Still A Virgin?! - Kobby Ben (red white royal blue TXT) 📗

wasn't the only one who loved it, all our readers did and in our mailbag we've got thousands of letters on your brilliant article, Sniffing His Underwear. Newchic has made a decision, and we didn't only give you the job, but a three-page space," she gripped her tightly when she was about to go for another jump "now with this info I hope you don't cry anymore and scream, 'cause if you do, I am taking back my job and giving it to someone who doesn't scream so loud."

Danni smiled happily after hearing all that news "Thank You." She stood up, taking her bag "I promise I won't disappoint." She said through a broad grin.

"Start by not screaming."

"At least can't I do just a little?" Danni implored.

"Just a little." Cathleen agreed after thought.

"Aargh!" Danni screamed louder in excitement.

"I told you I will take my job back." Cathleen threatened.

Danni rushed out of her office. She walked briskly past the receptionist who awarded her scowl for yelling past her desk. She smiled excitingly walking down the street, sashaying to the tune of Florence and the Machine's Dog Days Are Over which had hit playback in surround sound in her mind. She loved Florence Welch (-though she couldn't afford an album-yet) Dog Days Are Over was like a female empowerment track.Free-lancing days are over.Staying up all night wondering which big-time mag was going to sign you, was over. All the bitchy editors who wanted you to sell the rights to your article so they turned up as the creative minds behind them, were over.

Newchic. New beginning. New life. New shoes.

Never had she felt this pleased with her life as a virgin.

(Florence and the Machine-Dog Days Are Over)

 

 

"Alberto Cavallini, charming, sexy, bachelor-not for long, is getting married," Alberto read from a tabloid in his kitchen making coffee, "who's the lucky girl?"

Where do these morons get all their information from? he thought to himself laughing seeing the picture attached. It was him in a white suit at the Emmys with a silhouette figure of a woman hooked under his arm.

Now his secret was no secret anymore, he thought, aiming the tabloid in the bin.

He plugged  the coffee-maker into the socket, after filling the filter basket, adding water, he dragged his feet lazily across the wooden floor, moving into the hall of his Venice Beach house.

He fell onto a sofa and supported his head on the armrest, waiting for his always bad coffee to be brewed as he thought about Danielle for the first time in weeks. As bad as it sounded, he had work, work, work, which hardly left him time to think of her, moreover, get off thinking of her. Who said being a high profile Hollywood director was an easy task?

He had met her on a dating site years ago-couldn't remember which particular one since he'd been trooping from chatroom to chatroom when he got bored-and yes, their relationship had already hit low octane. He had loved her because of her sense of humour (and a guy like him needed that, since he hardly showed his teeth for a laugh), she was also smart and hot. Her reddish-brownish short hair gave her an exotic edge and so did her sober tiny brown eyes which always had a glint even when she frowned.

After a year of getting to know each other through Skyping and tweeting pictures of their every activity, their relationship status transformed from friendship to lovers after a proposal he'd made along with a Facebook gift package. The next year, their first physical date came on, as bad as he'd wanted, she never uttered the words, "How about you come in for coffee?". She'd told him she did free-lancing for low key magazines, after years of lying she was a hawt flight attendant and took off her boob add-ons. He had confessed he wasn't a mechanic, revealing he was the Alberto Cavallini. Their relationship had blossomed hitting the local pubs while trying to stay clear of tthe paparazzi, and arguing on topics like, 'Who is funnier? Jimmy Fallon or Steve Caroll?'. After a long while, she invited him into her crammed-up house, and after coffee, he made the first move, but her friend-walked in on them. He had found out the house was her friend's and after more interruptions from her, he had had it, he asked her to move in with him.

Then he had wanted to have sex with her, but she will complain she was tired-which terrified him because all she did was stay home and flicker through TV channels emptying his cellar. Sometimes, they would be kissing each other hungrily and tearing their clothes off, then she'd doze off right when they were about the third base.

After a quadrillion attempts of trying and getting more desperate as time passed, she noticed his frustration for wanting so bad to do the deed with her, and as though the thought was nefarious after three months of living together, she packed out and moved back with her friend.

On a date last month, October, he'd asked her to be his wife. Partly because he loved her and duh, she knew perfectly well that sex was part of the deal, nevertheless she had agreed and made him the happiest man on earth. It was all she could do after making him one of the horniest guys in the world. The Hollywood wedding, which was being handled by a celebrity planner and his personal assistant who didn't want to take her leave for the up-coming holiday season, was scheduled for three weeks, but still he couldn't wait to get the issue of the deed over and done with. He had stayed faithful for long-but he had to admit, the reason was because her was a good soloist.

He picked up his phone from a table messed up with more trashy tabloids of news about him he had failed to throw away since, and dialed his fiancée's number. He still found it strange he had kicked her off speed dial, but he was a Hot-shot Hollywood movie director, he couldn't afford not having celebrities on speed dial.

He smiled when she answered her phone, "Alberto." To his surprise her voice had no heart-warming effect as it used to.

"Danni." His thick Italian brogue interfered with his English.

"'Honey, I had the job!" she screamed in excitement. "Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, it is." He answered not caring in the least. He wasn't even sure she could keep the job she had dreamed of so much when they tied the knot. Playing Hollywood wife was job enough.

"You don't sound happy." Somehow she noticed.

"I am happy," he denied forcing a chuckle "Let's celebrate tonight." He blurted out, although that wasn't quite what he had in mind, but he was Alberto Cavallini. He was loved because he could take up any genre of script with the lowest budget, and make a box office smashing hit out of it.

"That's not going to work Alberto, I've got to be planning on my next big article."

"C'mon," he hated to be denied, but Danni was the best at it, starting from her not wanting them to have sex with him unless they were married "There will be candles, strawberries, Italian cuisine-plus, I will be cooking."

"Sounds tempting, but sorry." He could almost see her shake her head obstinately "I have got work to do."

"Hey, I make a mean Fettucine." He continued in his persuasion "Are you going to turn it down, me down, us down? Danni you know we are getting married in three weeks. Now isn't that enough for you to agree."

She sighed-sign of defeat, "Okay." She finally agreed, "Just promise I will come out alive. I just had this job, I don't want to be dying because I ate something you made."

He smiled, did he say he loved her mainly because of her sense of humor?-besides her boobs and good looks.  "I promise if there's anyone having a chance at death it's me, I will be the one handling all the fire trying to make the best food."

"Bye." He sensed her smile, getting off the sofa to head for his coffee.

"I will be waiting." She hanged up and he jumped in excitement.

He punched speed dial one and reached his P.A "Reina." He spoke, "I need C.A's finest Italian chef." Before she got curious he disconnected.

"Ah." He sighed pleasingly sipping his coffee, he was finally going to make love to her-and complete the love-making.

 

 

 

Danielle got to Orilla Del Mar district, the fine East Beach neighborhood that had more women in bikinis than Macy's swimwear department.

She arrived home with her feet hurting, who said it would be easy walking in 3.5 inch Louboutins? She couldn't even make ten blocks in flats. She dreaded any form of exercise, but that's what she got for leaving her purse (who was she kidding? She couldn't even chase an ice cream van with the money she had in her purse).

She took off her heels stepping into her best friend, Shelly Green's house. As always she was welcomed by its crammed hall which was just like the other two bedrooms, bathrooms and kitchen of the house. It had rugs everywhere, two sofas, a small TV surrounded by a sound system, shelves with loads of books and a desk which she didn't use anymore with a P.C and a couple of files. The house wasn't as cozy as Alberto's, but it held a lot of excitement and life than his did.

Who knew what two women living alone could do in the dark, broad-day light and at dusk?

Shelly walked out of the kitchen with a laptop in her hand and on seeing Danni at the door, "Hey, I wasn't expecting you." She said feigning chagrin "I thought being out to get a job meant looking for a place of your own too."

Danielle smiled at her sarcasm, she'd gotten used to it all these years "Why the swimsuit?" she asked watching her flaunt her perfectly tanned petite body in a black nylon-lycra.

"Just because I am hitting fifty, doesn't mean my days of partying are over." She replied sitting on the sofa.

She wasn't hitting fifty. She was fifty. Even though she hated to admit it, she looked younger than ten years off her age. With the help of Botox, the face-lifts creams, foundations that promise anti-wrinkling and all the yoga and Pilates, she could pass as mid-thirties. She feared ageing and did everything not to be called Granny. Oh-and yes, she didn't have children-and who could deny that wasn't the best way to prevent the Granny title?

Doing all these, one might think she was a socialite like Paris Hilton or the fabulous designer, Kimora Lee Simmons or a terrific show host like Cat Deeley. Rather, she was just an author (yes, author as in Nora Roberts-well, except the looks).

"So," Danni came by her on the couch distracting her writing "Aren't you going to ask me?"

She looked confused "Oh," she let out in realization "Are you a virgin?" She relaxed back in the couch in mockery "Sorry, I already know the answer to that."

"I did it with some random guy on the streets." Danielle blurted out in annoyance offering a faux smile "It was hot. And man, it was hard to count the o's."

"Really?" Shelly grinned to share her excitement.

"No." she replied brusquely "Won't you ask if I got the job?"

"Oh," she grimaced, "that."

"About the job," she persisted when she wasn't asking "I had it!" she snarled at her "And I would have been so thrilled if you asked."

"Honey," she patted her shoulders, "the only thing I care about these days is you finding another place."

"I am getting married in three weeks, at least be happy to spend the last..." her voice trailed in thought "can I get help with the calculation?"

"Eighteen days." Shelly lied knowing she wasn't going to figure that out in a million years.

"Eighteen days with your best pal." Danni concluded.

"Yeah," Shelly banged her laptop shut "Nothing is more engaging than listening to you whine about how your