“Bye, Decker,” they booth crooned as they let themselves out. As soon as the door clicked shut, I was left in an uncomfortable vacuum of silence. I reached for the remote to my way too expensive and really damn loud sound system and pressed a button. “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” by the Animals filled the room. I liked old school stuff. My musical appreciation had been groomed by my parents, and I wasn’t giving it up for anyone. Not even Snoop Dog, even if I had been at his last album release party. Feeling a little less lonely with my music, I found the energy to make it to the bathroom where I quickly soaked under the heated spray, washing away the scent of sex and women. When I was done, I dried off like all males do, quickly and inefficiently. Water still dripped down my naked torso as I brushed my teeth in the vanity mirror. My dark hair looked darker wet and hung a little longer over my eyes and around my ears. I would have cut it, but Belinda, my hairdresser, explained the couldn’t-give-a-fuck look was in and I should roll with it. What could I say? I truly didn’t give a fuck. My eyes were a weird mixture of brown honey which were currently laced with tired red veins. I only had a couple of hours’ sleep last night. The thought of my escapades with Leah and Cindy didn’t result in a satisfied grin. No shock there though, one pussied out male present and accounted for. I ran a hand over the growth on my face again and shrugged. Neither Cindy nor Leah had complained that I had left them with beard burn between their thighs. I checked the grooming around my dick and gave it a satisfied nod. I guess all those years making money off that piece of equipment had me more concerned with its appearance than my face. I was in good shape, tall and tone, and I carried a cock that most men would pay one of those penis enlargement sites a ton of cash for. The entire package made me a reasonable amount of money and, more importantly, had put my name in the right social circles. It wasn’t like I didn’t have options outside of porn. In the early days of my career, I had managed to invest wisely. When my dad was laid off from the construction company he had put in thirty years’ worth of loyal service to, he decided to step out on his own. I gave him every cent I earned towards it, and in the end, Steele Structures was born. My dad and I were now equal partners in a company that purchased old dilapidated buildings in Manhattan, renovated them to their former glory, and either leased them out or sold them for a tidy profit. While the economic crash a few years back had destroyed many, my dad and I swooped in and bought whatever property we could get our hands on, all across Manhattan. As the economy continued to slowly right itself, Steele Structures was now raking it in. I didn’t need to work in porn, but I liked it. I liked sex, I liked girls, and I liked the name and reputation I had worked hard to build for myself. I sure as hell didn’t like that I now had a major equipment malfunction to deal with though.
I dressed quickly, old jeans, worn shirt with a button up thrown over it, buttons undone cause I didn’t have time to do them up. I slid my feet into a pair of flip-flops before grabbing my keys and leaving the apartment. I was running late, as usual. I had promised my best friend, Bradley, I would pick up his cousin from the airport. He had caught me in a moment of weakness, and when I say weakness, I was tanked. I hadn’t even remembered the phone conversation with him; an email with Andi’s flight details was my only clue that the conversation had transpired. I guess I owed him; he had dragged my drunken ass home from enough bars and clubs over the years and covered for me when our sneaky, teenage whiskey shots had resulted in me hugging the porcelain throne for half the night. Just the thought of the whiskey induced vomit-a-thon made my stomach churn. I was renowned for more than just my sexual prowess; I had the weakest stomach and the most ridiculous gag reflex known to man. Bradley used to tease me to no end over my sensitive stomach. I had met Bradley when I was four-years-old. Our parents had been neighbors and we hit it off right away. We went to school together, and even after Bradley and his family moved to Florida when we were fourteen, Bradley and I remained best friends. Our parent’s friendship, unfortunately, dwindled with time and distance, but I still spent many summer vacations in Florida with Bradley, which is where I met Andrea Jennings. Andrea, or Andi as she now liked to be called, was awkward. She was a few years younger than me, so as a blossoming, horny teenager, I hadn’t really offered her the same attention I gave the other girls my own age. She was cute, in that country, pale skinned redhead kind of way. She hid her braces under a constant frown and kept her gaze submissively downcast at all times. She also had the personality of a rock. The girl barely pulled her face out of a book long enough to eat and shit let alone hold a conversation. Yet even though I had dismissed her as a weird book geek, I found her intriguing. My male appreciation could see the milky soft skin, big eyes, and full lips that would grow into a beautiful woman. If only she would grow a personality to go with it.
According to Bradley’s email, Andi had purchased an old second hand bookstore with a studio apartment above it down in SoHo. She was going to fix it up and turn it into New York’s next big thing. A bookstore…New York’s next big thing. Nope, that was not going to happen. I had checked out the building; it wasn’t one of mine, but I had to admit it was in a good area. Old and in need of work, but not too far from the hustle and bustle of the SoHo nightlife. Andi was taking a massive gamble though. Any business venture had risk and a country girl trying to make it in the city? It had disaster written all over it.
Traffic was a bitch and my mood was dark as I coasted along the bumper to bumper city streets, my arm casually resting on the window sill. A car pulled up alongside me, music blaring, “Walkin’ On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves. I glared at the pretty boy blonde and his hippy female counterpart who both wore a ‘free hugs’ t-shirt and flowers in their hair, even the guy. They were singing loudly and watching me with far too much enthusiasm, with big ridiculous smiles on their big ridiculous faces. I reached for my cold coffee and tossed its contents out the window, splashing down the side of their bubble Mazda. Their smiles didn’t disappear, and their effort to shine some sort of whimsical happiness into my heart only intensified. I pressed the button and my window slid up too slowly. I graced them with my middle finger before the traffic finally began to move. I was being an asshole. This wasn’t me. I was the laid back, easy going Decker; the guy who laughed when others threw temper tantrums; the guy who could bring a woman to her knees, literally. Under the pressure of my failing manhood, I had turned into a prick!