has a high school auditorium vibe. It has a small stage that Conor’s standing in front of talking to three guys, and rows of seats.
It also looks like high school—or maybe even middle school—because all the girls are on one side and all the boys are filling in the other. I wave to Conor and he removes himself from his pack of fans.
“You look fancy.”
“What?” he asks, smiling. “This old thing?”
“Very funny. This is a serious operation, huh?”
“It’ll be fun. I have my camera guy here to record. He’ll get you the footage for you to upload to your page also.”
Camera guy? Should I have a camera guy? “Sounds good,” I tell him. “So now what?”
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I want to give you a tour of the facilities.”
The grin on his face gives him away. He takes my hand and pulls me to follow him. We slip away behind the stage and as soon as we get back there Conor doesn’t look around, he just throws me against the wall and starts kissing me.
His aggressive kiss feels amazing—I feel the hard pressure of the wall behind me juxtaposed with the soft feeling of his lips against mine. I can feel his hardness pressing into me because he’s left no separation between our bodies. His hands are on my face, and I reach down and do the only thing my hands can do—grab on to that tight ass of his.
He’s really intense and I love it. He starts pressing into me, hard, and I pull back one of my hands from behind his back and let it slide to the hardness pressing into me. His whole body jolts when I touch him, and I know he wants to do more, but I’m not about to give any stragglers a show.
“We have to stop,” I tell him as he buries his face into my neck.
“We really don’t.”
“No,” I say as I push him back, “we really, really do. There’s plenty of time for that, trust me.”
“Alright,” he grumbles, pulling his body slightly back from mine. “You’re right, we don’t want to go out there looking all messed up.”
We get ourselves together and walk back out on the stage, one at a time. I let him go first, and then I count to sixty before emerging from behind the curtain. When I look out into the crowd, I see that it’s become an actual crowd.
Wow. That’s a lot of people.
This is going to be interesting.
Shoshana
“Did That Bitch Just Say ‘She-Wolf’?”
The questions come fast and hard.
Nerdy kid who looks like he just graduated—high school: “I feel like you’re setting unreasonable expectations for guys like me with your content. Don’t get me wrong, I support women influencers in the age of #metoo, but I just don’t like what you’re putting out there. How would you address this concern?”
The first thing I’d like to address is the fact that you’re still hung over from your prom—the one you probably went to with your sister because no real girls would go with you. Also, you’re a little misogynist in the making. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Brian.”
“Brian, right. Well, Brian, let me ask you one follow up question—how exactly do you think I’m doing that?”
“Well, it’s just that you ask these women who their perfect man is, then what romantic comedy they wish their relationship took place in.”
Yes, I know my own questions, Brian.
“And you feel like me asking those questions creates an unreasonable expectation?”
“Yeah.”
“How, exactly?”
“What do you mean?”
Oh Brian. Silly, silly Brian.
“I mean, how does me asking questions about what real women think create expectations that guys like you couldn’t live up to? I’m just not understanding your question I guess.”
Brian is confused. He hasn’t thought this question through—he’s just repeating things other people have told him.
“Well. . . I guess, like, it’s the rom-com thing.”
“Okay. What about it?”
“Those movies. . . they, um. . .”
Before confused Brian can finish, another guy takes the mic from him. This one is a little older—maybe he just graduated college instead of high school—he has bad facial hair. “What Brian here is trying to say is. . .”
“Sorry, your name?”
I’m secretly loving controlling this crowd. I think they expect me to be flustered by their questions, but I’m the Queen of controlling conversations.
“James.”
God, his followers are super basic.
“James, thanks. So you were in the middle of translating poor Brian’s question.”
“Right,” he says, getting his thoughts back together. “What Brian was trying to say was that romantic comedies