BABY DADDY (3 page)

If I do get pregnant, my lactation period will vastly improve blood circulation in my boobies, thereby greatly reducing the risk of developing cysts in any of the unused ducts in there.

If I want to analyze that further, I’ll come to the conclusion that making babies is mandatory for women as it’s literally a cancer prevention measure, which will set off an endless argument by yours truly about gender equality which at this point, I’d be arguing with THE Creator, so let’s not even go there.

Anyway, what my doc said was definitely the granddaddies of all wake-up calls that set me in an apocalyptic panic. For real.

It was time to face the reality of it.

I finally made up my mind.

Like really, really, really made up my mind.

I want a baby.

So here I am now.

I’m not picky. I don’t care who or what my Baby Dada is as long as he’s clean and smells like heaven and has a smile that makes my tummy flutter like a million butterfly wings and has the body that will make me want to finally end my ten-year aversion to men and sex.

Wow. Has it been that long? I normally don’t count the years but when situations put me in the math zone, even I recoil at the reality of those numbers. It scares me, truth be told, that I haven’t really felt the need to have sex with a man in so long, that I haven’t felt the need to be with a man, even just for companionship, for a decade! It emphasizes the fact that I’ve refused to see (yup, Denial Queen)— that maybe, maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me.

There IS something SERIOUSLY wrong with you. What the hell are you doing in this island in Asia, trying to blend anonymously among the mélange of tourists of various nationalities, planning to hook up with some random stranger and steal his sperm?

I inwardly cringe again. It’s not really stealing his sperm. I call it borrowing. What is one sperm anyway? Just one in gazillions he produces every day, and may I add, wastes everyday. I just need one healthy tadpole to fertilize one of my eggs before they croak for good. Just one! It’s not stealing, okay? Come on!

Sperm thief!

I quit wrestling with my conscience. I don’t need my moral codes nagging me today if I have to make a move on that hunk of masculine glory over there.

Okay, so what the hell are you still doing here boring the shit out of yourself cataloging your internal shit? Go on, prove how gungho you really are about this baby-making project.

I’m a very confident woman in my turf, commanding the most good-looking men to move the way I want them to while wearing my label. Adonises are commonplace in my line of work and I deal with them almost on a weekly basis. Lots of them in various nationalities. But asking a very good-looking man to have sex with me right off the bat is something I’ve never done before. It’s uncharted territory for me and I’m basically almost clueless.

I can just go for another guy, someone not so intimidating in the looks department. A regular-looking one. Plenty of them around here, too. Average height, balding, not-so-panty-creaming body.

My ovaries protest violently.
Don’t be a fucking loser! Aim big and high! We don’t want regular! We want extraordinary! If you’re going to get knocked up, do it by design! Choose the best man for the job! He’s gotta be the best of the best! You’re staring at him!

I inhale deeply. My ovaries are right, of course. I take it back. I’m actually picky, that’s why I squandered a week looking for him. Now that I found him, I can’t let this chance pass. He doesn’t know me, I don’t know him, so no preconceived ideas about each other, ergo, no judgment. Just a one-week-stand if he’s amenable to it.

He has to be. I’ve no other choices in sight.

He’s leaving! Hurry!
My ovaries are panicking.

I need to be Machiavellian.

Amazonian.

Girl power.

Yes, I want that man’s sperm and I’m gonna get it come hell or high water.

What’s that?
My built-in radar is picking up something in the air.

It’s an invisible energy touching me. Surrounding me. Caressing me.

The
al fresco
bar in this part of the strip is packed this afternoon and I can barely make out what everyone’s saying. Of course it’s full of energy, but I know the difference between throwing around casual hook-up signals for anyone who’s interested and a well-directed one.

This is a well-directed hitting.

On me.

And it’s the strongest of them all.

Someone’s watching me intently. I do believe in that telepathic shit. I’m sort of metaphysical, if you want to go Zen.

I’ve been around people of all walks of life a lot from my travels. I know it when I’m being singled out from the rest.

It’s not coming from this chick at the bar giving me the come-hither look and the promise of a raunchy romp later, nor is it coming from the ladies at the table to my right who’ve all been flashing their tits and tats at me since this morning at the competition, and now they’re hell-bent on getting me to join them in a bender of booze and sex later.

How times have changed. Men are no longer the dominant sexual predators.

I shake my head a little. Wild rich girls. The entire island is full of them, tourists from around the world who come here to have an uninhibited, anonymous good time.

One of the girls trying to get my attention acts on her need.

She comes to the bar and literally slithers between me and whatshername, the one trying to chat me into her panties too, but failing miserably. I’m choosy these days.

“Would you like to join our table?”

Not very subtle, too, this babe. It’s like offering the goodies to a man point blank, minus the trimmings. Now, any man would immediately dive on the goodies as they’re fine-looking ones but I’m not most men. I like trimmings.

I’ve tried a lot of things with these girls and frankly, it got old pretty fast. You can only do a woman in certain positions that are truly pleasurable, the rest are just for show.

Now, I’m tired of showing off. I don’t need that validation anymore. I’ve done the United Nations, you know, all races. My junior is now very secure in its abilities to make pussycats purr in extreme satisfaction at its own time and pace and is no longer trigger happy or suffering from attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder.

I give her my Mr. Nice guy grin. “I’ll have to pass but can I buy you girls another round of drinks? Just order. All on me.”

Her face turns a bit ugly in disappointment. “Are you sure?” She thrusts her ample chest towards me, barely covered by the twin scraps of her black bikini top. Not bad on a boring Monday afternoon.

I wait for my junior to give me the go signal. The fucker doesn’t even give the slightest twitch.

I smile at her apologetically. “Yeah.”

She gives me this I-cannot-believe-you’re-saying-no-to-THIS! look.
Another overly confident spoiled brat denied a whim.

She stomps away in a huff. “Maybe you have a small dick anyway,” I hear her say.

I grin and take a swig from my can of Monster.
Baby, you have no idea.

They’re most probably first-timers on the island. My reputation hasn’t reached them yet. But then again, I’ve been deliberately ducking the island’s wild circuit the past months. These days, fucking strangers is as palatable as a drive-through grub. Fast, easy and forgettable.

I want to dine in.

I want to remember.

I want a woman I can savor like a great meal prepared lovingly. Something I’d take time consuming. Something I’d enjoy till the last bite.
Something I’d like to eat again….and again. For a change.

Tonight, I want to just chill by myself. My team won the semis yesterday and we are off to the championship race next weekend. I want that trophy. The team wants it. We want to be champions, first and foremost. Banging trust fund girls looking for some island adventure is an unnecessary distraction. I need to conserve all my energy for that race on Sunday.

I finish my drink and prepare to leave.

Whatever that energy I’m detecting somewhere in the bar, I’ll pass up on tonight. Maybe after the race, if I feel it again, I’ll make an effort to look for its source. For now, I’ll let this one go.

I slide from the bar stool and collide into something.

Boy oh Boy, I have seen
dozens
of the most hot-looking men of all races the past week and quite frankly, nothing has set my eggs a-fluttering and singing “fertilize me now!” in unison like a Wagner orchestra.

Our eyes lock. Or I don’t know. He’s wearing shades, I’m wearing one, too, but I just know our eyes are onto each other like we’re the only people in this crowded bar.

Holy hell, Batman, I can really feel the current passing between us. Megawatt level!

I shiver, not from the cold rapidly spreading down my front.

“I’m so sorry, miss. Are you alright?” he says with real concern, his hands hovering on me as if he wants to touch me but doesn’t want to cross the line.

Muttering a curse to himself, he turns around to grab some paper napkins from the bar counter and begins dabbing on my face and neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you and…” his voice trails off and he winces, embarrassed.

I fight a giggle. I have to admit my limitations. I’m very rusty in the flirting department so I had to use that classic move I’ve read about so many times. Of course, I deliberately bumped into him. I purposefully drenched myself with the melon shake and now my caftan-covered chest is dripping with it.

Lamest trick in the book to get a man’s attention but it’s very effective. I can’t see his eyes but the dude looks so guilty he’d probably donate a load of his sperm if I asked him to right now.

He moves to wipe my wet chest but stops short. Boy, am I so glad I have extra pounds to give my double Ds an extra lift. The dude is definitely staring at my twin peaks, I can tell.

Hmmm, keep looking. Darn shades. I wish he removes them so I can see the color of his eyes.

“Shall I?” he asks me tentatively.

His breath reaches my nostrils.
Mama Mia! Yum!
He’d taste good when I kiss him. His breath’s clean and minty. Most probably he’s clean all over, too.

Check.

“It’s alright.” I take the napkin from his hand. Our fingers brush.

Kzzzzzzz! Zipzapboom!

Our cosmic synergies are having an orgy now. I hope he feels it. I sure do!

The butterflies in my belly are now flapping wildly like they just emerged collectively from their cocoons and begin hunting for their mates. Definitely mating season for me, too.

He hasn’t even touched me deliberately yet and I’m melting like that bubblehead who’s currently giving me the territorial I-saw-him-first look.

Sorry, bitch. He’s mine. Don’t even attempt to come in between me and my Baby Dada or you’ll end up an even sorrier mess. Not a good time to cross a desperate sperm thief.

I slowly dab my chest with the paper napkin… stalling…waiting.
I really need to brush up on my flirting skills. There’s gotta be a Plan B if my
deliberate
accidental bump ploy doesn’t work, after all.

Come on, dude, ask my name. Introduce yourself. Please, Baby Dada. Help me.

“Maybe you need to wash up,” he suggests.

“Yeah, I need to. I feel sticky now,” I say.

“But there’s always a long line at the ladies’ room.”

“Uh-huh…”
C’mon…invite me.

“I know some place where you can wash up.”

Yeah! I look up at him and smile. “Where? My hotel is quite a long walk from here.”

“Uhh…mine’s just nearby.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He stares. “Are you…sure?”

“Why not?”

“You just met me.”

“Why, are you a bad boy?”

He gives out a short laugh, then shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, then let’s go. My nipples are freezing.”

His jaw slackens.

Okay, that’s not a suave line.

But then he’s now grinning like he’s really amused by what I said. Jesus, toothpaste commercial grin.

He shrugs. “Alright. We can’t have your ni… uhh people freezing.”

I grin back. Up close he looks younger, his skin so smooth it literally gleams! I hope he’s at least in his late twenties. I can handle a six-year age gap max. More than that, I’d feel like a cradle-snatcher.

Are you fucking kidding me? Who cares if he’s much younger as long as he’s legal? You need porn star stamina, right? Then you need him to be Y-O-U-N-G. I’m pretty sure he’s been around women a lot. Nobody looks like that and not get rock star privileges in the sack.

I almost sigh in relief when he holds my elbow and leads me out of the bar.

Oh, the feels!

What the hell just happened?

I brought a woman to my room. A very attractive woman who set my board shorts afire the moment I smelled her.