One I’m not too keen on fixing just yet, but a problem, nonetheless.
Girls just wanna have some secret fun and all that…right?
But are you sure that’s all this is about? Just fun?
I roll my eyes at myself and type out a response while I note that Maureen is getting closer to being ready for me, already plugging in the blow-dryer and styling iron in my periphery.
Me: I think you have a problem, sir.
Andrew: Like an I need to go to rehab kind of problem?
Me: Yeah, something like that.
Andrew: My name is Andrew Watson, and I’m a Birdie Harris pussy-holic.
I have to bite my lip to fight my giggle.
Me: There is something seriously wrong with you.
Andrew: Tell that to your glorious pussy, sweetheart. It’s all her fault. Speaking of which, let her know I’m going to slip my tongue inside her when we’re on break today.
Me: Have you even looked at the schedule? Because when you do, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.
Andrew: Our breaks don’t line up today?
Me: Nope. I’ll be shooting Arizona flashback scenes all day.
Andrew: What the fuck.
Me: Sorry, Andy. ;)
Andrew: I guess I’ll just have to make up for it tonight.
Me: I don’t know… I think I’m probably going to be too tired. I mean, I did have to wake up at four this morning.
Andrew: That’s not a problem, sweetheart. This is between me and your perfect pussy, anyway. You can sleep while I feast on her.
Lord Almighty. A rush of heat takes over my body, and I have the sudden urge to fan myself. Did Maureen forget to turn on the A/C in this trailer?
Me: You’re evil.
Andrew: I’m pretty sure you mean I’m the nicest, most thoughtful, most giving gentleman you’ve ever met.
I can’t deny that he’s incredibly unselfish when it comes to sex.
Always putting my pleasure first, he’s like the Mother Teresa of orgasms.
Andrew: Fuck, Birdie, my cock is already hard just thinking about the things I’m going to do to you tonight.
Me: That sounds like quite the dilemma…
Andrew: Tell me about it. You better start talking about something else, or I’m going to end up doing something crazy like show up in that goddamn hair and makeup trailer and fuck you senseless while Maureen tries to get you ready.
Me: Don’t be such a horny drama queen. And I’m pretty sure you can make it until tonight.
Andrew: I don’t know, sweetheart. I know you’re wanting to keep all the hot sex we’re having on the down low, but my hard cock is about ready to let the cat out of the bag.
God, he’s ridiculous.
But also, he’s generally a man of his word.
So, in the name of keeping our hot sex rendezvous top secret, I do a little damage control and try to reroute the conversation. Hell, I haven’t even told my sister about Andrew’s and my newfound…friendliness. The last thing I need is for her and Rocky to find out because some gossip magazine splashes it across their front page.
Those two still won’t let me live down the whole “wearing his underwear to lunch” thing, for fuck’s sake. If this sex cat really got out of the bag, I’d never hear the end of it. And it goes without saying that the media would have a flipping field day. One I’m certainly not ready to handle. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for a highly publicized relationship like that. It’s hard enough handling the media when it’s just about simple things like my music or fashion or what coffee I like to drink.
Me: What do you want for dinner tonight?
Andrew: Birdie’s pussy.
I roll my eyes. Pervert.
Me: Food, Andy. Since I’m figuring you won’t leave me alone once we’re done for the day, we’re going to have to eat something. So, what FOOD do you want to eat tonight?
Andrew: You are 100% correct. And I already told you. ;)
Me: Focus, you horny bastard.
Andrew: How about tacos? I know they’re you’re favorite.
My stomach is already grumbling in agreement.
Me: Yes, please.
Andrew: Would tacos also be your choice for a birthday dinner?
Me: Tacos are always the choice, Andy.
Andrew: And what about cake? What’s Birdie’s favorite kind of birthday cake?
While comparing horrible driver’s license pictures last night, he happened to find out that my twenty-eighth birthday is at the end of May. Less than two weeks away, in fact. His, on the other hand, isn’t until the beginning of July, and he’ll turn thirty-six.
Now, while I don’t think thirty-six is old at all,