Turkey Baster One

Bad Cinderella

My feet were already dying in these heels. But logistically I needed the height. I tended to get crushed in these clubs, especially when I tried to belly up to the bar. And then, I needed to prepare for having sex on my feet, so to speak. And short girls, well it's nearly impossible if you think about it and I had, believe me. Thank goodness tax season was over so I could think about it. He's six-two, and I'm five-four without these whore heels. Do the math. He's got to be able to get it in there, and then he's drunk.

That's another thing, you'd think I'd have money, a person in my position, an accountant. But I wanted my little nest egg in tact for when I actually had the baby. I had a high deductible. That's why I wasn't going the artificial insemination route. I didn't need to pay ten grand when I could get the same application for free. I mean a turkey baster is a turkey baster, right, whether it's some high tech appliance or the crude flesh appendage, it's a delivery system, nothing more. And nothing more.

So I was basically dressed like a slut so I could achieve the infamous wham bam and don't call me in the morning.

I had a target, random as this seemed. Afterall, I planned to do it without latex or pharmaceuticals, and though I needed a total man-whore for many reasons, I certainly didn't want an STD. So I'd done my research and this one was clean. OCD, actually, with a good dose of hypochondria. Needed to be in control and that included frequent testing. Great. That was exactly what I needed him to think as I ran the entire show like the great Oz behind the curtain. It's a long story, and I'll get to it, but for now, it's a Friday night, the night babies are made by drunken people all over this world. I could do this for baby and me. It was no less dignified than paying some tired doctor an exorbitant amount of money to ram something more respectable in the same place to deposit the same ingredient. I don't care what Rose said in her many lectures. The more she talked the more determined I became. I wasn't going to pay for what baby daddy was offering for free.

Now where was he in this jungle of lust and sweat? Oh yes, that would be him, that tall head of reddish hair. Yes, just like Alice said. And here he comes. Whoops, weaving a bit on his feet. Steady there, boy, steady, come to mama, come to ma….

"Well hello there, Gorgeous," I say, blocking him right before he reaches the bar. His eyes are kind of stunning. Those brows….

I have my hands behind my back and I'm pressing the girls forward. I'm wearing this strapless dress. It's nude colored. Very short. He's taking me in. Surely he's seen a girl before, whore that he is.

"Like what you see?" I say, cliché my middle name. I don't want to waste brain cells on trying to be creative.

"How much?" he asks.


"I'm not a working girl. I'm not here to pick you up. But I did pick you out."

He lowers the two empty glasses he'd been carrying to the bar. He's smiling at me and there's a hot look in his eyes. He can't believe he's this lucky, but yeah he can, he's always lucky. "For what?"

"Whatever you want. That's how I roll. I pick the hottest guy in the room and I make his dreams come true."

He laughs. "Seriously?"

I step forward and grab his belt with one hand and let my free hand trail down his front. "As a heart attack," I say, holding his gaze.

"What are you wanting to do here?" His voice cracks.

"Here? I'm not that kinky. Let's take it into the back room at least." I'm channeling Marilyn when I say this. Not Manson…Monroe.

"Do you have a condom? Cause I have to get to the machine if you don't," he says, just like I expected him to.

I flip my hand and show him the altered condom in the perfectly resealed package.

"You little vixen," he says, all proud of me.

"I want it against the wall. No foreplay. I need to feel it, baby."

"Shit," he whispered, reaching around me to put the glasses on the bar. He took me by the arm and led me around the side of the bar to a long, dark corridor. He opened the first door we came too, and pulled me inside. It was a dark smelly room, one window up high, a long folding table against the wall and a furniture quilt piled on it. He pushed me against the opposite wall. I already had my dress pulled up, and I was helping him undo his pants, slapping at his hands when he fumbled like the drunk he was. When I had him free, I opened the condom foil, laughing at how much time I'd spent sealing it just right so he wouldn't notice. What a waste. I rolled the thing on him, ignoring whatever he was saying to me, stupid questions, kind of dirty and really annoying, and I climbed up him as he bent his knees and scooped me up, and tried to kiss me while I turned my head and said, "Beer breath," and he said sorry, and then we weren't talking at all, because he pumped into me, and it hurt like anything because I'd only done it, or had it done to me that once, but this really hurt, and in three pumps he was done, and I could feel the wet, and he was apologizing, and breathing hard, and for just a second, his hair, or his eyes in the dim light, the apology that he meant to be sincere I think, something about him got to me, but just for a split, split second.

I pushed him away. He said, "Whoa," and stumbled back a little. It had been pretty rude, and I had tears in my eyes, but I thought of Alice. One of the ridiculous shoes had fallen off, and I couldn't find it, but I had my dress down and when he tried to touch my arm I reacted so violently he said, "Whoa," again, then, "Sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you." Like he was sober now, too sober, so I ripped the door open and ran out of there, kicked off the other shoe and kept going, with him calling after me, "Wait a minute your shoe."