tagNovels and NovellasBest Laid Plans Ch. 08

Best Laid Plans Ch. 08


Thank you all for the wonderful feedback. It's been fun writing about Callie and her mis-adventures in post-college prospects. If you have any comments, feel free to email me. I would like to make her a very fun character.

Chapter 8: The Cucumber of Truth

Watching Nolan make cannolis was like watching a really good porno. It included two of my favorite things. Nolan bending over with his distressed jeans hugging his ass, and cannolis. I wasn't sure which one I wanted to eat first.

Nolan was talking, but really I only heard my name and anything good he said about it, "Callie, you've been the best." If I had a cannoli every time I heard that, "but I think you need to go home. You look like you need some sleep."

Oh no, I'm fine. I'm just fantasizing about licking ricotta off your chest.


"You've been sitting there with your hand propping you up for the past hour. The maddening crowd has passed, you can go home." But I won't be able to look at your butt. I had worked the grave yard shift for the fifth time this week. I am now a permanent barmaid at The Big Bang, the loveable sports bar where guys come to have douche offs. This meant, I worked from six p.m. till two a.m. then, like the masochist I am, trudging over to the bakery next door, which my boss also owned, to help Nolan dole out day old pastries because I have a mondo crush on him that neither I nor my will to sleep can control. My day job included masturbating in front of a camera so my sleazy ex-boyfriend and his bosum buddies could post it on a website. Gee, I just love my life. On top of that, I hadn't had sex in over two weeks. If there wasn't video footage of my cooter, I would have thought it had taken a hike.

"Ok." Please tell me you think I'm ugly, tell me you are secretly married to your cousin, so this stupid spell can be broken. Nolan wouldn't tell me that though. He would tell me I was an amazing employee, he'd tell me that if there was an employee of the month, I'd be on it every month. Nolan, unlike me, had purpose. He got from point A to point B every day and no matter how much extra help I put in, he'd never see me as a possible lost-in-the-moment fuck. I was just too love-sick to step aside and let him open his own damn shop by himself.

"Girl, you got it bad." Penny had told me while we were sweeping up the other night. I'd like to think I played it off. I wanted to believe that she was mildly interested in my reactions to Nolan tapping my back, or stroking my arm to tell me he was behind me with a keg and that I would need to move.

When approached with the truth, denial always comes in handy, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, you would step in front of a moving train if he asked you to." Wrong, I would only do it if he bent over, looked over his shoulder, and said that I was awesome.

"I've got other opportunities. I almost made out with Cody two nights ago." Common sense prevailed. Cody was the substitute bartender when he wasn't modeling for the nude fireman's calendar. He was dumb as bricks, but he looked fantastic in a cowboy hat and plaid. Cody and I had gotten locked in the freezer by accident and he still looked smoldering in forty degree temperatures. Before any hanky panky got started, Nolan pried the door open with a crow bar. My hero.

"Haven't we all. Then we take a step back, assess the situation, and leave him hot and heavy with his dick at half mast." Sounds like Penny's been in the freezer with Cody too.

"I'll be more subtle about it. Do you think he knows?"

Penny rolled her eyes and bent low so that I could only hear the low raspy voice that is her trademark, "He knows. He's not stupid and he's not dead. So you either come onto him and get accepted, or let him drag you on till someone else takes up your daydreaming. Cody would be a good substitute if Cody had a brain."

I could spend just as much time fantasizing about Cody, but then he'd say something dumb mid-fantasy like, "I like to use Herb-al essence because it's got one serving of fruit in it." I can't, I just can't.

I slumped a messenger bag over my head and proceeded to do the walk of shame out of the back kitchen door and into the early morning twilight. Wearing the same clothes I had the night before, leaving with nothing more than a pat on the back. I couldn't keep this up for much longer, he could be Optimus Prime all he wanted, I was a human being with needs.

I felt a tug on my pony tail and a swift breeze of air up my back. I probably forgot my keys or forgot to pick up my paycheck. I turned, not so surprised to see Nolan, but there was something behind those dark brown eyes I hadn't seen before. Not lust, just a charm that had never been there before.

"I'm taking you out to dinner tomorrow. Where your hair down." I remember nodding OK, getting into my car and texting my entire contact list that I had a date. No one texted me back because it's five a.m. in the morning. My brain turned back on halfway home. Adrenaline was thumping through my veins and pushing the gas pedal a little harder. He asked me out. No, he'd told me out. Whatever, I'm in! When I got to the Brothel, the adopted name of the neighborhood I live in, I didn't even care that Kevin was slouched on my couch eating my food. I had a date with a respectable man! "I have a date!" I shoved Kevin a couple of times and hopped up and down on the couch next to him. Kevin buckled down into the crash landing position, curled up like a scared turtle.

"Why are you hitting me?" Kevin uncurled just in time to get smacked in the face with a throw pillow.

"I'm just so happy!"

"Do you normally abuse people when you're happy?" No, you also ate all of my blue corn chips and hummus. He ducked to avoid another playful punch and hit his shin on the coffee table sending Kevin into a giant shit-fest. That's when it occurred to me, Kevin wasn't supposed to be here until three.

"Kevin, what are you doing here?" Other than breaking and entering. I had a spare key under the door mat. That was getting moved the next time I thought about it.

"LeAnn broke up with me. She found out about the what we were doing and broke up with me." Kev shoved the coffee table, my coffee table, out of his way with a foot and plopped back on the couch. He had never mentioned a LeAnn. Must have been something new.

Shock and awe, "What?"

"We started going out last Wednesday. She works at the crazy craft place next door to the comic book store," there's Greek row, and then there's Geek row, "I was showing her around last night, she saw some of the clips on the computer while I was in the shower and she bailed. I didn't want to tell Machu about it because he wouldn't understand. Plus, there isn't food in my house."

Saint Callie, patron saint of emotional eaters.

"Awe, Kev, I'm sorry," not really, "You'll find someone who appreciates you." My mother, my best friends, and my brother Joe, have all given me this line. It's a load of crap. What if Nolan found out about me doing this? Gulp.

"S'okay. I'll be fine. I'm here about another thing, too. Jeff wanted me to warm you up to the idea before we asked you to do it." Wait for it. . .

"A lot of the comments on the site have requested you to give a hand-job to a guy." I knew it.

"No way, no fucking way. Are you kidding? Who would it be? You? Jeff? MP? I'm legitimately dating someone now, I can't be jerking another guy off, on camera, on the internet!"

"You're already jerking off on camera, on the internet. What difference does a dude's dick make?" Say that three times fast. Kevin was right though. I'm already through the looking glass, why not make the peanut gallery happy? Um, because it would involve touching either Kevin's or Jeff's dong.

For another five minutes the little angel and the little devil on my shoulder argued back and forth about pros and cons. Kevin, who had also pulled an all nighter, passed out with his arm around the Sunchips. I went to sleep, still debating, dreaming about jerking guys off with a canolli shell. Ugh!

"Where your hair down when you jerk me off." Nolan God of Pastries said, riding on his white horse. There was a distant tune playing behind him and I wanted to make it stop.

"Callie!" A voice clamored through my dream as the toga clad Nolan disappeared.

I woke up back in the real world. No white horses, no Nolan, just that incessant ringing.

A pillow aimed straight at my head, "Callie, wake the fuck up!"

It was Jeff. Always Jeff.

"Your phone's been ringing for a half an hour. It's three-thirty, get your ass out of bed!"

Let's see him walk a day in my shoes! I merged my body onto the floor and stood up. Everything went fuzzy. Something was still ringing.

"Get out of bed!" Jeff, who will be playing the part of my mother, came back in and shouted some more. Just go away. No one invited him over. Okay, maybe I gave him an open invitation, but what I giveth I can taketh away-eth.

Jeff is my ex-boyfriend/business partner. He is first and foremost an asshole. We agreed, though not amicably, to start a website where I would masturbate in front of a small Asian student named Machu Picchu, or MP. He designed the website, he handles the money, I get a cut. As does Kevin, that sack of potatoes on my couch. MP works for peanuts and the glory of getting to tape an American girl touch herself with a vibrator. Some would call it indentured servitude, but it has to be better than flipping burgers at Mickey D's.

A blackberry was shoved into my hands and it took a second to realize that it was mine, and the person on the other line was shouting my name to get attention.


"So I got some very interesting news the other day," the voice on the other line said. It was one of my brothers, they all sound the same, but this one was Joe. Joe's the only one who: A; calls. B; calls multiple times till I pick up. And C; doesn't care if I'm in the middle of taking an LSAT, as long as I pick up the phone.

Oh God, he knows.

"Mom was very upset, and you know how she gets about these things." Oh Christ. My mother knows. The repercussions of this would be worse than when I was caught making out with Jack Stein inside in the confessionals at church.

Denial! "I'm NOT doing anything wrong. I have a legitimate job," working at a bar, trying to screw my boss, ". . ., and I'm making money."

"She doesn't want you to live your life like that." Joe paused. I started running through scenarios about how my family would take my new source of income. People were already lining up, bringing over coffee cake, sitting on her gold trim couch to "discuss" with my mother about her less than saintly daughter. It would be like wearing a scarlet letter to the St. Patty's day festival. Nothing gets the gossip mill churning faster like a church potluck.

I resigned, "What do you want me to do?"

"I'm moving in with you. I've got two more years of research and after Hannah split, I need to get another place." Holy shit. Joe hadn't been talking about the website, he'd been talking about how I didn't have a roommate. At my parents house we were forced to share a bedroom until I started my period. Since I was a late bloomer and the older brothers with rooms of their own had failure to launch issues, Joe was my roommate for far too long.

One word, "No."


"No way!"

"Yahweh!" Sunday school joke, I'm not explaining. It was moments like these, that if I were back in my house, I would pitch a fit and scream, "MOM!"

"Callie, it's done. Move whatever clothes or make-up you have in the second bedroom out by Saturday." Which is tomorrow, "I'll be there around ten."

"NO." He hung up as I continued to scream "NO" at the phone. Joe has brown mop hair that is thick enough to stick twigs out of and make a nice centerpiece. He works in the University's science lab and resembles Beaker from the Muppet Show. He has the same bleak facial expressions as the rest of the Cronin clan, I cover mine up with make-up, and wears baseball caps when he's not trying to impress the ladies. My favorite memory of him was when he knocked out his two front teeth by jumping off the fence and into a clothesline. My least favorite was when he his voice dropped and sixth grade girls from two parishes asked me if he liked them. Joe spent most of high school smoking pot under the bleachers, looking up girls' skirts and abusing himself. Sadly, the pot Joe smoked in high school contributed to his fascination in narcotics. He got a scholarship and pursued biochemisty He is now the fumbling brainiac in the family.

Jeff popped his head back into my bedroom and asked if I was done verbally abusing my phone. Perfect time for another visit from Mr. Bird, a.k.a. my middle finger.

"Did Kevin tell you about-,"


"And?" That was a good question. Ask sleep deprived Callie if she wants to jack you off. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. I would touch Cody, but he'd have to be gagged. Wait a minute.

A pretty pink light bulb clicked on over my head, "I've got an idea."

Some ten minutes later I was banging on Cody's door. Cody Dunham lived down the street from the Brothel, past Greek town and into a quaint little subdivision. These people had manicured lawns, a flag on every porch, and a basketball hoop in every driveway. If they were really classy, they had an above ground swimming pool. The Thortan burbs looked like any other burb with the one exception, every house within a five mile radius lived, breathed and worked for the University. I was saying a silent prayer that he didn't live with his parents. I knew where he lived because I'd given him a ride home while his GT was in the shop. Oh yeah, Cody might be one sexy son-of-a-gun, but my evolutionary chips were on the guy who could spell clitoris, not excite it.

He opened the door butt naked. A cowboy hat was all that separated his junk from the rest of the world, which happened to be me, Jeff, Kevin, and Machu Picchu standing by with a video camera permanently attached to his face. Jeff and Kevin bowed their heads, stifling chuckles, while MP asked if he should start shooting now.

"Oh hey, Callie, I was just about to get in the shower. Are you working tonight?" Just like Cody to make small talk in the nude.

"Um, can I talk to you in private?" I asked peeking around his broad shoulders to see if there were any "mom" things in the hallway. You know, school pictures, chotchkis, fake flowers in gaudy vases. I saw instead a bare hallway with boots and an overstuffed coat hanger covered in Carhartt everything.

I stepped inside, gently closing the door, listening for the explosion of laughter from Kevin and Jeff. Ahh, there it went. Cody put his hat back on his head. My eyes went straight to what it had been covering. Oh my God! He was uncircumcised. I'd only ever heard of such things! There was a strong urge to pull out my Nancy Drew magnifying glass.

"I model so I'm used to it," Cody reassured, putting a hand on my shoulder. The pig in the blanket got closer.

"I um. . .," penis, "I have a strange question," penis, " to ask." Penis. Well, that went well. I started looking all over the foyer trying to put together the Cody Dunham mystery. There was a fireplace in the living room with beer cans lined on top of the mantel. So this was definitely not his parents' house.

"I know what you want. It's cool. You are like totally hot, too. Do you need me to help you take off your clothes? Should I take a shower first before we get started?" Dear God, help me.

"Wait, that's not exactly why I came here." Believe me, the truth is way better, "I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in letting them film me giving you a hand-job." That folks, was the hardest question I've ever had to ask. Forget

"Will you marry me," or "Should I or should I not follow Nolan Kelly around like a love-sick puppy." I just asked my co-worker if he was cool with me touching his ding-dong on camera.

"Oh, sure. I thought you wanted to make a sex tape. I was cool with that, too." I hope it never comes to that. Cody opened the door to let in Jeff and Kevin, who had been ear to glass pane, and toppled into the foyer at the feet of our new co-anchor. "Do I have to have sex with one of them?"

"NO!" we all answered.


"Hold the phone."

Cody was showered and smelled like wood and man. He came down the stairs decked in a towel, a cowboy hat and nothing else. His biceps flexed in anticipation, or maybe because he had an audience. I wanted to wash clothes on his abs and taking as many mental pictures as my camera could hold. Jeff had propped himself against the banister, shaking his head.

"We want this guy's dick to be big right? How do we know he's got a big wiener?" Jeff asked swinging around an electrical cord and staring me down as if I should be the all-knowing oracle to answer such a complex question.

"We could measure all of your dicks and whoever has the longest or fattest gets it." Eat your heart out King Solomon. My money was on Cody. Had been since he took his cowboy hat off.

"Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?" Jeff asked grasping at straws. He was determined to play this out till he had to cry uncle.

"No, why would I need a ruler?" Cody asked getting peeved that his johnson all of the sudden wasn't big enough.

This looks like a job for Callie the mediator, "Just get it up, I'll measure it, I'll decide."

Cody shrugged and whipped it out, I turned away to give him some privacy, as did Jeff, and Kevin. MP started filming.

"I'm gonna need more space," Jeff said leaving to go to the downstairs bathroom. Kevin wasn't participating in the huge-dick-off, so he helped me look for something to measure them against in the refrigerator. I shuffled through the odds and ends of Cody's lifestyle, came across nothing useful, it didn't even look like he lived here. The living room was sparse of any furniture, the oak floor was stained and warped. Cody's kitchen wasn't much more to look at. Peeling wall paper and a plastic card table. There were dozens of GNC protein powder jugs. Jesus, is that all this guy ate?

"I'm ready!" Cody called from the front room.

Shit. I needed a piece of loose leaf.

"Here," Kevin handed me a cucumber, "Just make a mark in it or something."

I turned the cucumber over in my hand. It was definitely longer and fatter than any dick I'd seen. I was surprised it was in Cody's refrigerator.

"Alright, this is the cucumber of truth," I said holding up the gourd and pointing to his hard-on,

"I'm going to put it up against your um. . ." boner, cock, junk, willy, wiener, doodle, purple-headed-yogurt-slinger, ". . .thing, and make a mark on this side."

Cody nodded. I measured, digging my fingernail in the cucumber where his penis ended and marking it with a CD. I'm anything if efficient when it comes to measuring guys' dicks. In the bathroom, Jeff and I went through the same routine, and I didn't need a damn cucumber of truth to know Cody had the advantage. I don't know, but there is something about that extra foreskin.

One day years from now, we would gather around and talk about how ridiculous this whole experience was. I would be ten years older maybe, with a billion dollars in my bank account, perfectly manicured nails and toes, and a Beamer X3. Kevin would have his own comic book store, he'd be able to go to Comic Con every year and he'd make Stan Lee seethe with jealousy. Jeff would be living with his mother, eating out of a tin can every night, selling pixie sticks at the intersections. We would laugh and recall how silly we'd all been. That I, at one low point in my post college life, stripped down to my undies, lathered up a super hot abs of steel co-worker, and slid my hand up and down his dick for a not-so-profitable website. At the end of the night we would pat each other on our backs, say our good-byes and never see each other again. One day, but not today.

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