This is an excerpt from a book I may never finish. :lol: The book's title is currently Q&A. * * * Oh my god, he really is going to tell me his entire life story, I realized. All I asked is how many girlfriends he’s had. A number, one fucking number, would be fine. But no…now I have to listen to how Allison, the law student, went “completely fucking psycho” in a matter of minutes, all because of, what was it? Oh, an electric toothbrush. “I mean, the fucking thing wasn’t brand new or anything. And SHE was the one telling me to exfoliate shit!” Wow. “Okay, Brandon. Look, I’m really sorry about Allison. But can we get back to the questions? There’s only, like, three more, and then I swear we’re finished.” Plus you’re embarrassing me in the middle of a pizza parlor, I thought. The woman sitting across from us, with her small white dog peeking out through its leopard-print carrying case, was giving me a weird look. She was looking at me like that? Her dog’s hairs were flying into my BBQ pizza! Brandon let out a frustrated sigh and then gave me a quick nod. “Great. Now, you said you have a girlfriend…” He nodded. “Okay, so, how many times, would you say, do you receive oral sex in a week?” I paused and let the question sit between us like a giant pink elephant. “Um…I guess about…um…once or twice?” “Alright. And how many times do you give her oral sex?” They do not pay me enough for this. Not even close. “Not enough according to her,” Brandon said, his voice low. Somehow I knew that his girlfriend was probably right. I had a feeling their relationship was headed for Allison-land. “But how many exactly?” “I guess about once. Maybe. But I swear I’ve never heard anyone enjoy anything as much as my girlfriend does when I’m down there.” I fucking hate this job so much, I thought to myself, trying to remember why in the hell I’d taken such a crap position to begin with. Oh yes, because no one else in the entire city would take me! Five years of college for this? Rachel had tried to stay positive, telling me at least I’ll have my foot in the door. A door to where? That was the question. “Okay, just one more thing, and be honest. What’s your craziest sexual fantasy?” Silence. “Brandon? Do you not want to answer? Cause if you don’t that’s totally fine -” “No, I’ll answer. I just don’t see why you chicks wanna know all this shit, anyways. I mean, is this really what you guys read about in all those girly magazines?” “Look, I just do the interviews. If it were up to me, I’d get rid of all this kinda shit, but I can’t. So how about it? Wanna answer the question?” “Sure. Um…” he started with a scrunched up face. “I guess I think about her sister quite a bit. My girlfriend’s, I mean.” What a surprise. “Great. That’s good enough. Look, thanks for your time, Brandon. Really.” “Yah, no problem. Remember, anonymous, okay?” “Of course. Everyone in the column is kept anonymous, except me.” And how I wished my identity was a secret, as well. I gave him a quick smile and bolted out onto the sunny sidewalk. Grabbing my cell phone, I hit speed dial and started down 45th street. “Hello?” “Rachel, I don’t think I can do it anymore. I mean, I think this is really it.” She was laughing. “What did they make you do this time? It couldn’t have been THAT bad.” “Oh yah? I just spent the past hour asking some random fucking stranger about blowjobs! Some random guy. I don’t see why women care about this shit anyways.” Now she was in hysterics. “Yah, real fucking funny. I’d like to see you go up to some guy and say, ‘Hi, my name’s Rachel Friedman and I’d like to ask you a few quick questions about your cock.’” “Stop, stop, stop! You’re gonna make me pee myself!” That at least made me smile. The idea of Rachel, dressed in her $400 D&G suit, peeing herself, would really be a sight. She finally got control of herself. “Look, Mel,” she said. “You have to trust me. This is a fierce city. You need any experience you can get. Now, I know it’s not The Times, but it’s editorial, right?” “Man, Rach, you don’t even know how much this blows. I can’t believe this is all I can get after forking over thousands on a college degree. I mean, the job’s entry level for Christ’s sake.” “Entry?” I could hear a grin on her face. “More like crotch level, to me!” she cackled. And she was cracking up again. - - - “MELISSA!” I could hear Meela before I could see her. I was back in my cubicle, trying to piece together all twenty interviews into something that didn’t completely suck, when she came barreling through the cubicle room, straight towards me. “Melissa, did you get those interviews? I need that bit, like, yesterday!” She was seriously one of the only people here that really cared about Poise. Why, I had no idea. “Yes, it’s all right here, Meela. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.” She shuffled into her office and slammed the door behind her. For such a small woman, she was really a big bitch. I just wanted to pick her up by the gap between her two front teeth and swing her into a trash bin. But, alas, I had a piece to write. The trash bin would have to wait. What You’re Dying to Know About Men – Straight From Them to You! By Melissa Friedman Okay ladies, listen up! This is your chance to see inside your boy-toy’s mind, to know what he’s really thinking. I sat down with fifteen of the city’s everyday guys for answers to the steamiest questions out there. And the answers were mind-blowing! Read ahead…you’ll find yourself thinking, “Is that for real?” Yes it is. Oh my god, this is such crap, I thought. AKA: It’s perfect. I could always judge if what I was writing would work for Poise by whether or not it was complete shit. If it was, Meela would “just die over it” and my job would be done. Below my intro, I listed the facts from my interviews. Apparently, ten out of the fifteen guys met their girlfriends at work, while the other five met them either at a bar or nightclub. (Note to self – stop going to bars and nightclubs). Only four of the guys felt they were getting enough blow-jobs, “enough” being more than four a week! Do their girlfriends have jobs? The rest said that more would be nice. I’m sure it would. And I wanna be five foot eleven. Not all dreams come true. Not surprisingly, most of the guys (nine of them) felt like they gave their girlfriends enough oral sex. I wondered what parallel fucking universe these bastards lived in. My mind flashed back to Brandon. I wish I could interview his girlfriend, see what she had to say about his unmatched bedroom skills. It only took me a few more minutes to finish typing out the results, add a few graphics here and there, and press “Print”. I walked over to Meela’s office, cracked my neck from side to side, and knocked. “Come in!” she yelled from behind the heavy oak door. “Here you go, Meela.” I placed the piece on the corner of her desk and started to turn around, but never made it. “It’s about freaking time. I was thinking I might have to run a back-up piece! For Christ’s sake, Melissa, don’t push it this close to the wire again.” This close? She didn’t need the thing for another two days! I swear to God, she is so hyper obsessive about this shitty little magazine. I could see the gap in her teeth, begging me to just hook my finger right between her two front teeth… “Fine, Meela,” I mumbled and turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing, Melissa,” she said. There was always “one more thing”. “Jessica’s having a little trouble with her article. Help her out. I’ll be damned if she makes us look like blithering idiots again. Show her where the damn spell-checker is for Christ’s sake!” Ugh. If there was anyone I hated more than Meela, it was Jessica. She only had her job because her daddy bought the most ad space in Poise, and the brass upstairs were terrified of losing his business. So when at a business lunch he casually suggested that his little Jessica would be a great writer for the magazine, it was only a matter of minutes before she was hired. I made my way over to Jessica’s cube, wishing that I were anywhere but where I was at the moment. She was hunched over her laptop computer, her brows raised all the way up like she was trying to soak intelligence in through her eyeballs or something. A loose chestnut brown curl dangled dangerously close to her cup of coffee, and if she moved just an inch forward, her hair would be soaked. “What’s going on today, Jessica?” “Oh thank God you’re here, Mel!” Where did she get off calling me Mel? “I am so freaking stuck! I mean, okay, I have to write this article about cleaning out your life by cleaning out your closet. You know? And I have an intro of sorts, but I guess I just can’t get past it. I mean, what are they supposed to throw away? I just don’t know, Mel. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.” She slumped back in her chair and stared at her pink toenails. She doesn’t know? I do! She’s totally not cut out for this. “Just think about it, okay? They should be tossing out sh-, I mean, stuff that they don’t ever use. Stuff they don’t need anymore. The article’s been done a hundred times. Haven’t you ever seen anything similar in another magazine?” “I guess so. But I didn’t want to plagiarize.” “You can’t. Trust me. Everyone knows it’s the same dribble over and over again. Just put your own spin on it. Like, um…” What was her spin? “I could suggest something for them to get in place of everything they throw out! Things that would add to their lives. Is that corny?” She looked at me hesitantly. It actually wasn’t a half-bad idea. Not something I expected from Jessica. “No, that’s not corny. Go with that,” I said. “Okay! Thanks again, Mel! You are such a life-saver!” She turned back to her laptop and I could see her deleting her entire intro. Now, if she uses the spell-checker this time, we might just have something here. * * * That's it. Sorry if it's hard to read...I lost a lot of the formatting when I copied it over. Thanks for reading.