Saved By the Bell

I met up with my producer, Shawn a few days ago to talk about the possibility of creating a new TV show after sending over the proposal. Shawn and I are on a comfortable 'good-friends' level, having known each other from my days as a TV host for one of this entertainment shows.

"Well, let's have the meeting at my place. I just moved in a few months ago, you've never seen it!" He said. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't feel comfy going to a guy's place for a meeting, of all things, and Papi would never allow it either but we've known eachother for years so it's okay.

Enroute to Shawns, Brad calls me. Should I pick up? Maybe I should play hard to get. So far, I've been available at every beck and call and text of his. Desperate me, I pick up.

"Hello, Jade speaking."

"Hello Jade Speaking. It's Brad Speaking," came the charming, husky voice on the other end. Fuckkkkk, that just turned me on so bad, I thought. I pictured him in his jeans, denim shirt and Ray Bans and felt my juices flowing.

"So, here's the deal. I've got you two tickets to Tara's concert next week. I want to see you so I can give 'em to you...in person...preferably a few hours before the concert," Brad hinted. Hell yes, I said, I'll meet you wherever. I didn't care if I sounded eager or desperate, all I wanted was this man's cock, deep inside me, thrusting hard and having one of the most powerful men in the country dominate me in bed.

"Good, I look forward to seeing you."

"Me too. Thanks for the tickets. Talk to you later, gorgeous."

I hung up, parked the car and headed on up to Shawn's place. My legs felt like jelly, after realizing that I had just made plans to fuck another man. I managed to make it up the stairs and found Shawn sitting at his computer.

"Hey you! How goes! Love the new digs!" I exclaimed. Shawn's loft looked awesome, very Manhattan, with brick walls, exposed ceilings and hardwood floor. The perfect bachelor's pad.

I ran over to Shawn and gave him a big hug. It felt good to see an old friend. Every guy I've met so far has only wanted one thing.

"I'm doing well, you look great! Can I get you a drink? Should we order dinner or something?"

I had no idea we were going to have that kind of a meeting, I told Shawn and instantly felt bad. It would've been fun to connect over dinner and discuss ideas for the new show.

"Maybe just a water. I promised Papi I'd be home to make him dinner"

Shawn walked into his kitchen and filled up a glass of water while I walked around poking and prodding at his stuff. I picked up a cherry wood frame of a picture of him and some lanky-looking girl.

"My new girlfriend. It'll be ten months next Friday. I'm taking her to Cancun," Shawn said, walking over with my water. He leaned in close to me and kissed me on both sides of my face. "Good to see you babe".

"You too," I smiled and let out a deep breath. My mind was clouded with Brad, the kiss at the airport, the sexy text messages, the forthcoming rendez-vous....

"What's wrong? You seem troubled. You can tell me! Spill the deets!!!"

Shawn ran over to his couch and excitedly patted out a spot for me, waiting for beans to be spilled.

I shook my head, smiled at him and obliged. "You're not gonna be impressed when you hear this," I told him. Then I launched into it. All of it about Brad Scott, up to the very last convo I had with him before I arrived at the apartment.

"And you know what? All this is happening because I'm a crazy horndog." I finished.

I looked up at Shawn, and his mouth was dropped to the floor. Then a wicked smile formed across his face. Creepy, I thought, but kinda...kinky. I instantly knew where he was going with this.

"Jade, trust me. It's normal. I fucking love having sex. I love pussy, I can't get enough of it. All I want is to have pussy in my face and I could eat it all day," Shawn confessed. Ok this isn't exactly what I'd had in mind when we talked about having a production meeting, I said but I certainly felt a whole lot better.

"So what should I do?"

"So what are you planning on doing? Him? Isn't he dating Tara McCann!?"

"Uh yeah. Like, exclusively, so I have no idea why he's still interested in me."

"Well, what about your huzzzzbaaannd..."

Right-o, I'm a married lady now apparently. Apparently. Married. Fuck, back to reality.

"Yeah I guess I shouldn't do anything. I mean, if I were single it'd definitely be a different story but..." I trailed off.

"But? You know I still have that footage...dya wanna see it?" Shawn reminded me. He had his cute mischievious grin on his face. The footage. The three minutes of kinky bliss we had in the editing room, in the between recording voiceovers for our latest shoot and writing out intros. Flashbacks of Shawn's tongue flicking across my nipple while he groped my breast firmly with his other hand filled me with an intoxicating deliciousness of horniness. It would've gotten heavier had it not been for my raging conscience telling me not to fuck up my then, new relationship with Papi four years ago.

I bit my lower lip and playfully punched his shoulder. I suddenly had a huge urge to fuck Shawn, with the same intensity and ferocity that he had about eating pussy.

"Nooway...I'm totally not ready to see that!" I moved away to the other side of the couch and Shawn crawled up beside me, looking me right in the eyes.

He's so sexy, with his full lips and big brown eyes, all tanned and wavy brown hair. He reminds me of hot Twilight-esque werewolves. I could take on a pack of his kind, I thought to myself.

Shawn, being an inch away from me now, gently placed one hand on my thigh and the other on the back of the couch and leaned in close to me. Too close. His scent was intoxicating, a mix of musky masculine colonge, hair gel and fresh laundry. I looked into his gorgeous brown eyes and lifted my chin up with a false sense of defiance, breathing in deep and spreading my legs open as I shifted my weight and leaned further back into the couch. Shawn edged in closer now and touched his forehead to mine, his right hand creeping further up my thigh while his other hand gently caressed my face.

"Jade, I waited four years for this..." He whispered into my ear and started kissing behind my earlobe and slowly down my neck, a delicious sensation that made my nipples hard and my breasts swell.

I looked up at the ceiling, half trying to enjoy this real-life fantasy and half trying to find an excuse to get up and leave. Anything. Any fucking reason right about now that'll stop me from getting on top of him and fucking his brains out and letting him pound me viciously hard and deep from behind.

"My goodness, I am going to be in a lot of trouble you know..." I trailed off. It felt too good and that was a shoddy attempt at pretending not to want this.

"Mmmm hmmm,"

Still kissing my neck and collar bone, Shawn reached behind me and undid my bra with one hand and started caressing my breasts, groping a handful, squeezing firmly and releasing as he made his way on top of me. I felt his big, hard bulge through his khaki slacks and ran my fingers through his hair when...

DING DONG...DING DONG... DING DONG. Papi's personalized doorbell ring on my Blackberry saved the day.

"OMG, it's him. I have to go pick him up from work," I exclaimed. This was also true -- amidst the fooling around, I had lost track of time and I was 20 minutes overdue.

"Awww shit, are you serious?"

"Yeah...sorry...I guess we'll have to...um...pick up where we left off for the meeting?" I laughed. Shawn laughed too, thankfully and he helped me gather my things and walked me to the door.

"So let's touch base next week and work something out. I'll try and book us a board room for the first session."

A boardroom. I've always wanted to fuck on a boardroom table.

"Sure, sounds good!" I chirped, and headed out the door.

Saved by the fucking bell.

Sexting with the devil

So it's been weeks now, and the billionaire and I have been sexting back and forth. Lesson learned: sexual tension is best created and served via text messaging.

It's also the best way to avoid lackluster phone conversations, and I learned that after the first three phone convos we had. All Brad wanted to do was have phone sex, but I told him no, mainly because I'm never home alone and secondly, he doesn't know this but, I just don't believe in phone sex. It's a little out there for me. Something about moaning and sexually pleasuring myself to an open phone line just doesn't cut it.

I can't wait to slide your big hard cock inside me, feeling you thrust deep and hard until you're ready to explode inside me.

He texted back about how badly he wanted to be inside me, about how much he wanted to eat me out and play with my clit and all that fun stuff. How dirty and sexy at the same time, I thought. He's 56, I'm 28. It's so bad its good. And it's been going on for some time now, despite the fact that I told him I was married and the fact that I read about his new high-profile singer girlfriend, Tara McCann in the gossip blogs and saw them both interviewed about their new relationship on Entertainment Tonight.

"So, when will I see you again?" I asked. He called me up one night as I was going for a quick jog.

"Well, Tarah's putting on a concert in three weeks in your neighbourhood. I'll be town. Maybe we can meet up then?"

Sounds good, I told him. We exchanged a few more dirty words and hung up, feeling even more horny than ever.

The thrill ain't gone

"So, why do you think that is? What is it about having lots of sex with lots of different men, that piques your interest?"

I leaned back in my comfy shrink-patient chair for the second time this week, weirded out and shocked that someone so eloquent and proper looking had just asked me about my 'problem'.

Why why why, I thought. That's the reason why I'm here. Because I can't stop thinking about having sex with other guys, men, males. Anything remotely good-looking, of the opposite sex that releases pheromones within a 10km radius, that has a penis and makes me wonder how big it is, is it circumcised, how well will it pleasure me and how deep can it thrust into me.

I rubbed my face, closed my eyes and pondered her question while sitting across from my sex therapist, who was sitting straight up in her leather executive chair, poised with pen and paper, ready to jot down notes on my sex crazed mind could sputter out.

"I don't know," I finally sighed. "I just love sex. To me, it's just sex. It's a release, it's excitement, it's curiosity. I love men too much?" I looked at her helplessly, like a child who misbehaved all day long and knew they did something bad but wasn't exactly sure at which delinquent act they were being asked about.

"Ok. So what happened this past weekend? I mean, that's the reason you're here, right?"

I nodded, afraid to spill the beans but at $200 an hour, I had no other choice. Money drives you to do crazy things, right? Like sign up for a full month 5AM yoga classes six days a week, knowing that if you quit, you'll have wasted the $800 tuition.

"I had a ridiculous amount of sex with a ridiculous number of men all in less than a week's time".

SexDoc looked down and began scribbling furiously in her notepad.

"And I loved every minute of it," I added, wincing and looking away from her.

"And you don't feel remorse." SexDoc re-confirmed. It's true, I feel no remorse when I do this, despite being a newlywed to an amazing person. It's almost as if I'm two different people, I told SexDoc, like I can compartmentalize these two separate lives and wake up to live the wholesome one but when I go out with friends, or go to a different city and mix in the alcohol, I move onto living the other life.

SexDoc looked over her notes and leaned in, "so what would you ultimately like to accomplish by coming here? Your ultimate goal."

"I have two. One, I want to stop having these uncontrollable sexual thoughts and urges. I don't always act on them but when I'm drunk and other men are around, I definitely could. Two, i want to stop putting myself into weird situations with guys, being overly flirtatious and leading them on. BUt it's so hard, it's my nature to be flirty and I just always step over the line without realizing it until its too late."

I glance at the clock and realize the session is over. SexDoc and I agree to meet up next week to discuss clinical hypnosis. Apparently it's effective for people who are coachable. For those who truly want to be healed.

As I waited in the lobby for the elevator to arrive, my phone bleeped, indicating a text message. It was Brad Scott.

That kiss was delicious. I want to see you again, when can I fly you out to my place?

OMG. My heart fell into my gut and a wave of excitement came over me. After that airport incident, I tried to wash it all away with a hot shower and a verbal diarrhea session with Lauren and Adelle. I thought Brad would've just forgotten me, after all, he's a famous billionaire and I'm a nobody. And now he wants to fly me out to see him!?

I really shouldn't encourage this, I thought to myself. But it was really exciting and the thought of smooching a powerful, older guy was really turning me on. I text back:

Yes, it was fun. Not sure when, I can barely get time off! When are you back in town?

I quickly got into the elevator and back down into my car, hands a little shaky. Could I really pull it off? Too many things to think about, worry about.

Where's that little angel on my shoulder when you need her!??!?

Twittering Twat (Part 2)

{Continued from Part 1}

I gave a quick wave 'hello' and walked towards him as he headed over to my car.

"Hi! How's it going, let me help you with that", I said as I offered to take his bags for him. Maybe it was just me, but I felt like I was off to an awkward start. I felt like the help.

"Oh, no worries! I'll take care of it," came a smooth husky voice. I stood aside and watched as he placed his bags in my backseat. He closed the door and turned to me with a handshake.

"Hi, I'm Brad," he said, cutely in his mellowly husky tone.

"Hi, I"m Jade, nice to meet you!" I shook his hand, and we both got into the car.

Fuck, I can't get over how nervous I am, I thought. How can this possibly be happening!? I'm supposed to be calm, cool and collected. Professional! I quickly glanced down at my boobs and happily noticed my push-up bra doing wonders for me and my tight v-neck shirt.

I ended up driving around aimlessly for about 15 minutes, trying to figure out where to go for coffee while we shot the shit and he told me about his busy schedule, shooting his TV show, traveling here and there and all his upcoming media interviews.

"Ok, sorry to digress, but are you cool with Whitespot? I can't think of anything else and I'm not too sure where we are!"

"Sure!"

That was easy, I thought. A billionaire and I go for coffee and the best I can do is Whitespot. Fucking fantabulous. And to top things off, I kept talking about how 'ravished' I was because I never have enough time to eat. And then we get seated and we both end up ordering oatmeal. With fruit. And coffee. Totally smooth and inconsistent, I sarcastically tell myself.

I brought my book of questions with me, but never opened them up. I was nervous but calm enough to actually hold some kind of a conversation but it was still kinda weird. I kept blanking out so we kept having these awkward little silences. I mean, come on, I was still really star struck. This guy's a billionaire, I told myself, he owns sports teams and entertainment groups, pricey cars and mansions, has a TV show, is widely recognized...and I'm chillin' at a Whitespot with him!

"So, um, what have you been up to?" Brad casually asks me, sensing a bit of a stall in convo.

Fuck, he senses the weirdness too.

"Oh just work. I'm in PR but I'm determined to become an entrepreneur. I have a bazillion ideas on the go all the time but I need to learn more. I guess that's why we're here." I smiled, imagining kicking myself in the head: what kind of professional uses the word 'bazillion'?

And then for about five seconds we just kind of stared at each other. And this is overtly awkward and I had to somehow un-awkward the situation, so I laughed and asked "What?".

"Oh nothing...you're alarmingly stunning, that's all."

Did he just hit on me? OMG BRAD SCOTT, THE BRAD SCOTT JUST THREW ME A LINE, I thought to myself. My heart started pounding...quick, say something...something...anything!

"Well...um...thanks," I mustered up, trying to hide my intense and forthcoming shade of red in my face. I laughed nervously and grabbed my cup of coffee for comfort. I had to look away. I was doing so well too, this entire time, making good eye contact, trying not to think about what sex would be like with a man twice my age, whose daughters and son were only two years younger than I.

"You don't have to hide it....you are gorgeous," he continued. I looked up at him, gave a nervous giggle and retorted with something like "you're not too bad yourself!". I felt like the biggest dork, ever and quickly changed the subject to something else. The rest of the "meeting" was a blur.

The check arrived and I plunked down my card. Of course, being a gracious gentleman, he wouldn't let me pay and said, "You get the next one...we'll go to Morton's next time", and flashed his sexy-older-man smile.

We both got up and headed to the car and I found myself walking in front of him, despite still talking. Did he slow down so he could watch me from behind, I wondered. I turned back to look, and he had his Ray Bans on again and I felt his eyes burning into me. A little creepy, I'll admit.

We got into the car and I started driving back to the airport, making small chitchat again. Somehow we started talking about Halloween and I told him about how I dressed up as a race car driver in a "tight black and red latex racing suit". Once again, the awkward silence came on and he leaned into, Ray Bans on again.

"I double dare you to wear that to dinner next time," he teased, and continued, "I'm sorry, I should probably take these off." He smiled, but never took off his sunglasses. I sensed a sexual tension, a wave of erotic suffocation that I had no control over and couldn't take any action against. I could smell him, his skin had the scent of salt water and too much sun and the great outdoors from a weekend spent on the island.

"No, that's ok."

After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the airport.

"Well thank you very much for meeting with me, I had a great time." Brad said. He took his sunglasses off and leaned across towards me, gesturing for a kiss. HOLYFUCK, does he want me to kiss him? I wondered. My heart was pounding and I started to feel awkward again so I quickly leaned in and gave him one of those polite-french-people kisses on the side of the cheek.

"Me too! Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice." I quickly jumped out of the car to grab his bags and he met me on the other side to help.

"So next time, we'll hit up Morton's!" I laughed and handed him his bags.

"Definitely," he smiled. He leaned in for a goodbye hug and the next thing I knew, his mouth was coming at me again... for a kiss? I wondered. And then, it happened. Too late. He started kissing me. Like, mouth on mouth, and in that moment, I was so shocked that we were lip-locked, I felt like a spectator in my own body. Only...wanting more but not wanting it, all at the same time. His masculine outdoorsy scent filled my head as our tongues met in a passionate entanglement and his five o'clock shadow rubbed against my face, making me wonder what it'd feel like on my neck, breasts, in between my legs.

And before I could do anything, it was over as quickly as it had begun.

"Wow...I, um...totally didn't expect that," I pulled away and laughed nervously.

"Me either. It was nice."

Brad gathered his bags, I straightened my shirt and we said our goodbyes. And I peeled off as fast as I could, pressing every speed dial button I could press to call Lauren and Adelle.

Holyshitballs....Bradley fucking Scott and I had just made out.

Twittering Twat (Part 1)

I consider myself to be a go-getter, the eager learner-type, the type that'll get out there armed with her business cards, network the hell out of a room and go for coffee with higher-upper types to pick their brains and learn how to get ahead in life.

Such was the case of Bradley Scott, billionaire oil, gas and a slew of other industries magnate . I'd watched his award-winning, business-oriented TV show for a year now, read about him in the big business magazines and major daily newspapers and even the celeb gossip blogs that touted him as being one of the "sexiest men on television", and being the tech-savvy broad that I am, began following him on Twitter. And normally, when you follow celebrities on Twitter and you tweet them, you don't actually expect them to tweet you back, but to my surprise, we ended up tweeting back and forth a few times.

ME: Love watching your show, am a huge fan! So glad to know you're on Twitter!
Brad: Thanks for the follow...and you...wow
ME: When are you in town? Would love to go for coffee and pick you brain on biz stuff

To an even bigger surpise, Bradley Scott actually said he'd be up for coffee but could only do so during a short stopover at my city's airport. He told me to email him and gave me his email on his Twitter feed. Anyway, I'll skip over the mundane details, but a few emails later, I agreed to pick him up from the airport (which I thought was weird 'cuz this guy could afford a limo with his pocket change) and go somewhere to connect. Yes, 'connect' is apparently the new biz lingo for 'meeting up'.

"Shit, I need to borrow my mom's BMW. Stat." I told Papi (my hubby) right after I broke the news about my meeting. There was no way in hell I was going to roll up in a piece of shit car to pickup a billionaire.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, you wouldn't want to make a bad impression!" Papi said. He knows all about making good first impressions, especially with someone like Bradley Scott, who drives crazy top of the line BMWs and owns an NHL hockey team. He also knows that our beat up ugly Toyota sedan is no place for anyone to sit in except for us and Rambo, our dog. And my makeshift shoe bin that doubles as a garbage can.

Saturday arrived, and I rolled up to the airport, nervous as heck, wondering why I even bothered to do this. Oh right, I remembered, I want to learn more about business stuff. I even armed myself with questions just in case I got a little star struck and blanked out. I tend to blank out a lot when I'm nervous. Or drunk.

I waited for a nerve wracking five minutes, texting my girlfriends about how nervous I was and going over the questions I had planned to ask. Both Lauren and Adelle have done this tons of times, meeting with business associates for breakfast, lunch, drinks, etc. They're so good at this networking thing, meeting strangers and asking the right questions.

"Don't worry, you'll do fine. This is a huge opportunity to learn as much as you can and make a good connection!" Lauren praised. She herself, managed to network her way to a top management position with the government. If she can do this, so can I, I reassured myself.

Finally, a figure emerged from the airport, a tall-ish 6'0" Bradley Scott, in the flesh, dressed in a crisp denim shirt, untucked with the first two buttons unbuttoned, revealing a smooth, leathery tanned chest, loose fitting jeans hanging slightly over his vintage cowboy boots. His curly, salt and peppered hair blowing in the wind as he walked with his leather carry-on in tow, Ray Bans firmly and mysteriously placed over his eyes and three days worth of scruff on his face. The theme song from Top Gun may as well have been playing in the background.

Holy fuckmenow, I thought. I bit my lip and scuttled out of the car as best I could, trying to keep myself composed, smoothing my down any crinkles in my gauchos and pulling my shirt straight. I was nervous as hell and all I could do was wished I hadn't gotten out of the car...

{Continued in Part 2}

Introduction to Pheromonally Gifted

As I pulled into the parking lot of the big, medical building and parked my car, self-doubt and second thoughts filled my head. Am I actually going to go through with this? Am I actually going to confess everything that I can't share with anyone else to a complete stranger? Is this actually going to help me get over my problem?

I stroll up to the fourth floor of the building, give the friendly receptionists my name and take a seat in the waiting room. Nervously, I grab the nearest magazine and pretend to flip through, all the while, taking in the sights and sounds of the therapists office.

A lot of young couples walk in and out of the various rooms, some with a new baby in tow, others who are expecting and every so often, an older couple. Is this what happens after you have kids, I wonder, does everything start to suck so bad that you need to seek the guidance of a complete, yet highly qualified, stranger?

I made an appointment to see one of the best sex and marital therapy psychologists about two weeks ago, right after I came back from a wild weekend away in Seattle and realized that hormones, pheromones, alcohol and my commitment-phobia mindset needed to find a happy medium, an agreement, a place where they could all happily exist and not wreck havoc on my personal life. My relationship with my hubby. My mind.

What would I ask her? What would I talk about? More importantly, where the heck do I start???

How do you talk to a therapist about being horny 24/7? Fantasizing about having sex with practically every half-decent looking guy you meet and interact with? On top of that, how do you manage any of those things when you're a newlywed?!

This blog is a tell all of my life, being pheromonally gifted. Stay tuned for more posts.