Food Fight!
Excerpt from Sesame Swallow and the Secret of the Missing Fucks
In this novel, Sesame and friends investigate the theft of three pieces of erotic art, entitled “The Fucks”, and embark on an adventure in Baltimore and Washington, DC, that tests Sesame’s limits in every way. Harrowing escapes and the dark, seedy underbelly of the nation’s capital aside, Sesame will have to contend with some dark family secrets that test not only the limitations of her friendship, but her own sexual limits. The “secret” of the missing fucks is not the mystery she expected.
Silly, sexy and always ready for some sleuthing, our heroine is ready for anything.
You can follow the novel’s progress for National Novel Writing Month here.
In this scene, the girls are at an all-night diner after discovering the theft. Things are about to go sideways with Sesame’s nemesis, Eve Everclear, who invited herself along.
Meanwhile, I was feeling all those shots from the party, and I was already in need of more coffee. I glanced around at the happy patrons, took a last sip of coffee, noting my empty cup, and eyed my phone again, letting the world pass by while I tried desperately to settle into the fantasy that was unfolding in words. The texts were coming in hot.
I bet you look delicious tonight. Send me a pic. You know what I like.
I did, and I smiled when I thought about it, holding the coffee up to my face again, trying to hide the flush that I felt all the way down to my toes. He did. He knew exactly what I liked, only it wasn’t something I was up for sharing. My phone buzzed again, and I caught a glimpse of the incoming image. Not fair. Not fair. I squirmed in my seat, looking away, catching Regan’s watchful eye. She leaned in, so I dropped the phone into my lap and looked right past her to try and catch the server’s eye.
“You texting with Lindsay? She’s right there.”
I shook my head. “Linds is talking to Utz, right?”
“He says he can meet in the morning at the scene,” said Lindsay. She set the phone down and looked up, wiped her eyes with a cloth napkin, and Regan leaned back. “Thanks, Ses. Your guy is aces.”
Bless you, Linds, I thought. Sweet girl. Wild girl. Savior - because Regan was going to ask who I was talking to. Because Regan was right there and there was no way she hadn’t noticed me squirming in my seat and biting my lip. The girl was a hawk. And I know she’d seen me slipping out at night sometimes, or going out on “dates” with no crazy story to tell after and no second date coming.
“Again, don’t mention it, dollface,” I said to Lindsay, trying to ignore Regan’s stare. “What are friends for? And besides, you’re always taking care of me. I can return the favor, and we’ll get over there in the morning. Who knows when the fuck in the morning though,” I muttered, thinking about what time it was already and the fact that - oh wait, there was our breakfast coming in hot and fast! God I loved this place! “But we’ll get over there, meet up with Utz, check out the scene and see what we can find out. Sesame Swallow is on the case!”
I threw my girl a winning smile, trying to send some confidence her way while reaching up and taking the plate of whatever the hell it was that I ordered. But no sooner had I uttered those fateful syllables than the mouth to my right opened, and I should have known…
“About to solve another head knocker, huh, Sesame Swallow, Private Investigator? Baltimore’s sexiest sleuth and most delicous damsel in distress.” Eve’s slurred snarl floated across the suddenly quiet table as each of us paused, hands on forks, bits of deliciousness halfway to our mouths.
It was par for the course and the very reason Regan would give me shit later for inviting her, but mostly give me shit for not punching her lights out more than once after all the trash she talked on her social media site, BMore Raw. From Pulitzer Prize-seeking rich daddy-with-connections I’m-going-to-be-famous Baltimore Sun cub reporter to fallen star vlogger and owner of a site known mostly for its limitless shitposting, Eve had made quite the transition and become her own Baltimore first-to-worst story.
I’d considered propelling her into the afterlife after Thommie died, but we’d used her and tricked our suspect by taking advantage of her willingness to get the raunchiest, most viral tall tale out on the web the fastest. And that had only served to drop her down a few rungs. In the game of Chutes and Ladders, she was the queen of chutes, rolling the dice again and again, missing every chance to advance, and only slipping backward onto her incredibly tight ass. I’d had to admit, if she’d switched to some kind of fitness thing, she’d be raking in the fame and fortune she wanted. But she chose to show up with her slamming gorgeous body everywhere while her evil, black soul oozed out of every orifice. It was not a good look.
And here we went again. Was she bipolar? Off her meds? Did she have tourettes? Or was she just drunk? I wasn’t a scientist, but I had some theories. And theory number one was that Eve Everclear was just a rich bitch who thought she was better than everyone else.
I shoved a forkful of Fluffberry pancakes into my face, my middle finger extended gracefully as I bit down, smiling from ear to ear and eyeing Eve to make sure she received my message. I wasn’t going to grace her with a response now, not when I was having a heavenly moment with the combination of strawberries, syrup and whipped cream swirling around my tongue. It would be the only thing swirling around my tongue tonight, despite the text messages, but it would do with my besties here.
Eve jeered as only she could while shoveling her breakfast into her yap. I felt bad for the waffles or french toast or whatever it was. Nothing that pretty on a plate deserved to go into that black hole. And then I was done, enough of her bullshit, my eyes on the prize, the next bite of pancakes. I dabbed and scooped and corralled a bit that proved a little too big for my eyes and my mouth. I smashed it in like a pro though, waiting for Linds or Regan or the bitch to my right to say something, anything about what I can get into my mouth. The “Swallow” jokes began when I was in middle school because that’s when kids start figuring out sex, and they hadn’t ceased. Didn’t matter to me at all; I’d learned a wink and smile would get me right through any of that light-hearted or mean-spirited bullshit.
What I didn’t expect was for Lindsay to start laughing and pointing. I stopped mid-chew, wondering if I had half a slice of bacon hanging out of my mouth or one of the pancakes had slipped away and was now sitting on my tits. She giggled again as I looked down - nothing there, then reached up to my chin - nothing there either. “Wathafuk?” I muttered around the mouthful I was trying to wolf down, but she just kept laughing, tears streaming down her cheeks now as she sat back, food forgotten. Something was horribly wrong and/or Lindsay had cracked. I couldn’t tell which.
I swallowed, took a breath, and tried again. “What the fuck?” But there was nothing coherent coming out of Linds’ mouth besides guffaws now. The girl was practically ready to fall out of her seat.
“Whipped cream on your snoz, Ses,” said Regan, and when I glanced over, I could see a little twinkle of mirth in her eye, a little curl of the lip, where she’d had resting bitch face since the moment Eve showed up.
I screwed up my face and shoved my tongue out, flipping Linds the bird now. She hadn’t stopped laughing, and it didn’t help that I was just running with it now, determined to stretch my tongue as far north as possible to get that whipped cream and not waste a drop. I tilted my head to the left and right, then back a little, wondering if it was all about the angle and if anyone could actually touch their nose with their tongue, or was it just like a myth or urban legend or something. But no, no luck. I mean I tried, but well, not my skill set. “Fuck,” I groaned, then reached up with my middle finger - it was getting quite the workout tonight, and wiped away that little bit of snow white happiness and deposited it in my mouth, sucking my finger clean.
“Silly ass,” said Regan, smiling.
“You look like a slut,” grumbled Eve.
And just at that moment, my eyes locked onto a blur, popping wide as the world seemed to slow down and I saw Lindsay’s Sweet Baby Jesus fly across the table and hit Eve square in the face. We’re talking a handful of hash browns piled with jumbo lump crab and an egg over easy, diced tomatoes, cheddar cheese plus hollandaise sauce and a healthy dusting of Old Bay launching from Lindsay’s plate and catching Eve right in her bitch face.
Jesus fuck!
Eve screamed but sat frozen, riveted to her seat.
But I was already moving. I ducked to the left as the rest of Lindsay’s breakfast came off her plate in a follow-up, and before Eve could utter a word, what was left of the over easy egg, soft yolk and all, had slipped between her tits and was gone. I bolted out of my seat, and behind me all I saw was one angry bitch who looked like she’d just done a dumpster dive sitting at the table screaming, red-faced, her hands shaking as she stared down at what had admittedly been a fucking hot dress.
“You don’t talk to my friend like that, bitch,” growled Lindsay, wiping her hands on her napkin and throwing it in Eve’s face. “I don’t know what you need - maybe Jesus, maybe a good dick, but get that help so we can all live in peace. Lindsay out.” And then she turned and walked to the door, Regan and I right behind her, both of us silent and stunned. I glanced back when we hit the door to see if retaliation was coming, but Eve was still sitting there like a woman who was being held at gunpoint.
