The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (21 page)

I park Karen’s car in front of his house. He walks over and opens the car door for me. “So, this is it,” Mark says as I exit the car. “This is my home.”

“It’s very nice,” I reply politely. So what if I lie? Don’t act like you’ve never done it.

“Yeah, I’m not home a lot because of work and all,” he tells me.
You can say that again,
I think to myself. Who in the world doesn’t make sure that their hedges are cut? Who doesn’t mow their own lawn? There’s a solution to this scenario and it’s called hiring a landscaper.

“That … sucks,
” I blurt out. I couldn’t think of a good word to use. It seems that most of our conversation topics were used up at the bar. Maybe it’s a good thing, though. Less talk, MORE ACTION!

I hold on to his arm as we walk to his front door. I place my head onto his shoulder devouring the exotic scent of his cologne. I’m in heaven. I decide to go in for the kill. Before I know, I’m stopping him in his tracks and planting the most passionate kiss on his lips, taking his breath away. He looks stunned, in a good way of course.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“For being the sexiest man that I’ve ever met,” I say slyly. “I can’t wait to see the inside of your house, mainly your bedroom.” I slowly move my hand under his shirt touching his finely-chiseled abs. Mark becomes speechless.

“I, um, yeah,” he stutters in shock. “Yeah, you can see the bedroom,” he says eagerly and rushes me to the front door. “Let’s, um, do that!” He opens the door and pulls me inside. I push him against the closest wall and begin to kiss on his neck. “You still,”
GROAN!
“Want that … oh, God! Coffee?”

“Not … right … now,” I say between breaths as I pull anxiously on the top of his jeans. I then feel something rubbing against the bottom of my leg and I jump.

“What is it?” Mark asks with his eyes closed.

“Your dog,” I reply. The dog continuously jumps on my leg and I laugh. “He’s a cute dog.” A little brown, furry thing. His dog is the most adorable pocketbook dog that I’ve ever seen.

“Let me put him in the guest room,” Mark tells me. “I’ll be right back.” He directs me to his couch. “Have a seat. I have a surprise for you.”

“Already?” I ask. I doubt it’s diamonds. After all, we just met. Maybe it’s a very fine Chardonnay of some sort. A girl can wonder.

“Let’s just say I like to set the mood,” he says then winks. He walks away with the dog.

OK,
I think to myself as I take a look around the living room. It’s your typical man-home equipped with a gargantuan-sized flat screen TV, an X-Box, surround sound speakers, an overly technical stereo, a wooden coffee table with absolutely nothing on it, and a wide collection of DVDs and video games. One thing’s for certain, he has a clean home that doesn’t smell funny. That has to be a plus, right?

“Leslee?” I hear Mark say seductively a few feet behind me.

“Yes?” I ask without turning around assuming that any second now he’ll be the one kissing my neck. He claps twice and the room darkens. The sound of house music blares from the speakers and white strobe lights begin to flicker within the room.
What … the … fuck?
“Um, Mark?” I ask. “What is going on?” I hear him breathing heavily behind me and I begin to panic a little.

“There’s one thing that I didn’t tell you at the bar,” he says and I’m so afraid to turn around.
Where the hell did I put my Mace?!

“And, um, what’s that?” I ask. Now I’m speechless! What in the world is about to happen? Should I be praying?

I feel him licking on the back of my neck and I shiver. “I’m a dancer,” he says.

“You mean like Cabaret dancing, Riverdancing, what?” I ask as my body shakes. I have no clue what he’s talking about nor do I want to. “You dance the Tango?” I guess. “Waltz? Tap? Ballet?” I ask quickly.

“No,” he says and laughs. “I … am … SUPERMAN!” he shouts as he leaps over the couch and jumps onto the coffee table wearing a Superman thong and a red cape all while holding a glowstick in each hand.
Oh … my … God,
I think to myself. Is this really happening? My libido has gone from roaring and ready-to-go to temporarily shutting down for the night.
Is he serious?

Mark throws his arms in the air and freezes into some sort of funny, galactic pose. The music stops for a second and his eyes widen. Dramatic effect, I guess?

He throws off the cape and begins to thrust his pelvis forward. The music seems to get louder and louder, and I become more and more anxious to run.

“Accountant by day,” Mark yells, “private dancer by night, baby!” He then leaps off the table and jumps on my lap, humping me like some overly anxious teenage boy. I cringe. This is not how I imagined my night … not at all.

“Maybe I should go,” I say with fear in my voice. “I, um, have to get up really early for Pilates and I …” I’m lost in thought.
Why do these things always happen to me?!

“You like this body?” he asks as he breaths heavily into my face.

“Um, sometimes?” I say in the form of a question. “I don’t know?”

“You like this rock-hard ass?” he asks as he stands on the floor and bends over.

“I, um, it’s getting late. I should go,” I say in a rush and grab my purse. I try to stand up but he pushes me back on the couch.
Kick to the crotch NOW?
I ask myself but too frightened to move.

“Grab my ass,” he instructs me. Apparently there’s no shame in his game.

“Oh, no. I really shouldn’t.”

“GRAB MY ASS, DAMNIT!” he yells.

“OK, OK!” I yell back as I grab his left buttock. For some people, this would be the ultimate turn on, being dominated by a man in a Superman thong, but to me, not so much. I hold on to his butt cheek for dear life as his eyes roll into the back of his head. He looks just like a man who’s just cum. How is he getting aroused by this? Is this some sort of crazy Superman butt fetish that I wasn’t informed about? I have to get out of here!

“Ooooooh!” he groans loudly, then slowly his knees buckle and his body drops to the floor. He doesn’t move.

“Mark?” I say. He resembles a dead fish: pale, non-mobile, sickly looking. I clap twice to turn on the lights. “Mark, are you OK?” I ask as I stand over him and let my foot give his limp body a little nudge. He doesn’t respond.
Oh fuck! I think I killed him!
I grab his shoulders and shake him. “Mark, get up!” I yell. He lays still. “You can’t be dead!” I whimper pathetically as I smack his face. Sadly, part of me wants to take off the thongs and sneak a peek at the goods, another part of me wants to roll him on to his front yard for his neighbors to see what type of freak they live next to, but the part of me that’s telling me to leave quietly
and quickly
has hands down gotten my vote.

I slowly grab my purse and head to the door as his dog walks out into the living room and begins to lick on Mark’s face. The secrets that the dog could tell me are probably endless.
Should I just steal the dog?
No, Leslee, you can’t,
I tell myself, then again …

“Since I obviously can’t have the man, I guess I’ll settle for man’s best friend,” I say aloud. The dog pauses from licking Mark’s face and runs toward me, jumping into my arms. The dog just looks at me. “What?” I ask him. “Would you rather be adopted by a woman with fabulous taste or would you rather be an orphan?” The dog looks down an
d whimpers. “Yeah, I thought so,
” I say as I walk out of Mark’s house quietly. Another date, another disaster, but this time I leave with the cutest, most adorable partying gift ever: my new dog.

“No!” Karen yells in the middle of the bridal shop. “No, no, NO!” she repeats to the sales attendant. She asked me ahead of time to accompany her in shopping for wedding gown and of course, I agreed because I’m one of the bridesmaids. On top of that, I’m her best friend so I couldn’t say no. Sadly I’m beginning to regret my decision to help her. She’s a total monster when it has anything to do with the wedding, but then again I’d be a little pissed off, too, if the sales attendant had me try on a dress that resembles a big, white, puffy parachute. Karen kinda looks like that overgrown marshmallow man in
Ghostbusters
. Any way you look at it, it just screams bad. No surprise that she’s having the ultimate Bridezilla temper tantrum.

“What did I tell you, Emily
?” Karen asks the obviously intimidated sales girl. “I said
classy, elegant,
and
royal
e! This dress is proof that you are not listening to anything that I’m telling you.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Culbertson. I’ll find
you something better,” Emily
says with fear in her eyes. “It’s just that you said that you are a size 8 and our dresses run small so the selection for you is limited.”
Oh shit!
I think to myself. Emily
has done it now. She has officially released the beast and dug her own grave. This is about to get ugly.

Karen’s eyes widen in anger and her teeth clench together. “So, what
are you trying to say, Emily?” Karen asks and Emily
shrugs her shoulders. “Are you trying to say that I’m fat?” Karen slowly walks towards the sales girl until she’s face-to-face with her.

“Um, n-no,” Emily
stutters. “You are not fat. You are beautiful and stunning.”

“You’re trying to tell me that I’m so fat that I’m undeserving of a beautiful wedding gown, aren’t you?”

Emily
gulps. “No, Ms. Culbertson!” she cries. “Of course that’s not what I meant.”

“So what
did you mean?” Karen asks and Emily
becomes speechless. It’s the showdown of the year: Bridezilla vs. Very
Stupid Sales Attendant. Emily
has no clue who she’s dealing with. “This is how it’s going to go from now on,” Karen starts. “You will search high and low in this store for the most elegant gowns that will accent and flatter my curvaceous figure. I am not fat. I have curves. There’s a difference. You will then
apologize
for bringing me this disgusting monstrosity of a dress to try on and for slightly suggesting that I am of an obese nature. And if you even think about bringing me another dress that has me looking like Yuko the Sumo Wrestler, I will inform your boss and have you fired so fast that it’ll make your h
ead spin. Are we clear, Emily
?”

“Yes, Ms. Culbertson,” she says quietly. “And sorry—” Karen waves her hand
s as if dismissing her. Emily
scurries off quickly. Karen looks at me in disgust.

“Can you believe her?” she asks me. “What in God’s name was she thinking when she brought me out this dress?”

I laugh. “I don’t know,” I reply. “I can’t believe she would bring you out a
white
dress. Your vagina’s like the Energizer bunny. It’s been going for years and years.”

“Ha, ha, you’re so funny,” Karen replies sarcastically. “White is not just for virgins anymore, especially in this day and age.”

“Well, maybe you should try on some ivory dresses anyway,” I tease. “They very well may have more size eights in ivory.” Karen shoots me a dirty look.

“So what are you trying to say? That I’m a fat whore?” she asks.

“No, I’m not implying that you’re fat, Karen,” I say. “But the whore part seems debatable.”

“Yet again with the humor,” Karen says frustrated. “Just help me get out of this big, satin bubble that they call a dress.” I unzip the dress and watch it fall to the floor. Karen lets out a sigh of relief. “Ahh, that’s better. So, um, how’d it go last night with Mr. Right Now?”

“Terrible,” I reply and she laughs. “A complete disaster.”

“What happened?” Karen asks as she fiddles with bridal veils at a nearby display table. I join her in trying on a few.

“Well, we went back to his place, he gave me this strange Superman lap dance, he passed out head first on the floor and then as I was leaving, I stole his dog.”

“And now we have a pet,” she says.

“Exactly.”

“You know, Russ and I always wanted a pet,” Karen tells me. “We were just too cheap and lazy to buy one. So, let’s name him Roscoe and get him doggy pedicures. That’ll be fun, right?”

“Whatever.”

“Why would you steal his dog
anyway?” she asks me and I shrug.

“I don’t know! I panicked!” I exclaim. “I couldn’t tell if Mark was dead or not the way he just crashed to the floor.”

Karen shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have stolen the dog.”

“I know, I know. I’m such a horrible person.”

“You should’ve stolen his money instead,” she says and laughs. “We could’ve had a free lunch today.”

“If I was thinking s
traight, I would’ve stolen both,
” I say as I try on another veil.

“Well, it’s not your fault that Mark was a freak,” Karen tells me as she plays with the veil on my head.

I laugh. “I know. My choice in men sucks.”

“So are you done with this whole dating experiment thing you got going? Are you completely finished with Mark?”