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This following blog post is a parody and is not intended to mock any genre, or piece of literature. I love the romance genre, the authors and most especially the fabulous readers who motivate me to keep on spinning romantic stories—even parodies. The following short-short-story of Jewel Devereaux and her search for the perfect dream man is intended for entertainment purposes only.
WARNING: ADULT CONTENT
Jewel & The Billionaire Dream Man
by Selena Robins (A Romance Parody)
Jewel Deveraux sat in the Tall Dark and Caffeinated Java Hut in excited anticipation, waiting for her date with BBDM (Bachelor-Billionaire-Dream-Man) to arrive.
BBDM was the man she had connected with after signing on with the Double-U-Double-U-Midsummer-Night’s-Dream-Man-Dot-Com Dating Site.
Even though BBDM’s profile stated he couldn’t have his picture uploaded on the internet, it hadn’t rung any alarm bells with Jewel. She figured it was because billionaires had to be extra careful since there were a lot of delusional, crazy gold digging type of women out there.
Jewel stared at the entrance and then the door opened. She held back a squeal as a tall, gorgeous man, built like a lean-muscular-I-bet-he-could-drill-a-gal-all-night physique, wearing a leather cowboy hat sauntered toward her.
Oh, my! Look at that hot swagger. I want to ride him. Now. Saddle me up, and chap my hide, cowboy.
She stood, met him halfway and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jewel.”
Cowboy took his hat off and shook her hand. “Okay,” he said in a deep, sexy voice. “You’re telling me your name, because?”
“You know,” she said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “I’m from Double-U-Double-U-Midsummer-Night’s-Dream-Man-Dot-Com’s Dating Site. We’re a match.”
“If you say so,” he said. “All’s I know for sure is that I’m a cowboy. For now.”
So he’s a bit dim. It doesn’t matter, being articulate isn’t a deal breaker. “But you’re also a billionaire, right?”
He shrugged his impossibly wide shoulders. “I don’t know.”
Now, that’s a deal breaker. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I have amnesia.” He raked his manly, tanned fingers through his full head of thick, dark hair. “I’m thinking that I’m probably a misunderstood Sheik. Got in an accident and woke up on a ranch somehow and there you go, I’m a cowboy. My rich family could be looking for me. I heard that’s how these things are written sometimes.”
“Yeah, I’ve read that twist.” Jewel sighed. “But then again you could be the clerk at the Seven-Eleven making minimum wage?”
“That’s possible.” He blinked a few times, as if clearing his vision. “But I don’t have dreams of the big gulp or even slurpees. Sometimes I dream that I’m wearing a blue vest and greeting people in a big building.”
“Like a Walmart greeter?” she said louder than she’d intended.
He snapped his finger. “Maybe I am Mr. Walmart? Ever think of that? That would make me rich dude and at twenty-eight years old, that’s some feat, huh?” He opened his wallet and looked inside. “Somehow I doubt that’s the case though.” He put his wallet back in his tight jeans. “Any-hoo, I can’t remember how all this is supposed to go down, but if you want, you could go ahead and ask me out.”
“Okay,” Jewel said. “Get out.” She waved him away, turned and sat back at her table.
What a waste of a drool-worthy walking testosterone. However, her goal and motivation was to hook up with a dream man that at least knew who he was and more importantly, knew for a fact that he was rich. Besides, the “any-hoo” turned her off. What kind of alpha-hottie talked like that?
After a few minutes another tall man walked in. Even taller than Cowboy. Better looking too. Olive skin, black hair and eyes the color of emeralds, sparkling under the sun.
He smiled at her, showing a row of super-straight, white teeth. It was clear Mr. Panty Melter was loaded, he wore a black, James Bond tux and she noticed the glint of his diamond studded Rolex watch.
Yes. BBDM aka Panty Melter has arrived. She smiled back.
She had to talk herself down and convince herself not to jump on him and wrap her legs around his waist as he approached her table.
Jewel was about to get up and introduce herself when Mr. Panty Melter walked right by her table.
What the hell?
She got up, followed him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Are you here to meet the woman of your dreams?”
He turned and nodded. “Yes, I believe she’ll be here any minute now.”
Thank you, Goddess of Orgasms! “Wait no more, I’m here. Just to be sure though, you are a billionaire, right?”
“I’m a Greek tycoon.”
“Excuse me,” he said. “There she is now.” He pointed to a young woman—young as in twenty years old, twenty-three tops. The chick had long mousey brown hair, she could do with a waxing on her thick brows, she wore no make-up and donned a plain beige dress. “Geneva,” he said. “The governess for my three motherless children.” He walked away to the waiting arms of the young—no doubt virginal—governess.
Jewel returned to her table and checked her phone in case her BBDM had texted to say he was running late, but there were no new messages.
“Excuse me, Ms. Deveraux,” the barista said, pointing toward the back of the coffee shop. “There’s a man in the back who asked me to escort you to the private room.”
“Private room?” Jewel asked.
“Yes. He paid thousands of dollars to have a private room built in the back of this coffee shop to meet you. Follow me.”
“Squeeee,” Jewel said, jumping up from the chair. BBDM had a private room built in a coffee shop? Diamonds, tiara’s, lunch in Paris and Milan, here I come. “It’s him. My very own hot billionare.”
The barista furrowed her over-plucked eyebrows. Jewel just figured the barista was such a minor character in this story, and she had no idea how this happy-ever-after with a midsummer night dream man was all going to unfold, hence the barista’s question mark expression.
While following the barista to the back, Jewel unbuttoned a few more buttons from her see-through blouse, so that her double-d’s jiggled as she wiggled.
She held her breath as butterflies danced in her lower belly, and steadied her nerves as she envisioned the romantic encounter with her midsummer night’s dream man.
The barista opened the door to the newly built room, and Jewel was more than ready to be ravaged and accept five or more orgasms—-depending on how many she would have room for upon instant attraction and first meet.
The barista nudged Jewel inside. “Have fun,” she said, then left and closed the door.
“Whaaaaaaat?” Jewel screeched as she stared at the short, pasty white, balding guy who wore ankle high, baby blue polyester pants and a white T-shirt that fit tight around his keg. Any minute now, she expected the Pillsbury Dough Boy to come out and say, “Meet my dad.”
“Well, hello, there,” he said with a smile that showed off two straight, but brilliantly white teeth. “Sorry, I’m a bit late.” He tapped his watch—a Micky Fuckin’ Mouse watch. “This thing is slow a times.” He spread his chubby short arms out wide. “Come to pappa, babe. I’m your midsummer night’s dream man.”
Jewel backed away. “I think you’re in the wrong story, dude.”
“No. Pretty sure this is the right story.”
Jewel put her hands on her hips. “Wrong. I’m waiting for Blaine McSwoon. Tall, handsome—with hair—billionaire. That’s the name on the Double-U-Double-U-Midsummer-Night’s-Dream-Man-Dot-Com Dating Site, and I highly doubt you’re from that site.”
“I’m from that site, honey-pot. That’s where we connected.”
What fresh hell is this?
“Not possible.” Jewel stamped her foot and pouted. Yes it was kind of childish, but that was one of her character traits. “You must have me mixed up with the plain-but-nice-and-sweet secondary character that makes a short appearance, and walks off the pages, holding hands with you, living on love and boxed wine.” She raised her voice. “I want Blaine fuckin’ McSwoon! Where is my McSwoon hero!?”
He ran his stubby-chubby fingers over the one hair in the middle of his head. “I’m Blake. Blaine’s long lost identical twin brother. After we reunited—and let me tell you, the conflicts and emotional roller coaster in that story were off the charts ridiculous—anyway, we decided to really shake things up and switch places to add suspense and mystery to this story. So here I am, babe.”
The way he said babe made her thighs twitch.
No. No. No. Stop the twitching. This is not how it’s supposed to be.
She took a step back, struggling for breath. “I. Will. Not. Be turned on or worse, fall in love with someone like you!” She stamped her foot harder this time. “You can’t be my hero! You’re shorter than me, and I’m only five foot four! And for fuckssakes, you have ketchup stains on your T-shirt!”
“Aren’t you the judgmental one, bitch.”
“Did you just call me a bitch?”
“Yeah. You’re also a pain in my ass.”
Oh, my, he sounds all bad-ass and alpha-like.
Tingles jumped from between her thighs directly to the center of her fun zone. No, she could not get first-meet-do-me-tingles from this pure excuse of a midsummer night’s dream hero.
“Fuck you, Blakey McShorty Pants.”
“Listen here, Ms. Potty Mouth.” He took a step closer to her. “How come romance heroines get to be less than perfect? Short, wide hips, generous bootie and a hint of a double chin. Sure it’s cute and guys don’t mind the curves. Us dudes can overlook all that because we’re supposed to immediately be attracted to your spunk and big, beautiful green eyes that look like jewels—no pun intended, but you chicks expect the hero to be all muscle-bound, abs that require six hours a day in the gym to maintain and a face that’s hot as sin. Tell me why are we supposed to be so damn perfect?”
She shrugged. “How the hell am I supposed to know? The goal given to me is to bewitch a richer than the Sultan hot guy who will then sweep me off my feet, make me quit my mundane job, because he’ll support me forever and ever, buy me a fancy car, fly me on a private jet, and give me ten consecutive orgasms every single night.”
He crossed his arms, well, he tried; they didn’t quite make it across his chest. “And I bet you’re one of those chicks who goes down a dark basement, holding a candle, wearing nothing but a nightie, knowing there’s a bad guy hiding in wait, and refuses to have a guy protect her and doesn’t think about calling the cops—”
“Hey, that happened once.” She held up a finger—mind you, it was the middle finger. “Do it once and people label you as too stupid to live. Fickle bunch those readers are, I tell you.”
“They’re fickle?” he said. “Talk about the curvy pot calling the kettle—“
“Okay, Okay, I get it. But you have to give me something to make this whole mid-summer-night-dream-man gig a hot fantasy for me,” she said. “You are rich, right?”
“I built this damn room just for this one date, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, I was impressed by that.” She rubbed her forehead. How the hell can I settle for Lumpy, the lost Dwarf? “Can you at least wear better clothes?”
“If I were one of those cover models, you wouldn’t give a shit about my clothes.” He then adjusted himself—why do men have to do that, it’s not like we go around fixing our hoo-has. “Besides,” he said, pride smeared across his chapped, thin lips. “I have a magic dick. Trust me, you’ll see your life pass before your very eyes when Mr. Big breaks you in. Don’t worry, I’ll make your induction into O-land as painless as I can.”
Oh, shit, a man who names his dick Mr. Big? Someone, take over and re-write my story! Wait, breaks me in? Induction? “What do you mean, break me in?”
He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. “Got this from your profile. Says here, you’re a virgin.”
She flushed. She blushed. She bit her lip. Then she blushed again. “Uhm…not quite.”
“So, you’re a slut?”
“Kind of,” she said, her face heating up.
“Well, damn. I was looking forward to that virgin cliché. Don’t matter. It’s not a deal breaker,” he said. “Now, you want to know more about my magic or what?”
Magic dick? Billions? Hmmm.
Maybe…oh, what the hell am I thinking? I want the midsummer night dream man, dammit, not a rich Danny Devito look-alike.
She looked down and stared at his shoes. Those at least were Italian leather and expensive looking–of course the white socks ruined the look.
But he does look like he has big feet.
“Okay,” she said, having no choice, the scene was written this way and she had to go with the prose. “Since I’m stuck with you in this damn story, or at least a few more paragraphs, we might as well make the most of this hook-up. I’d prefer to go back to my place for the first time.”
“Why your place?”
“I have a PP room,” she said.
“You’re a fuckin’ adult, babe. You call a toilet the peepee room?” he said, his blue eye widened, while his brown eye looked sideways.
Seriously? I’m expected to really go through the story with this imbecile? “Not the bathroom, stupid. PP–as in Pink Pleasure room.”
“You calling me stupid?” he said. “It’s supposed to be a red room of pain, not no fuckin’ pink room. Read up, bitch.”
Damn, those tingles ricocheted from between her legs to her now hardened nipples with his alpha-holeness and banter, and especially when he called her bitch.
Suddenly, the door opened and there stood a tall, beautiful woman with long blonde hair, small waist and perky boobs, and dressed as if she’d just come off of a New York runway during fashion week.
Jewel instinctively knew her name was Muffy.
The woman held a chubby baby boy.
The baby had no hair and wore blue polyester pants and when he smiled, he showed two, straight, but brilliantly white teeth.
Blondie squinted and pointed at Blake. “You pig! You’re cheating on me?”
“Am not,” he said. “Muffy, what the fuck?”
Grand slam. I knew her name was Muffy. And here the readers were probably thinking how clueless I was.
“Here,” Muffy said, holding up baby boy, “Meet your secret baby.”
“Secret baby?” Blake said, this time his brown eye widened.
“Yes,” Muffy spewed out of her perfectly lip glossed, heart shaped lips. “I had your child!”
“Damn,” he said. “Must have been when I had amnesia and I thought I was a cowboy.”
“No shit?” Jewel said. “I should buy a lottery ticket. What are the odds I meet two men who got amnesia and thought they were cowboys?”
Blake rolled his blue eye. “You really are too stupid to live. It happens all the time in romancelandia. Duh.”
Magic dick or not, do I really want to have a happy ever after with a guy who says “romancelandia” and “duh?”
“Hey,” Muffy said, pointing to Jewel, in her high pitched, sweet voice, that only a romance heroine could pull off. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Jewel shrugged. “I don’t recall ever meeting you.” Jewel was pretty sure she hadn’t muff dived this chick.
“Yes, yes,” Muffy yelped as she plunked Secret Baby into Blake’s arms. It was uncanny, Secret Baby had ketchup stains on his white bib. “I remember you now. You bedazzled my cooter and you burned it!”
With Secret Baby wiggling in his arms, Blake nodded. “Oh,” he said with a knowing smile. “So that mark on your velvety lips wasn’t an impression of my family jewels—“
“Hey, watch how you use my name, little man,” Jewel said.
Blake rolled his blue eye, the other eye remained still. “Whatever.”
Jewel turned back to Muffy. “Sorry, I was an apprentice at the time. Do you want me to fix it?”
Blake’s brown eye sparkled and he licked his lips. “Can I watch?”
Suddenly, they all stopped talking, even Secret Baby stopped wiggling around, and they all looked at each other in wonderment as a tall, muscled, chiseled jaw with just a hint of a five-o’clock shadow, golden-haired, perfectly coiffed, hunka-hunka-of-burning-desire walked through the door.
“Hold it,” Muffy said, giving a time out gesture with her hand then turned to the blond Adonis. “Sven, I keep telling you, you’re in my book. You’re supposed to wait before showing up to confront Blake. You’re supposed to be getting filled with angst, wondering if you made a mistake letting me go, and then come and get me and tell me you’re going to support me and Secret Baby and then we can live happily ever after. That is, after I show everyone that Blake is not good enough for me, that he’s evil, but not too evil, since he’s getting his own story and his own happy-ever-after-chick, flakey as she is.”
“Hey, I’m not flakey,” Jewel shouted. “Well, I am, but you gotta give me props for redeeming myself, I did offer to fix your scarred cooter after all. My arc is coming up and my good qualities will come out.” I hope so anyway.
“What-the-hell-ever,” Muffy said, then turned to Sven.
“I’m sorry, Muffy-boo.” Sven’s shoulders sagged as he bent his head. “Damn, I keep getting it wrong.”
Muffy patted him on the head. “It’s okay. You just showed up early again. And don’t stoop like that; you’re a hero for crying out loud. Strong and alpha-kick-ass and all that. You don’t bow your head, and look defeated. Now just leave and go do your internal turmoil and shit in private, and think about all your angst, but don’t say it out loud. You’re bad ass, remember?”
Sven scratched his blonde head, which of course was empty, seeing as he was all muscle, big dick and no brains, just your standard secondary character. “Sorry, again, Muffy-boo. But before I go, I have to do this first, because…well I don’t know, just seems like the right time.” He picked Muffy up and twirled her around.
“Careful,” Muffy yelled. “My wet charm is still hurting from the bedazzling that she…” pointing to a Jewel…”screwed up.”
“So I burned one vag!” yelled Jewel, now at the end of her rope and also a bit turned on, for no other reason than looking at the rod, poking out of Sven’s pants. “I was on the low end of the Brazilian waxing and bedazzling the choochie’s curve. Give me a freakin’ break!”
Secret Baby started calling for his mamma. “Mamma. Ya.. ya…mamma.”
Hmmm, sounds like Secret Baby has a Swedish accent.
Blake snapped his finger. “Ah ha! Just as I thought. This is not my secret baby. I may have had amnesia, but I didn’t father no baby. Actually, I don’t even remember bumping uglies with you, Muffy?”
Muffy’s eyes filled with tears. “I was…was…just trying to add to the conflict. I’m supposed to look like the good woman, and the wronged woman and gain all the sympathy. This is just not working out the way it’s supposed to.” She pointed to Jewel. “I want her to be the villain. I want to be the heroine.”
“Wait just a fuckin’ minute here,” Jewel said. “This story is about me. M.E. me!”
“Babe,” Blake said to Jewel. “I know you said you were a slut, but, do you have to fuckin’ swear so much?”
“I said I was kind of a slut. Actually, I’m in transition.”
“You’re going to be a dude?” he asked.
“No, idiot. I’m reinstating my hyman. Everyone in Hollywood is doing it.” Jewel blew a strand of hair away from her face and waved around the room. “There are way too many secondary characters in here.” She pointed to Muffy, who was still in Sven’s arms. “You. Take Secret Baby and leave and take Sven with you.” Although truth be told, Jewel wouldn’t have minded a spank and wank with the hunka-hunka-of-burning-Swede.
Blake looked impressed. “Wow, you’re some kick-ass, slut transitioning into a virgin chick. You’re hot.”
“Yes. I. Am.” She went to the door and opened it. “There, too many characters will confuse me and not advance this damn story to where it’s supposed to go.”
“You do have a point,” Muffy said, and took Secret Baby from Blake and left with Sven.
“Now,” Jewel said to Blake. “Where were we?”
“I got billions.”
“You’re looking mighty handsome now.”
“That’s what I love, a high maintenance, superficial bitch.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Let’s go, woman, we have a happy ever after to bang out.”
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