is concerned. Heartbreak sucks. Big time. “Shit happens. I’ve been in a similar situation of being utterly demolished where someone I trusted betrayed me. I’m sorry for whatever part I may have played in your little drama, but for the record, I did not tell her to cheat. I just told her to live a little. Anyhow, yeah. You are forgiven. Been there, done that and it fucking sucked so I torched the teeshirt.” Danced in the moonlight, too. Stopped short of a chocolate voodoo doll. Jerk deserved one though.
A small smile encroached on Wiley’s sensuous lips. “What was your situation?”
“It was a relationship built on a lie. When I wanted more, I found out I wasn’t his first choice in mate because he was already married. Complete emotional investment into a man with no intention of returning a fraction of what I offered. Fucker is still miserable and married, but that’s his choice. Took a while to deal with the butthurt, but I moved on. Lesson learned.” Lesson being not to count on a man for happiness in the present or future. If I want happiness, I’ll make it happen. Screw depending on men. Screw putting up with bullshit one can live without.
Screw them in their ear with a shard of broken glass because depending on a man is like depending on an Alzheimer-addled elder trying to call 911 with an upside down TV remote. It is doomed to fail from the get-go.
Um, yeah. I’m a little bitter in the romance department.
“Well, thank you. And now article the third. Please don’t scar Kaylis with the porn you picked out.”
I laughed. “What? You don’t think she’ll like the purple monster cock?”
A smile flashed, and I marvelled anew at his clean cut, handsomeness as he spoke. “Can’t say. Don’t know exactly how her tastes run.”
“What type of porn would you suggest, then?” I’m just throwing this out there, but celibacy sucks. I think Wiley is attractive and his apology genuine. And if we put things behind us, then he’s fair game. If he wants to watch porn, cool. That’s my pun-intended opening.
“Something less shocking than a two-foot long glitter-dick and a gaping asshole.”
“So… self-sucking? That’s less offensive.”
“Bukkake?” Hate it, personally. But it does have great shock value.
Wiley shook his golden head. “No.”
“I’m at a loss here. Either give me an idea or Monster Cock it is.” I love weird conversations because they tend to be the most memorable.
“Are you in the habit of watching porn? You seem to know a lot about it.”
No judgement lurked in his voice. Can only imagine it’s the first time he spoke about porn to a woman, or least the first time in years if his last relationship was any indication. “I enjoy porn, specifically amateur porn because it looks like they are having a better time than in mainstream.” The look on his face prodded a question. “What, you don’t think women like watching people fucking as much as guys do?”
Wiley sat up in his seat and shook his head. “Honestly, no.”
“You know too many prudes.”
Wiley laughed, “I never thought of it in those terms.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Some people think it’s a strictly male thing. But its not. Visual stimuli works in both sexes. I love to watch porn.” Porn doesn’t let me down. BoB with dying batteries, however… well, yay for Mr. Hitachi.
“What sort of porno gets you off?”
You know, it doesn’t really strike me as odd that here Wiley and I sat discussing pornography and then for me to start cruising categories to illustrate how my tastes run. “Depends on my mood, really. My mainstay is this sort of thing.” I clicked on a voyeuristic video of a couple making love. Lots of kissing and caressing before the main event. It wasn’t the sex that I liked in these kinds of videos, but the sense of closeness. Celibacy as defined by my current situation means a total lack of intimacy. I think that’s what I miss most– not the dickin’, but all the delicious things that go with; mingling breath, listening to heartbeats and the warmth of someone close. That’s what I miss.
After a minute or two, I switched gears. “When I’m more frisky, I like this sorta action.” With that, I pulled up a glory hole video. There’s a sexual freedom fantasy of mine where sex is had by all of legal age and consenting disposition. Actually participating in a glory hole activity didn’t appeal to me, but watching others suck off and fuck someone they can’t see, I find arousing.
I turned and smiled at Wiley. “What sort of porn do you like?” Will he deny liking pornography? Some guys are like that. Then again, a lot more are proud of their affection for sexual stimuli.
Wiley nodded towards the laptop. “That’s working pretty well.” He sat with his legs crossed.
Turned and faced the screen. “She doesn’t know how to suck very well. She’s sloppy.”
“Do you consider yourself an expert on the topic?”
“I won’t say expert, but it’s not as bad as that.” The female in question looked somewhere between scraping teeth against dick and drowning in her own saliva. Not very sexy. Memories of my own oral adventures reminded me of the joy I take in bestowing head. And BoB isn’t appreciative of my efforts. I heaved a deep breath. “I need to stop watching porn.” My thin bikini top couldn’t conceal my excitement as nipples poked the fabric.
“You and me both. Long term celibacy sucks.”
My head whipped from watching oral sex to staring at Wiley in wonderment. “Can’t be as long as me.”
“My ex wanted to wait for her wedding night before having sex. So three years of second base. And she didn’t like me jerking off, because she viewed it as cheating.”
Don’t know how long they were together, but if it was a dry spell the entire time and then to go off and cheat… ouch. I felt bad for the guy. Much too good looking to be doomed to a celibate fate. I couldn’t have gone as long as I have without a partner if I didn’t have masturbation to rely upon. To be denied that as well? Heads would fucking roll as if I were channeling my inner Tudor.
A naughty thought began to form in my mind. Can’t remember the last time I was neck deep in a situation ripe for mischief. Needed to test the waters. But before I could do that, an amusing though crossed my mind and I couldn’t quell my chuckle.
“I was laughing at the thought of two sex-starved people, butthurt by those they once loved, stuck in the same room, watching porn–one scantily clad and aroused… and that’s it. Especially funny considering I was called a bimbo this afternoon and could very well fit the definition of that word at this moment.”
“Never thought of myself being in that situation. Almost like a bad porno plot.”
I giggled. “Yeah. But I’m better at giving head.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“If given the opportunity, would you want to know?” I gave him my come hither look.
Wiley’s golden eyes scanned me from bottom to top and lingered on my face. “I think I’d be a dumb shit if I didn’t take it, but I don’t quite feel right considering the words spoken earlier.”
“You don’t strike me as a dumb shit.” I smiled at him. “If you are honest in your apology, then I consider we have a clean slate. However, if you ever say something like that again, I will be civil to you in the presence of Kay and Dimi, and at all other times you can go fuck yourself with a garden rake’s slivered handle.” With my heart beating wildly, I arose from my seat and straddled his lap. He did not object. “I want to make something abundantly clear. I’m not looking for a relationship and I’m not looking to be a notch on someone’s belt. But being what the situation is currently, I am all for breaking my celibacy if you don’t mind breaking yours. I have no expectations other than a good time.”
I leaned in to kiss him, Wrapped my arms around his neck and sucked on his bottom lip. He returned the favor. I opened my mouth a little more and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue across my lips. I liked the way he kissed. Can’t remember the last time I locked lips with a handsome stranger.
His hands reached around and grabbed my ass, squeezing and caressing. I took that as a cue to gyrate my hips. Wiley moaned a little in excitement and it further encouraged me to mayhem.
I broke off our kiss and leaned back. With a wicked smile on my face, I untied my bikini top and tossed it on the desk. Wiley moved his hands from my derriere to my breasts, caressing and gently rolling my nipples between his fingers. They were already hard, and now, I ached for more than just foreplay.
With a brief kiss to Wiley’s lips, I stood up and made my way to the door to lock it from intrusion. Then I returned to Wiley, who at this time stood naked, his clothes pooled on the floor next to Kay’s desk.
“Sit back down.” As I walked across the room, I untied my sarong and the strings on my bikini bottom. I let them fall where they may. Wiley sat in the computer chair and I knelt before him. His cock was hard, but I’d get it harder. With that thought, I wrapped my lips around him and moaned. While I did that, I pressed my tongue hard against the bottom of his shaft and licked up and down while sucking.
Didn’t take long before Wiley moaned, “Yes, you are better than the glory hole girl.”
I looked up from my cock admiration to see Wiley looking at me in a dreamy way with his eyes half-closed. He throbbed between my lips and I’m not sure who was tormented more, he or I. Couldn’t resist it any more. I stopped sucking and paid some pointed attention to the tip of his cock, I broke off contact so I could stand and straddle his lap again. I wanted to be kissed and fucked at the same time.
As I slid down his shaft, Wiley nibbled on my neck and caressed my breasts before reaching around with one hand and grabbed my ass again, moving my hips back and forth. This time, I moaned into his mouth in delight. Its been too long since I felt this good, Thank the gods for my lack of impulse control.
Wiley moved his lips from my neck to my mouth. Sex was too brief– we both came fast and hard. I knew I was no where near sated despite my orgasm.
Kissed a path from Wiley’s mouth to his ear. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?” His voice, soft and velvety.
“Want to go back to my place?”
“What about Kaylis and Dim?”
Oh, yeah. Them. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to know we fucked on Dmitri’s computer chair.
“I don’t think they’d mind if it means we’re not making a scene., fighting or otherwise”
A moment passed. “Sounds good.”
What was I doing? Running off from my best friend’s engagement party to go bone the Best Man, that’s what I’m doing. Sex is like a potent elixir. Just a taste and it makes one thirst for more, enough to drown in it with a smile on one’s face. Tonight, Wiley and I would scratch each others seven-year itch and go back to normalcy in the morning.
Consequences be damned.
Let me know what you think! I love feedback 🙂
Want the scene from Kaylis’ point of view? Keep reading…
A mighty shindig shook the backyard’s canopy rafters the afternoon of July Fourth. It seemed like a bee hive, abuzz with activity. A group of men led by Dmitri stood by the barbeque being utilized as a stove with cast iron pots and pans atop. Beans simmered, as did applesauce. Various veggies got the grill treatment, as did chicken for those less adventurous to try the boar. A few feet away, Wiley’s Caja China roaster oozed out the smell of cooking pork and the promise of crackling skin.
The roaster seemed nothing more than a wooden box on wheels lined with aluminum sheeting. Inside, a grill held the meat, and then to close and cook it all, the recessed lid which held charcoal briquettes nestled into place. Wiley called it his “Cuban microwave.” Inside resting upon a steel grate, our wild porky friend.
The back door into the garage stood open as a constant stream of people meandered through the house and out back. Two wee kegarators in the garage also helped to make the traffic flow through there.
People frolicked in the pool while others sat at tables shaded by trees, chatting and laughing to their hearts content. Inside the air-conditioned house, a marathon of Firefly episodes played on plasma for those in the mood to cruise the ‘verse with their favorite space cowboy-pirates.
My family gathered for this shindig… Willow, of course and her little sister, my Aunt Daisy with her second husband Pat and their progeny; Anita Ann, Lydia Louise and Kiyah Kathleen. My mother’s fraternal twin, Uncle Rowan and his wife, Aunt Sheena floated on tubes in the pool. Little Row and his sister Rosie kicked a soccer ball-shaped ice cream maker around the grass with Lyddy and Kiyah. They ranged in age from seven to eleven. Grampa sat in his wheelchair with Wiley’s dog at the side and scratched the black lab behind its ear. The lab looked singularly devoted to Grampa.
“If that dog was a cat, she’d be purring.” I couldn’t resist smiling as Grampa and the dog grinned.
“Reminds me of old Buddy. Best dog I ever had.” Buddy the Lab was Grampa’s duck hunting dog from my youth. Smart, sweet and loyal. Happy memories were associated with that black mutt of awesomeness.
Jet too, wandered around in her star-spangled bikini, looking somewhat like a tatted Wonder Woman missing her golden lasso. This year, her cleavage devoid of a shot glass. She slung a sarong she painted to look like the night sky over a forest around her hips, and helped to keep everyone’s drinks topped off. Also, as a seeming first for her, Jet wore no shoes and no longer seemed an Amazon when standing next to me.
Dmitri invited Bryant, Wiley and a few of his chosen work team who were like family to him, and their corresponding significant others. Two of his old high school friends joined us as well. Not a huge shebang all together, but lively and fun. Those who were closest to us were there, and that was peachy keen if you ask me.
When dinner time rolled around, Wiley and Dmitri both wore huge smiles as they lifted the charcoal-filled roaster lid to reveal the pig. With silicone-gloved hands, they hefted the grill containing the porky entree, complete with red apple in its mouth. We had no platter large enough to contain the beast, so layers of blank newsprint paper were spread on the glass-topped table and the porcine centerpiece put into place. Before it went into the roaster, I placed herbs in a cheesecloth sack held against the pig’s insides to lend an aromatic scent to the flesh. Piggy injected and basted in an infusion of coconut milk, ginger, garlic and black pepper gave it a tropical taste. It met Dmitri’s approval of Filipino inspired lechon.
Wiley broke a piece of ear off and popped it into his mouth with a smile. “Damn, Dim, this brings back memories…”
Dmitri replied, “I know. Remember that little joint in Manilla, the Pooti Shack? This pig brings that back. Ah, the divine Miz Pooti. She was great with meat. Little Miss Pooti, too. She could handle my meat every day.”
Great, glad the Marine vets approved of my recipe gleaned from the internet, although my curiosity got stoked by the Miz/Miss Pooti remarks. Was Dmitri aiming for double entendre?
“The Divine Miz Pooti? Is this a story for civilian ears?” Curiosity evident in my tone. I placed a huge salad bowl of spinach, bacon, candied almonds and blue cheese upon the table and retrieved the stack of paper plates from Jet’s grasp. She also held three tankards holding the flatware, looking a bit like a South Beach Beer Wench with a bottle of balsamic vinaigrette secured in her armpit for transportation.
Dmitri actually giggled at what I can only assume was the blatant tone of inquisitiveness my voice held. “Miz Pooti was a tiny little old Filipino woman. Not a single tooth in her mouth. She’d make passes at all the Marines who came to eat the lechon she’d whip up with her grandkids turning a pig on a spit over an open fire. She really liked Wiley. Little Miss Pooti was her granddaughter who was set to keep the family legacy alive. Perhaps she got her grandmother’s lechon genes because every time I went to the Pooti Shack, it tasted awesome.”
“Shut up Dmitri.” Wiley’s golden eyes shone with humor as his lean face brandished a smile. “She loved me and my ass in fatigues. Waited all her years for a handsome young warrior who made her weak in the knees. She always gave me the choice bits of lechon because I let her grab my ass. A lusty old woman. Give her a kiss on the cheek and she’d beam with sunshine all afternoon, while fattening you up on her roasted pig. Give her a kiss on each cheek, and she’d give you all the beer or cola you could guzzle to go with the lechon. I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her on the mouth though… not sure I could handle her heady delights if she slipped me a little tongue action.” He laughed. “I have very fond memories of that Filipino minx.”
“Yeah, you do recall the time she smacked your ass with the flat side of her giant cleaver, right? And you fell into the fire pit. That was minx-like.”
“No, I nearly fell into the fire. I bent over to pick up the napkin she dropped then bam! She aimed for the taint. The lechon saved me. I owe that pig a debt of gratitude. Miz Pooti never smacked my ass after that, just stuck to pinches and grabs. I considered it a good trade off.”
“She didn’t want you ruining another lechon and corrupting her business. Then how’d she retire to Hawaii and make you her cabana boy?”
“The love Miz Pooti had for me was pure and unsullied. Like the sound of roasted pig skin between the teeth. Don’t dirty it, Dim.”
I studied Wiley during his conversation with Dmitri. Usually he carried himself with a military bearing; life was a series of missions to accomplish in the most direct way possible. He stood at ease during leisure time with hands clasped behind his back, at least when I’ve seen him. Tall, must have been at least six foot four. His dark blonde hair always kept in a clean buzz cut with a little extra on top and wire frame glasses perched on his hawk-like nose.
I welcomed his addition of the roaster as it helped to make an important day even more memorable with the novelty of a whole roasted pig with an apple wedged in its gaping maw.
The Feast went well. There wasn’t much left over but the scrapings of bowls and a decimated skeleton of a pig. Looked like wolves had joined us for dinner.
With a glance, I looked to Dmitri sitting and laughing with Bryant and Wiley. He planned to announce our engagement after dinner, but I wasn’t sure when. After the entree and before dessert is all I knew.
But now, Wiley’s sixth or seventh home-brewed beer in hand gotten him to the point of wide grins, loud laughs and random ideas. He looked relaxed.
“Dim! What is this beer you brewed?” Wiley held the pint glass aloft, as if to memorize those tiny bubbles within the intoxicating elixir.
“That’s the Scotch Brown Ale. How’s it setting with you?” Dmitri, ever proud of his brewing, beamed at the reverent tone of his buddy’s voice.
“I wish I were a Hobbit, as this is what I would heft in my tankard should I find myself in a Scots pub.”
This was a new version of Wiley. An intoxicated and mildly philosophical version of a former hard-ass. “So you’d only drink it if you were a Hobbit?” I couldn’t resist the opening he gave.
“No, but I think the intoxicating effects would be more intense with one of less body mass. But I could be wrong. For all I know, Hobbits grew up drinking beer and could probably out drink a frat boy.”
Jet replied, “No, the Dwarves drink ale like its water. If I were to put a bet on who’d get blitzed first, it would be on the Hobbits, hands down. No matter how traumatized Frodo happened to be from the horror of The Ring, Gimli could pound more, longer.” She threw a glance my way. “The Silmarillion and the like were my reading fodder for years.”
Addressing Wiley, Dmitri asked, “Want to try the Canadian Amber?”
Wiley not yet removed his predator gaze from Jet who sat to the left of me. He ignored Dmitri and asked Jetnia in a very deliberate voice, “Does it look like I’ve taken the stick out of my ass to your satisfaction?” Irritation reigned supreme on his face as he looked at my Maid of Honor with intense dislike and more than a hint of loathing.
I’m guessing he’s still pissed about the Christmas party… or else he’s just a dickhead drunk.
Jet bestowed him with a scathing glance. “Don’t know, sweetheart. Stand up and bend over so I can get a look. Did you lose the leg to your tripod or something? Just warning you, I’m not pulling it out if it’s still up there. That’d be a dinner date sort of activity. You pay, of course.” A glittering smile of Fuck You Very Much! Then the gauntlet got chucked. She puckered up and blew Wiley a sarcastic kiss.
Jet is not known to be gracious, well-behaved or nice. When pushed, she pushes back twice as hard before kicking shins. I’ve never witnessed Wiley drunk, and I didn’t know if this qualified. Either way, friction was evident and if at all possible, I’d rather not have those chosen as Maid of Honor and Best Man be at each others throat. Not today, at least, you know, when we announce our engagement to our brohams. I looked to Dmitri to see if he happened to be concerned about his intoxicated friend trying to start shit with a natural-born scrapper.
Dmitri looked alarmed if the height of his eyebrows and the stern set of his lips meant anything special.
Time to break out the fire extinguisher. “Hey Jet, can you help me in the house?” Perhaps removing her from the situation would give Dmitri a moment to talk his buddy back down to being congenial once again. I stood and picked up a huge salad bowl to return to the kitchen for sanitation.
“Sure.” A regal nod of her dark head and Jet arose to walk with me back towards the kitchen’s air-conditioned haven, pots and pans in hand.
“What was that about?” I whispered as we ambled upon the patio to the deck steps.
“Dunno. But he started it.” Jet didn’t bother to whisper. Guess she was getting in touch with her child inside.
“Did not. You started it back in December. Worst Christmas ever. Thanks by the way.” Wiley didn’t bother to whisper either. In fact, his voice rang with a certain authoritative tone that carried over the din of surrounding conversations. All eyes within earshot were upon the intoxicated lawman and miffed librarian.
Jet turned around. “I didn’t start anything with you, mister. If I had, I’m damn sure I would remember. I don’t know what your damage is, but if you do have some sort of bowel distress, I suggest you talk to a proctologist or psychologist about such a personal issue. I lack the credentials needed to understand why you are fixating on acting like an asshole.” She resumed walking up the steps with me. “Come on, Kaykay, let’s get this done.”
Wiley didn’t know when to stop. Maybe it was the beer, perhaps the seven months of stewing… whatever it was that bothered him, it didn’t slow down his mouth’s horse as it ran straight towards the figurative burning barn. “You know, I know exactly what kind of dame you are. You’re the kind of gal who butts into conversations to add some snarky commentary to anyone within earshot.” Caleb Boldton cocked his head to the side and snarled, “And from the looks of it, a tatted, diseased bimbo. I would say whore, but I don’t know if you have to be paid to get nailed. I suppose in a modern sense, me buying you dinner as suggested earlier would constitute a form of prostitution, right? Free meal then you get all kinky?
Dmitri put a hand on Wiley’s shoulder and issued a stern warning of “Dude, chill…” didn’t do much to mellow the fuming giant.
Jet mumbled/growled, “Oh, that is fucking it!” and stalked off to the house only to return a few moments later wearing her flame red platform heels with tiny white stars.
Thank God, no cast iron pan in hand.
With a catwalk saunter, she strode towards the two men. “No, Dmitri, it’s okay. Your friend is indeed entitled to his opinion of me. He’s ignorant.” Jet stalked up to Wiley. She got in his face as much as she could without physically touching him, and because of the heels, stood eye to eye to the pissed off Game Warden. She spoke low and clearly to Wiley in a deceivingly friendly voice.
“You may think whatever you like about me. The fact is you know nothing about me. Nothing. You may see a tatted slut, bimbo, whatever blows your skirt up, but that’s because you are an ignorant fool. I don’t know what I did to piss you off last year, so unless you stop acting like an assjacket and tell me what the fuck is up, I won’t apologize. So what bug is up your posterior, Mr. Party Foul?”
She leaned in and raised a finger to almost touch his nose with a bright blue nail. “Oh! I needed to share this with ya before I forget. You don’t need to call me a whore, because unlike some females I don’t cash in on free dinners in exchange for sex. I actually pay for myself, just so fucktard males can’t pull that fucked up train of thought out of their pants with the fucking expectation of it being swallowed. Fuck assjackets like that. Like you. Chauvinist bastards like you are the downfall of a modern society evolution because you think its a God-given right to keep a female in her place. Fuck you, asshole. Why don’t you go have another beer?” This all was said with a friendly grin on her face.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I know who I’d like to nominate for the Best Actress Oscar.
With a final bat of her eyes and another bright shining smile, the battleship Jetnia turned and sailed my way only to grab my arm to tow me inside the cool recesses of the house’s sanctum.
I felt cold. Icy cold. Not the blissful-oh-God-Thank-You-For-Air-Conditioning kind of chill. It veered decidedly towards terrible chemistry resulting in explosive personalities getting set off before the main fireworks with no fire extinguishers in a ten mile radius.
It had been a good eight years since I heard a dressing down issued by her with such venom in her voice. As I set the wooden salad bowl upon the counter, Jet’s voice broke the silence.
“I hate men. Fucking overabundance of testosterone makes them de facto assholes.” Jet stated it as fact. In some regards I agree with her… but then all I have to do is imagine being male and I’m certain I’d feel the same towards females. Can’t live with some, can’t live without some. Jet said under her breath, “At least vibrators don’t talk back.”
Thoughts flew about my mind. A) I did not like Wiley insinuating Jet was a whore. She liked to strut her stuff, but when it came to dating, her taste runs very selective. The woman is content being single. B) Possible repercussions of those selected by my beau and I to stand up with us while we spoke our vows potentially destroying the wedding ceremony itself by some verbal missile right on target at a most inopportune moment. C) Maybe eloping would be better? D) Is Wiley an in-the-closet douchebag?
“Want me to find out what his issue is? Because I have never heard him ever talk like that.” Granted, that didn’t mean much. I had only met him a handful of times. “That was not cool. You are not a bimbo, Jet. You are a serial monogamist.” I also wanted things more at ease when the engagement got announced. The way things spiraled out of control with anger issues and verbal poison made this party a bit more awkward than the last Christmas party. Wasn’t kosher. Thankfully the younglings weren’t close enough to hear Jet’s rampant use of her favorite four-letter word.
“I don’t give a shit what he calls me. But to do that at a party without deliberate provocation is fucked up. What did I say to him to set him off? Jesus, I learned my lesson from that misery of a mistletoe-decked party. I’ve been behaving, dammit. Can I go chug a beer? No. I have to behave. See the things I do for you, Kaylis? You say behave, so I behave and yet Trouble finds me. My deodorant must be magnetic or something. Want to sniff my pits and tell me if I’m attracting assholes?”
“What exactly did you say to his girlfriend at the Christmas party?” Inquiring minds want to know.
Jet rolled her eyes and leaned back against the cement counter top. With a sigh and her arms crossed over her chest, she spoke, “I told her she needed to take the stick out of her ass and live a little because Heaven isn’t in the clouds when one dies, its here on Earth as we live. We make our own Heaven. She disagreed with me and we ended up talking Biblical scholars and evidently Bible Thumpers hate it when Atheists know more about ancient writings from early saints than they do. Why is it that people assume the Church advocated for celibacy from the get-go? Don’t they know it was Saint Augustine that said celibacy makes for a stronger faith in God?”
She sighed. “And people wonder why I hold organized faith as hokum. The sheeple who supposedly know more than me don’t even know why their saints got canonized in the first place. And her, in particular… incredibly ignorant. She told me I was going to burn on the Devil’s pitchfork, that I was a tool of Satan for informing her of the knowledge springing forth from her religion. Can you imagine? Resorting to petty name calling when one loses a debate? Shit, it was like tolerance training for political hopefuls. She was such a tight ass that if he stuck a lump of coal up her ass during foreplay, by the time she managed to fake an orgasm, she’d pop out a diamond.”
I guess that stick up her ass was actually a diamond probe.
Jet continued on, “He never entered the conversation. Not once. In no way, shape or form. I don’t know what his problem is with me. I only dropped knowledge on her… don’t know why it hurt him.” Jet looked truly baffled as to why Wiley would try to rip her head off and shit down the stump of her neck.
I debated for a nanosecond before telling Jet what I knew of the situation after the Infamous Yuletide Festivities. “Like two weeks after the Christmas party, she cheated on him. Ended up moving in with the fling. Wiley was going to propose to her on Valentines. He already had the ring and everything. He’s still upset at that.” To put it mildly.
“Well, then I did them both a favor. She got spared from a misogynistic asshole and he got away from a hypocrite who was both ignorant and intolerant. Could you imagine the freakazoid they would breed in their eagerness to fulfill tradition?” She faked a shudder. “I have done society a favor. I saved the world from a hypocritedemic.”
In a way, I felt bad for Wiley. Cheaters suck– I could understand his angst on that level alone. And I didn’t think Jet making light of the situation helped. Although Wiley’s ex didn’t make a great impression on us all, who are we to dictate whom Wiley would be happy with? Then again, I consider myself a romantic at heart which I consider my own personal bias. “That may be, but that doesn’t nullify his anger. He loved her. And if you told her to extract the stick from her ass, and then he asks you if the stick has been removed from his ass…. one could easily grasp the conversation they had, don’t you think?”
Jet shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head to the side. “Maybe. But I’m not the reason she cheated on him. That’s on her. It was her choice. He cannot blame me for that… I never said she should cheat. Just live a little. How much you wanna bet if that’s the bug up his ass, he’s been wanting to grudge-fuck me ever since? I can see it happening. Scuzzy bastard.”
“Well, obviously something got lost in translation. Chill out for a while in here, I’ll see what Dmitri has next on the agenda. Get on my laptop and watch scampering ferrets on YouTube or something. Let’s see if we can get this little wrinkle smoothed out before the finale.” I hate drama. It wasn’t welcome on this day or invited to this party.
Although I am proud to say that at least Jet didn’t poke her finger into Wiley’s chest. She doesn’t need an “assaulting an officer” on her record, if she doesn’t have one on there already.
With her, you really can’t tell.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before venturing out to the backyard. The wall of heat from late summer sun hit my body as soon as I slid the sliding glass door open enough to pass through. Made my way back to Dmitri and Wiley to discuss this lovely turn of event. Although Dmitri smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. Wiley looked a tad calmer than before, and when he saw my expression, frowned and looked away.
As I neared, Wiley spoke low to me. “I didn’t mean to go off like that.”
“I figured as much, because I’ve never heard you talk like that. I’m astounded, Mr. Boldton. For shame. Such things out of your mouth are truly shocking.” With a sarcastic sigh, I continued. “Most horrible of all is that my best friend is truly bewildered as to why you’d verbally attack her, impugn her honor in addition to making a scene at an engagement party. Best Man isn’t a suggestion, Wiley. Jet has been trying hard to behave today because she learned her lesson already at Christmas.”
“I don’t know what about her rubs me the wrong way, and I am sorry.” Wiley did sound genuinely contrite. I softened my demeanor towards him.
“You know, there’s speculation as to why you blew your gasket… and its not me you should apologize to… you didn’t insinuate I was a diseased whore.” I shook my head like a disappointed mom. “You don’t have to like her, Wiley. But please don’t pick fights. Or call names. Like, not until the marriage license is signed and filed. After that, we can sell tickets for the showdown between you and Jet. I’ll do some tee-shirts to commemorate such a battle.”
Wiley lifted his hand to show me that the pint of beer was now replaced with a bottle of water. “I know I should, but I don’t want to apologize to her.”
“Why?” I couldn’t resist asking.
Dmitri butted in. “This is that picking up of the shovel thing I told you about, Wiley. Kay won’t quit until she’s satisfied.”
“I don’t want to apologize to someone I consider catty and bitchy.”
“Cats learn to defend themselves from a young age and dogs are loyal.”
Wiley shook his head in apparent disbelief of my statement. “Of course you’ll defend her, she’s your friend.”
“I defended you against her when I was inside a bit ago. And for the record, when I first met Jet, I thought she was a stuck up uber-cunt from Hell.”
Dammit, why did I not think to have my camera ready for his reaction to my choice words? Bug eyes and a dropped jaw. Dmitri laughed.
“Miss Woods, I dare say you take my breath away with your colorful language!” Gotta admit, Wiley does a better impression of an offended Southern Belle than myself. “Why did you consider her a bitch when you met her?”
“Same reason you do. She’s abrasive, loud-mouthed and flippant about sacred topics. A know-it-all who will tell you straight up why you are wrong… I dreaded having to work with her on a project because I saw how she spoke to others.” The Then Jet was a Grade A Bitch of the Highest Order. High Priestess of Bitchatude. The Now Jet is a much more cuddly and sweet incarnation of attitude. “But I got over myself and found a wavelength that I could surf with her.”
The cosmos brought the SheWench and I together– well, a lunar eclipse that I didn’t want to miss and made my frustration evident when it happened to fall on a school night – night class did have downfalls, after all. To compliment the celestial awesomeness, a meteor shower. I eyeballed the clock in the warehouse of a classroom only to mumble under my breath, which Jet snarked a reply that resulted with us both laughing at the idiocy of screenprinting on a hot night when the ink sets up too fast and clogs the screen. We both got kicked out that night for the classroom-disrupting gigglefit we couldn’t quell. Didn’t matter, we still got to see the celestial show.
Thus our friendship formed.
“I don’t think there exists a wavelength that she and I could meet on. Ever. That gal is a taco short of a combo plate.”
So be it. Stubborn male. “All I’m asking for is no name calling or fighting at nuptial related social gatherings. Is that too much to ask? She’ll behave if you behave. And she’s not that bad… Jet and Dmitri get along just fine.”
Wiley closed his golden eyes and sighed deeply. “I suppose I can apologize for saying crude things about her.”
“In front of people at a party.” I think he forgot that part.
Dmitri added, “In front of people at his best friend’s engagement party.”
“Fuck you, Dmitri. I already said I was going to apologize to her.”
“Temper, temper, Yotie.”
“In your ear with the fucking, Dmitri. In your ear. And stop smiling.”
“Yotie?” Never heard Wiley referred to that before.
Dmitri grinned even more. “Yeah, Yotie. Like in Wile E. Coyote… always losing ground and getting himself in trouble before he knows it. Feet too fast for his brain. Or mouth, as the case may be.”
I smiled wide, glad to have gotten things somewhat worked out before Jet had any idea I pledged her good behavior to someone she’d gut with a dessert spoon.
Ah, to life’s wee adventures which keeps one on their toes!