Read Putting the Madge in Danna for Free Online Page A

care.
    He came into the little recording booth and
approached me from behind. I tried to pretend he wasn’t there, as
if I was in the middle of an MTV music video. I kept singing the
ballad, as I would if I had been singing in the shower, because I
wasn’t really thinking about the lovely-dovey words. I knew them by
heart. Chad Mavis put his arms around my waist, lacing his hairy
knuckles there. Then his hands found their way to my nips. He tried
squeezing them but my halter-top kind of reined them in too much. I
reached for the left side zipper and started to undress myself. Too
forward? WWMD, what would Madonna do, right? It was already 1:30pm
and I had other things to do, you know? Time was of the essence of
fucky-wucky-doodle-doos.
    Chad helped me lose the dress and the
headphones. I couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw because of that
damned poker face. But please! A twenty-three-year-old pseudo
virgin in white lace and cha-cha heels? I admit I have a bit of a
jiggle in my tum-tum, not like Chad Mavis’ of course, but a little
lady poochy-pooch is good, especially when I do some belly dancing
on harem night with Zeus. It gives a guy some leverage (when he’s
pushing his way into my hoo-ha) - something to hold to steady
himself.
    At least that’s what my
gyno, Dr. Martha Quirkenbush, said once. Dani, the jigs give a man leverage .
She’s full of quirky one-liners too, like never say no - you never know when Tom Jones will be walking
into your neighborhood. I’m not sure who
this Tom Jones character is, but he must be über-sexy if he appeals
to a testosterone filled woman like my mustached doctor.
    My record producer put his head against my
cheek and I could smell the faint scent of Mr. Wino reeking from
his pores. I hadn’t noticed that before. But it wasn’t a big
dealio, especially due to his expert handling of my upper body. I
love having my titty-ta-tas tweaked - tweaking in general is always
a good thing. It sort of sends a telegraphic message to my uterus
that an army of man-seed is approaching, and I need to send the
secretion troops out to intercept and defend the egg queen.
    “ Baby, you are hot,” Chad
whispered into my ear. I was a little off-put since I was still
trying to sing that stupid third track. I didn’t want his voice
showing up on my recording. If my song was truly any good after all
of this, I kind of thought that I might actually play it at my
wedding reception – really late at night after we’ve broken every
plate and are dancing on the tables.
    He moved his hands back down to my waist
then lower and lower. I uncrossed my legs to help him find his way.
Sliding my thong aside with his thumb and index finger, he used
them to clamp my hoo-ha open, and simultaneously my voice hit that
note. I’ve never sung so well! Chad rubbed me out slow and steady,
rhythmically, I guess. Now it really felt like singing in the
shower because I always did that to myself in there, which is why I
take such long showers. Zeus always complains that I use too much
hot water. He’s so practical.
    Chad moved around to face me. He squatted
down and kind of took in the whiff of sex emanating from my hooey,
just like one of those wine experts who sniffs the liquor and then
announces the fragrance - fruity, nutty, and la-la-la. What would
Chad say about my smell, I wondered? I haven’t been eating a lot of
meat lately because I had read that a cunt smells more lady-like on
veggies alone. Would he say I smelled fresh or pungent? Hmm. Well,
he didn’t say anything at all. He just smiled.
    There was something so
provocative about singing the words I’m
crazy for you - you know it’s true while
being prodded by a relative stranger. It made me think about
Madonna again. Could she separate sex from emotion, like a guy
could? It was weird, I thought, but if she could do it then I could
do it too. I couldn’t really pretend that Mr. Mavis was Zeus. Zeus
doesn’t smell like cheap wine. So I pretended that he