It had been almost eighteen months since my last encounter with Taylor Swift. She left my house after her intense illness that led to a weekend of very little, but still enjoyable, sex. Once she was gone, my girlfriend Samantha was still in complete shock over the whole situation. Before they had met, she could not have imagined the relationship I had with the megastar.
I was rewarded many times after Taylor had left. Samantha and I had been more in love then than we had ever been. Unfortunately, that was the last time we could say that. Once the shine of the sparkles in her eyes had worn off, a run of jealousy had taken over her. Anytime we had sex, she questioned if I was thinking about Taylor or Carrie or any of the other celebrities I had been lucky enough to share a bed with. About two months afterwards, it reached its worst when I had brought up that a promised visitor had never shown up.
"I wonder if Anna Kendrick is ever going to show up," I calmly said, simply making an observation.
What came next was an argument of epic proportions.
"Why do you want that little tramp!? Aren't I good enough for you anymore Dan!?" she screamed at me as she threw a Carrie Underwood CD at my crotch, hitting me in a very bad place.
"You crazy bitch!" I yelled back as I stormed into our bedroom, grabbing all her clothes from the closet and throwing them on the floor.
Samantha stormed in behind me, still yelling and slapping at me. I knew better than to fight her back physically. My hands were busy tossing her clothes at her feet. We continued to scream at each other for nearly an hour. Eventually, I said angry words I still regret saying to this day.
"Not only would I rather fuck Carrie than you, or Taylor than you, I'd rather fuck my own damn sister than your jealous ass!"
I immediately felt sick to my stomach as those words left my mouth. The look on her face is still engrained into my memory. She looked confused, depressed and angry, all at the same time. She spit in my face before grabbing her clothes and throwing them in a suitcase.
"You are sick," she told me as she started to leave. "I thought what we had was real but you are nothing but a filthy pervert. Have fun with your fucking celebrity girlfriends, I don't need you anymore."
I punched the wall as Samantha shut the door. That was the last time I saw her. Now I sit here over a year later. Taylor's popularity had exploded, Carrie had had a baby, nothing had been heard of from Anna or Hayley Williams or Cassadee Pope. My sister was living in California, sharing an apartment with her once-again-girlfriend Lucy Hale. Lucy's music career died before it started and she came back to Carly begging for forgiveness. She instantly forgave her and left the relationship she was in to move in with her tiny dominator in Burbank, CA. All of this happened while I was just a lonely man in Tacoma, Washington, getting high and staying home.
I had gained some weight, not enough to make me fat but I was not anywhere near as in-shape as I had once been. My day consisted of work, pot, food, and video games, not the most adventurous life but the life I felt I was stuck with.
Just as I was heading into the shower before an early bedtime, my cell phone dinged. I picked it up and read, "new text from: Carrie". I opened the message and read that Carrie had asked me to call her, which I did.
"Hey Carrie," I said as she answered.
"Hey Danny, long time no hear," she said in her familiar adorable voice. "How's it hanging?"
"Not so good, Carrie," I told her. "I've not been in a good place lately."
"Really? Taylor told me you had a hot piece for a girlfriend," she said.
"We broke up a long time ago, she got extremely jealous, we fought and I haven't seen her since," I explained. "It's been about a year since she left, I've barely seen another human since then."
"Aww you poor baby," she said in a comforting tone. "No celebs showed up for pot and a pounding?"
"Nope, I've been sex-free since Samantha left," I told her, my voice cracking.
"Hey, I'm going to call you back in a half hour, okay baby?" she told me, seemingly being rushed away.
I hung up the phone and proceeded to take my shower. I started to think what she could possibly have needed to do but I figured it was just baby-related. By the time I was out and dressed, my phone rang once more.
"I was going to try and get you on Taylor's plane to Nashville but she is overseas until next week," Carrie told me. "Instead, I'll buy you a ticket and fly you out here. You can stay with me over the weekend. Mike took Isiah to visit his family, so I'm all by myself."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "He's not going to come back and find me, is he?"
"Oh no honey, I have my own house that he knows nothing about," she told me. "He thinks I'm performing in Detroit with Cassadee. We took pictures in a generic hallway that I'll send to him at night. I hate lying to my husband but he is anti-drugs and I'll die before I give up my green buddy."
"I really miss you, I will definitely fly over," I said with the first ounce of enthusiasm I had in over a year.
"Great! I'll send you flight information in a few and you can fly out tomorrow," she said cheerfully. "I won't be able to pick you up but I'll send a car for you."
"See you then," I said as she hung up.
For the first time in over a year, I had something to look forward to. Quickly, I packed a bag and left it by the front door. I did not pack much since I was not expecting to be clothed very often at Carrie's, based on every experience I had had with my second favorite blonde babe. I watched a movie and waited by the phone for the flight info.
As the movie started to wind towards the end, I got the email and saw that I would be leaving around six in the morning. It would be around three or four in the afternoon before I'd arrive at the Underwood house in Tennessee. I knew that those hours would drag on, both overnight and over the flight. I finished off the blunt I had started after work and went to bed. I may not have slept too well but I had an excuse. The excitement of seeing Carrie was too much to handle.
I woke up around three to get to the airport early. I was taking absolutely no risk of missing this flight. This trip was something I not only desperately wanted but also something that I desperately needed. I knew better than to risk bringing my weed to the airport so I left it in a jar under my couch. I could stand to be clear-headed for a few hours before I have a nice, stiff drink on the plane.
Carrie, being the angel that she is, booked me a first-class flight, something I had never experienced. Once on the plane, I relaxed in the wide chair as we took off. After we got in the air, the flight attendant brought me a bottle of wine.
"Miss Underwood paid top dollar for this," she told me. "You must be very special to her."
I smiled and nodded as she poured me a tall glass of wine. I happily sipped on it and took in the flight. Once the glass was empty, about two minutes later, I rolled my head to the side and drifted off to sleep. I woke up once to find my glass filled again. I took one giant swig and fell back asleep. The next thing I knew, the attendant was waking me up in Nashville. It was by far the quickest flight, at least to my wine-stained brain, I had ever taken.
"Sir, we have arrived at our destination," she said as she took the empty glass away from me.
I rubbed my eyes and grabbed my carry-on bag before leaving the plane. After going through the airport bullshit, I made my way outside and saw a man holding a sign with my name on it. He took my bag and put it in the trunk of the Rolls Royce while I got in the backseat.
"We should arrive at Miss Underwood's home in under a half hour," he said as we pulled away from the airport.
I stared out the window, fantasizing about Carrie the entire way. The anticipation was killing me as each second passed. The last day had dragged on horribly, minus the plane ride, and I was ready for the countdown clock to strike zero. Afternoon traffic in the city only made it worse. What was supposed to take under a half hour took a little over an hour. Never had traffic pissed me off more than it did now. Did these people not care that I had a perfect-ten stoner chick to nail?
We finally cleared traffic and the driver pulled into the driveway. Carrie's secret house was a few miles out of the city, in a very nice part of town. There was not another house within half a mile of this, reminding me of the wide-open privacy of my own home. I grabbed my bag out of the car and walked up to the front door after tipping the driver. On the door, there was a note in very clear handwriting taped to it.
"Leave your luggage here and go around back to the garden," it read.
I dropped my bag on the step and walked around back until I was at the door of a large greenhouse. Once I opened the door, an intense scent of freshly grown marijuana wafted up my nose. To me, it was the most welcoming smell ever and drew me inside. Aside from the plants themselves, I could also smell and see a fresh cloud of smoke coming from the other end of the structure. I maneuvered my way through the forest of weed until I saw a bench with a dirty-blonde haired woman facing away, a denim jacket on her back and a half-gone blunt in her hand.
"Carrie?" I asked, unsure if she had changed her hair style or if it was someone else.
I quickly learned that it was not Carrie. I could kind of recognize the young woman, who looked barely legal, but a name would not come to mind. The woman smiled and blew a cloud of potent, stinky smoke in my direction.
