Scripted

ten

ten

           “Mmmm!”

           “Oh, yeah!”

           “Why don’t we do this more often?”

           “Heck yes!”

           “This is so good!”

           “Mmmmmmmm!”

           “Jesus!”

           “Holy shiz!”

           “Ohhh!”

           “I love you, Mason.”

           “I love you, too, Natty.”

           With one final and slightly sexual, “Mmmmm,” emitting from my mouth, I finished the last bite of my gourmet burger, wanting nothing more than to rewind time, just so that I could experience eating it again. Mason had been in a giving mood lately, after the little club incident (he realized that he was in the wrong, but that didn’t stop the fangirls from wanting to date him even more, considering that he freaking punched a guy for his “girlfriend”). This morning, he had dragged his attractive little butt out of bed and to a local diner that had food better than the shit on Top Chef, only to bring back two burgers and shakes. Currently, we were both sharing food orgasms as we ate meat at ten in the morning. On the bed. In my room. At Mason’s house. As we hid from the cleaning people.

           Mason happened to have a rather ginormous abode. He also happened to be a member of the male gender, thus placing him into the “slob” category of life. As a direct reflection of himself, his house was often highly on the shambolic side, and since he was an international superstar, he didn’t have time in his schedule to mop the floors and organize all of his teddy bears by himself, so hired people to do it for him.

           The individuals that were paid for doing the impossible and attempting to clean the home of Mason Grey had one limitation when it came to tidying up: they weren’t supposed to go into the bedrooms. Well, the inhabited bedrooms, that was (all two of them). Mason’s room was a warzone, so the prospect of even sending the very best of cleaners in was an absurd one. He would need a whole freaking army if he ever wanted to see his floor again. So, he just eliminated the hassle for all, and lived with the filth. I, on the other hand, was just paranoid about them touching my stuff and rearranging things, so settled for keeping everything nice and neat, because unlike Mason, I was a girl.

           Before venturing out to procure sustenance, Mason Grey came sprinting into my room, only to inform me that today (one of our only days off) the cleaning people were coming. I thought this wasn’t a big deal at first, but then I learned that that meant I couldn’t get in their way. So, I was stuck in my room, eagerly waiting for Mason’s return, as I tried once again to continue not-so-binge-watching The Office. But then Mason came back with the burgers and melted ice-cream drinks, and I completely forgot about Steve Carell and Ed Helms. All I could think about were the burgers.

           These weren’t some flimsy fake burgers from Wendy’s or someplace stupid like that. No, these were the real freaking deal. They were about two or three inches thick, and when you bit into them, all the juices and meat just came together to form an almost celestial experience in the mouth, that was almost as good as sex. When I first tried these burgers when I moved out to California, I knew that I would never be able to eat fake burgers again. I was no longer a virgin in the ways of real beef. They were some serious legit shit.