By: Mariana Zapata

In few words, she wanted Calum to motorboat her tits. I laughed my ass off for a solid thirty minutes when she admitted that to me a few months before. He could totally do it, I'd seen those 34D's in person more times than I could count, and those puppies were immaculate.

"Shit, I need to go pee. Will you hold my spot for me?" she asked, I nodded.

He wasn't scheduled to come out and do autographs for another ten or fifteen minutes, but there were already eight people ahead of us and at least another ten behind. The eight bitches in front were all dressed up like trashy versions of country girls in microscopic cut-off jean shorts. If that wasn't bad enough, the old geezers behind us were wearing enough make up to supply Sephora for at least six months. It was pretty weird to think that all of these people around me had masturbated to Calum Burro at one point or another. The mental image of the woman behind me, who was old enough to be my great-grandmother and wore something renaissance slash gothic inspired, enjoying some solo time made me want to gag a little.

I was trying to keep my head down as much as possible. The nervousness that bubbled through my veins at getting caught seeing someone I knew was absolutely overwhelming. I thought I'd crap my pants if I recognized someone.

Oh, lord.

"I'm back, biatch." Nicole greeted me a couple minutes later, saddling up next to me.

Suddenly, I realized that Nikki wasn't holding a video or a magazine for him to sign when it was her turn, like all the other women in line. "What is he signing?" I asked her suspiciously.

"My ass, Kat. What else?" she replied, like I was an idiot who should have known the answer. Out of nowhere, she tugged down one side of her jeans to a patch of tan skin right to the side of her ass crack.


Vivaciously, a guy with frosted tips and a ton of gel appeared behind the signing table, waving his hands. "Ladies! Calum will be here in one minute to begin his autograph session! Thank you for being patient!" he yelled into the crowd.

Nikki squealed like a pig, and started hopping around like a cracked-out rabbit. She was acting more like our friend Zoey than herself, but it was too funny to ruin my fun by laughing at her and making her self-conscious. I made a note in my brain to do things like this in order to get the same reaction out of her more often.

She spotted the tall, blonde mop of curly hair coming down the walkway first. The man was easily six four, if not taller, and built like a linebacker. Personally, I was more of a fan of soccer players' bodies, with their lean muscles, but who the hell gave a crap when hotness incarnate was right there. He was wearing a t-shirt that was a size too small, accentuating the broad, thick muscles of his chest, arms, and back. What surprised me was the big, goofy smile on his face while he made his way up to the booth.

"I'm gonna go over there, okay?" I told Nikki, but by the glazed-over look in her eye, I knew I could tell her I was born a hermaphrodite and she wouldn't bat an eyelash. I stepped out of line, and went to stand closer to the empty booth on the opposite side. The girls in line were going insane. Who knew Calum Burro was the heartthrob of older, horny women?

He sat down, started signing autographs, and talked to his fans, all with a big smile plastered on his dimpled face. Nicole's eyes were frozen to his body. I laughed at the intensity of her glare. I was leaning my butt against the empty table behind me, my ankle crossed over my other foot, when I felt that familiar creep of fabric going up my ass. My eyes were still so glued to the pure happiness radiating from my best friend that I didn't even feel my traitorous hand reaching behind me to pull out my wedgie until it was too late.

"Digging for gold?" the person I didn't see standing next to me, asked.

In a perfect world, I would have turned around and come face to face with a snot-nosed, middle-aged man in desperate need of Proactiv. Oh, how I wished then that my life was based in a perfect world, so my embarrassment would have been apparent, but ultimately, who cared? My ideal Peeping Tom would have been notorious for digging for gold in his nose and ass. I could live with that.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a perfect world. In the real world, I peed on myself sometimes when I sneezed and got tickled, I usually farted when I first woke up, and I'd also heard my dad and mom doing the dirty tango in third grade. I swung my head around to look at the witness to my wedgie pulling, when I came face to chest with a very tall guy. I had to look up, and then farther up, up, and up to find the prettiest emerald eyes I'd ever seen looking right at me. They were so bright, they reminded me of the Bright Light toy I had as a kid that lit up the colored pegs magically. Those eyes were set into the most perfectly created face of all time, all high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and full, pink lips.

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