Screech’s real name was Alan Wall. But he was a dead ringer for the character on Saved by the Bell , so everyone called him Screech. He was in his late twenties, with a goatee that was just a little past its sell-by date. He was not a lawyer—he was an IT professional. This meant that he would frequently wear awful sweaters. In a bid to be cool, Screech had one ear pierced with a simple silver stud. He was a slight man. But as Marianna knew well, what he lacked in size, he made up for in other talents. Marianna got hot and flushed just thinking about it.
“Hi Screech!”
“Hey ladies! Anyone up for some oral?”
Screech was obsessed with oral sex.
“Oh, you’re such a kidder!” said Suzanne. But Marianna understood he wasn’t kidding. All of the ladies in the office had, at least once or twice, “ridden the goat,” as they liked to call receiving oral pleasure from Screech and his goatee.
The three sat down.
“Well, how are things with Bradley?” asked Suzanne.
“Things are great! I’m so happy because I can really see myself being Mrs. Bradley W. Simpson Jr.!”
Screech looked confused. “What does the ‘W’ stand for anyway?”
“Oh, no one knows! It just adds to the mystery! His father was the only one who knew, and he disappeared years ago.”
“And how’s the sex?”
“Honey, once you’ve done a rugby man…” Marianna insinuated slyly. She knew that when she got home that night, Bradley would be waiting to ravish her. “He gets a little kinky! Sometimes, he’ll film us making love!”
“And you let him? Miss Marianna Holt! I am shocked! Even I only let the boys film us bumping uglies if they promise to film in black & white! It’s so much more romantic that way…” Suzanne’s voice trailed off, clearly thinking about her own reverse cowgirl Casablanca.
“Well, of course I let him! I love him—I’d do anything for him! Besides, he only focuses the camera on himself, so none of my lady bits are on film.”
“Ahem…” The waiter had snuck up behind the threesome. “Welcome to Adour! May I take your order, or shall I return later?” The three laughed in embarrassment.
Lunch was exquisite—toasted brioche with house-cured koala foie gras, carmelized masutake on a bed of Monkfish liver, caviar cleverly arranged in a trompe l’oeil to look just like Margaret Thatcher! Dessert was delicious, and Screech had somewhat vulgarly offered to perform cunnilingus on both of them as a digestif (which they respectfully declined). But then it was time to head back to the office, and the ladies said goodbye to Screech.
“Did you see that waiter’s face when you talked about your lady bits?”
“Ha! You’re such a bad influence on me.” The girls turned down Fifth Avenue.
“Oh. My. God.” Suzanne stopped dead—she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or perhaps a really unattractive old fling.
“What?”
“Isn’t that… your man?” She gestured towards the handsome man with an iron jawline.
“It is! I’m gonna go say ‘hi’ to my Bradley!”
“You might want to think twice about that…” Suzanne beamed. “What’s that he’s holding?”
Marianna’s eyes were drawn like a hawk, or perhaps some other bird known both for good eyesight and a taste for exquisite jewelry. Bradley W. Simpson Jr. was carrying one of those famous blue bags from Tiffany’s! Marianna shrieked with delight, for she knew that the blue bag undeniably held one of the famous blue boxes from Tiffany’s, which always contained what every woman wants the most.
“ I’M GETTING ENGAGED! ” Marianna shouted, loud enough to attract Bradley’s attention. Marianna and Suzanne squealed and ducked behind the corner, just as Bradley’s perfect jawline jutted in their direction. They hid for a minute, making fanning motions with their hands, before Suzanne peeked around the corner.
“The
“Hi Screech!”
“Hey ladies! Anyone up for some oral?”
Screech was obsessed with oral sex.
“Oh, you’re such a kidder!” said Suzanne. But Marianna understood he wasn’t kidding. All of the ladies in the office had, at least once or twice, “ridden the goat,” as they liked to call receiving oral pleasure from Screech and his goatee.
The three sat down.
“Well, how are things with Bradley?” asked Suzanne.
“Things are great! I’m so happy because I can really see myself being Mrs. Bradley W. Simpson Jr.!”
Screech looked confused. “What does the ‘W’ stand for anyway?”
“Oh, no one knows! It just adds to the mystery! His father was the only one who knew, and he disappeared years ago.”
“And how’s the sex?”
“Honey, once you’ve done a rugby man…” Marianna insinuated slyly. She knew that when she got home that night, Bradley would be waiting to ravish her. “He gets a little kinky! Sometimes, he’ll film us making love!”
“And you let him? Miss Marianna Holt! I am shocked! Even I only let the boys film us bumping uglies if they promise to film in black & white! It’s so much more romantic that way…” Suzanne’s voice trailed off, clearly thinking about her own reverse cowgirl Casablanca.
“Well, of course I let him! I love him—I’d do anything for him! Besides, he only focuses the camera on himself, so none of my lady bits are on film.”
“Ahem…” The waiter had snuck up behind the threesome. “Welcome to Adour! May I take your order, or shall I return later?” The three laughed in embarrassment.
Lunch was exquisite—toasted brioche with house-cured koala foie gras, carmelized masutake on a bed of Monkfish liver, caviar cleverly arranged in a trompe l’oeil to look just like Margaret Thatcher! Dessert was delicious, and Screech had somewhat vulgarly offered to perform cunnilingus on both of them as a digestif (which they respectfully declined). But then it was time to head back to the office, and the ladies said goodbye to Screech.
“Did you see that waiter’s face when you talked about your lady bits?”
“Ha! You’re such a bad influence on me.” The girls turned down Fifth Avenue.
“Oh. My. God.” Suzanne stopped dead—she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or perhaps a really unattractive old fling.
“What?”
“Isn’t that… your man?” She gestured towards the handsome man with an iron jawline.
“It is! I’m gonna go say ‘hi’ to my Bradley!”
“You might want to think twice about that…” Suzanne beamed. “What’s that he’s holding?”
Marianna’s eyes were drawn like a hawk, or perhaps some other bird known both for good eyesight and a taste for exquisite jewelry. Bradley W. Simpson Jr. was carrying one of those famous blue bags from Tiffany’s! Marianna shrieked with delight, for she knew that the blue bag undeniably held one of the famous blue boxes from Tiffany’s, which always contained what every woman wants the most.
“ I’M GETTING ENGAGED! ” Marianna shouted, loud enough to attract Bradley’s attention. Marianna and Suzanne squealed and ducked behind the corner, just as Bradley’s perfect jawline jutted in their direction. They hid for a minute, making fanning motions with their hands, before Suzanne peeked around the corner.
“The
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