The Knocked Up Plan
Lauren Blakely
About
There are three little words most guys don’t want to hear on the first date.
Not those…I mean these…“knock me up.”
This single gal has had enough of the games, the BS and the endless chase. I know what I want most, and it’s not true love. It’s a bun in the oven, and I’m not afraid to hit up my sex-on-a-stick co-worker to do the job. Ryder is gorgeous, witty and wild — and he’s also a notorious commitment-phobe. That makes him the perfect candidate to make a deposit in the bank of me.
I won’t fall for him, he won’t fall for me, and there’s no way baby will make three.
Right?
There are four words every guy wants to hear on the first date — “your place or mine?”
When my hot-as-sin co-worker makes me a no-strings-attached offer that involves her place, my place, any place — as well as any position — I can’t refuse. After all, my job is like a coach and my latest assignment for the good of mankind is to create a fail-safe, battle-tested, proven guide of what to do or say to get a woman to fall into your bed — I mean, fall for you. So when Nicole says she’s game to work through my list in a hands-on way, I take her up on her deal even with her one BIG condition.
There’s no way I’ll want more from one woman than any position, any where, any night? Except . . . what if I do?
One
Nicole
* * *
I fight back a tear as I listen to the radio caller. As I nod in the studio booth, my headphones on, I cover my mouth so I don’t sob during my own show. I’m not even sure I can bear to repeat what she’s told me out loud on air. But I’ll have to when it’s my turn to give Rachel from Murray Hill some advice.
The poor dear.
She hasn’t had an orgasm with another person ever.
Have you ever heard such a tale of woe?
No. Just say you haven’t. Because that, my friend, is a horror story.
That is fright night, all right.
“We tried all the positions that the Blue Steel site recommended, even the Crouching Cowgirl, which they said was a guaranteed path to an O, and that still didn’t work.”
The second she mentions Blue Steel, there’s no more hint of rain in my ocular forecast. My spine straightens, and I’m no-nonsense as I jump in. “Rachel, let me ask you something—did Blue Steel recommend the Wheelbarrow in its list of positions?”
“Yes,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “How did you know?”
I shake my head. That man-centric site is too much. “Listen, love. Do you honestly think any woman is going to climax when being pushed like a big old gardening tool that’s typically used for hauling rocks and dirt? And hey, if a lady can trip the light fantastic upside-down while doing a handstand, then I’m awarding her top honors in the Orgasm Olympics.”
Rachel snickers.
“But here’s the thing. Those positions you see on the men’s sites—they’re mostly about acrobatics and notches on a bedpost. A woman like you, who has struggled”—my tone softens, my deep and absolute sympathy for her as clear as day—“to achieve the ultimate in personal pleasure”—miraculously, I say this without breaking down into a pool of abject sorrow—“should look elsewhere. I would advise you to check out positions designed to maximize enjoyment for the woman.”
I rattle off some top-notch bring-it-on-ers, as I like to call my five favorite positions for climbing the peak. “But Rachel,” I say, propping my elbow on the desk and imagining I’m fixing this woman with a serious stare, even though my sidekick, Jamie, is the only one here, “if you’re not into the guy, you’re probably not going to visit the Promised Land. Do you like him?”
Dead. Silence.
There’s nothing worse on air than a whole lot of nothing. I push her again. “Does he do it for you? Does he make your stomach flip? Does he give you butterflies? Do you feel it in your knees when he kisses you?”
“Ummmmm . . .”
There is no time for hemming and hawing on a live show, even if the bulk of my listenership comes from podcast downloads the next day. “I want you to think about the stomach-flipping factor of the equation, Rachel. I want you to ask yourself if he’s the one you want. When you’re all alone, your eyes are closed, and you’re free to dream about whoever floats your boat, is it him? Does he make your toes curl? Because in my experience, a grade-A, top-choice, certified toe-curler is what’ll get you over the O hump.”
“No pun intended,” Jamie chimes in from her spot on the other side of the desk, her silver laptop flipped open, too. I hold up a hand and mime high-fiving her, and we do a shoulder shimmy in tandem. Yes, we’ve got this down pat. Sometimes we even swing our imaginary lassos in unison when we’re roping a most excellent point.
“I don’t know if my toes have ever curled, Nicole. But you’ve given me a lot to ponder. Thank you. I always love your advice,” Rachel says.
“And I love that you listen to the show. Now we’ll wrap up this week’s edition of Making and Breaking the Rules: Your Guide to Dating and Mating.” But before we run through the closing credits, I have something to ask of my army of women listeners.