1 comments/ 16486 views/ 11 favorites Kellie Pickler's Pheromones By: imhapless They say that there are no great men, only great deeds. In my case it would be better said as "only lucky great deeds." I'm not quite an average Joe, especially since my name is Dustin, but not much more than average. At 6'2", 185 pounds I'm a little bigger than average, I can bench and squat a little more than average, my facial features and muscle tone are a little better than average, and I'm a little smarter than average. I'm certainly no superhero, or even hero, but I did have a good moment. I grew up in the city of Chicago, have always lived in a big city or close in suburb and never go out to the country. I love rock music but I hate country and western music -- I can't really say why, but it grates on me. I speak with a small Midwestern "twang," but otherwise I'm easily understandable. I never have been much good at understanding people with accents -- any type of accent whether it be British, country, or Pakistani. I guess I just don't have a very nuanced ear. I'm thirty-two and still play in two softball leagues. My favorite sport in High School, and the only one I was more than adequate at but not good enough to compete in during college at Tufts in Boston, was wrestling even though I hated "making weight" in order to wrestle fifteen pounds under my normal weight at the time. I love watching football and baseball on T V or going to see the Redskins or Nationals play with a friend or two a couple of times a year each. I guess that I need to admit something for this story to make sense. I'm one of the few straight guys who likes Dancing With The Stars, or at least will admit it. In my defense the main reason is the female dancers. Almost without exception the female professionals are hot, and oftentimes the female contestants are too. The last season had one especially intriguing contestant -- Kellie Pickler, a former American Idol contestant and now a Country and Western singer, and married to one. Sometimes watching "Dancing..." can be painful, though, especially since my divorce eighteen months ago. I didn't cheat on Isabella and as far as I know she didn't cheat on me either. However, we had some basic differences that we didn't realize before marriage and couldn't reconcile afterward. Isabella and I lasted only three years before we jointly filed for uncontested divorce. We didn't split as enemies, but we certainly don't go out of our way to see each other now, either. I haven't had more than a couple dozen dates, and only got laid a handful of times, since we split. I was moping around my apartment, dateless, one Saturday night in Arlington, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D. C., as I unfortunately did a lot at that time. I was going a little stir crazy so I thought that I'd take a nighttime bicycle ride on my prized possession, a titanium frame racer. Not the safest thing in the world to do but something that I did fairly often when I needed to clear my head. I was humming along near some of the monuments in Washington when I saw a rental truck unloading something. I thought that was odd at 11:00 p.m. on a Saturday night so I looped around to get a better look. There were four guys moving something that was very bulky and it looked like they were unnerved by my presence. In the Washington area, as is true in many parts of the world, residents are always supposed to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior. This was one of those situations, so I stopped my bike about twenty meters from them and said "It looks like you guys are having some trouble with that thing -- do you need any help?" Instead of a verbal response one of the guys let loose of his part of the device being unloaded, pulled a handgun and shot at me. I guess he was a bad shot because I heard the first two shots ping off of my bicycle frame and the third -- by now I was starting to pedal away -- just grazed my arm. I heard groaning in the background. Once I got to what I though was a safe distance I called 911 on my cell phone and yelled something into the phone like "I think they're some terrorists unloading something near the Mall." I heard a crash then looked toward the rental truck. Whatever the thing was that they had been unloading had dropped to the ground. One presumed terrorist, the guy who shot at me, was rolling around on the ground screaming in pain. Two of the upright guys were running to the truck obviously intent on driving away even though the loading ramp was still down. The other guy started running away from the truck at a diagonal to me. I yelled a description of the truck and the direction it would be moving in to the 911 dispatcher and to the best of my ability gave her my exact location. Then I hopped on my bike and took after the guy on foot. He was large and slow and I caught him quickly, jumped off of my bike onto him knocking him to the ground, and then harking back to my High School wrestling days got him in a Full Nelson. I couldn't believe how fast the cops got there. While applying pressure to the big guy's neck I could still see the truck when I heard another crash when a cop car rammed it and I heard gunshots coming from near that location. Two other cop cars with two cops each were at the location of the crashed "thing" in what I am sure was less than two minutes. I yelled over at them "The guy rolling around shot at me including hitting me in the arm, and I can't hold this guy forever." The guy on the ground was quickly handcuffed and two of the cops ran over to me and Tasered and then handcuffed the guy I was restraining. One of the cops near the "thing" starting yelling some code words into his radio. The two cops with me told me to leave my bicycle and come with them as the escorted the big guy toward their car. Apparently the code words yelled into the radio caused major activity because within just a few minutes an FBI bomb vehicle rolled up as well as what looked like several FBI unmarked vehicles, Park Police, Capital Police, D. C. Police, and an ATF vehicle -- shit there had to be at least a dozen vehicles. I could see the guys in blast suits from the FBI bomb vehicle inspecting the "thing," then I heard a bull horn saying "evacuate, evacuate." A plainclothes guy, who identified himself as "FBI agent Murphy," yelled "Come with me, NOW!" I didn't ask why and ran toward him and a vehicle door he opened for me while he ordered "Get in, get in!" As we peeled away it looked like the only people left at the scene were the three guys in bomb blast suits. The guy who shot at me, the big guy I had wrestled to the ground and all of the cops were gone. The vehicles were tearing away so fast that they were laying rubber. The car I was in stopped about three blocks away and blocked traffic. As I looked around I saw even more emergency vehicles and it looked like they were setting up a perimeter around the area where the "thing" was. I was transferred to another vehicle and was taken to FBI headquarters by Agent Murphy. At the FBI building an EMT treated my wound and gave me some antibiotics. She told me how lucky I was that it was only a flesh wound and that if I got the dressings changed regularly, was careful how I used my left arm, and took all the antibiotics, that I should be almost normal in two weeks. "No more jumping off of a bicycle onto fleeing terrorists until it heals," she said. Now that my adrenaline rush was wearing off it hurt enough that I could assure her that I wouldn't be doing that again. I gave a complete, videotaped, statement to three agents and a Federal prosecutor. I never, ever, before in my life had an audience so intently listening to what I had to say. When I was done -- it took more than an hour to tell them what took place in three minutes because they needed to know every single detail that I could remember -- they shook my hand and said that they'd give me a ride home as soon as the lockdown was over. "What about my bicycle?" I asked. "I'm really sorry, but it's evidence," the prosecutor said. "I can't tell you when we'll get it back to you, but I'll email you a form to seek compensation for it. For now why don't you go down to the canteen and then the lobby; Agent Murphy will accompany you." The lockdown was over about two hours later, although 100 meter circles around the site where the "thing" crashed and around where the truck had been rammed were taped-off crime scenes. I kept my ears open in the FBI building and from what I could glean from bits and pieces of discussions, and one side of phone conversations, a shootout had resulted in the two guys who fled in the truck being killed and one police officer wounded, but in stable condition; the two guys handcuffed at the scene were in the hospital with non-life-threatening injuries; and the "thing" was a dirty bomb that had been successfully defused by the bomb squad without injury to people or to the environment. When Murphy drove me home he could tell that I had picked up a lot of information and he asked me not to say anything to others until the information became public, which given the prevalence of reporters, the Internet and social media, it was sure to do. I reiterated with him something that I had said to the prosecutor: "Please keep my name confidential to the extent possible, I'm not big on publicity or being the center of attention." I guess I wasn't surprised when the next day my little incident was the lead story on all of the TV stations, and there were three or four articles about it on every website dealing with news. By noon Sunday CNN was already reporting virtually everything that I had found out and then-some. For example, the terrorist who shot at me -- they called all four guys terrorists -- had been hit in the stomach by one of his own bullets that hit my bike and unbelievably had ricocheted off of my titanium frame. I was identified as the "late night bicyclist," and on more than one station I was referred to as a "hero." Because of my surreal experience I was restless, and watching the TV coverage was freaking me out. I was starting to realize how lucky I was to be alive. I would have exercised except that my left arm hurt and the EMT had told me not to lift with my left arm for two weeks. So I just took a long walk along the Potomac and then called up two single buddies of mine and went out to dinner with them. I didn't tell them anything about my experience. I work as a mid-level executive for a big insurance company, also in Arlington. My bandage was covered by my shirt and jacket so I didn't have any explaining to do about that. Of course the entire office was abuzz about the incident especially since authorities were saying that if the dirty bomb had gone off it would have made a one mile radius uninhabitable for decades, and caused enormous disruption and financial ruin in the entire area. My role had not been made public. In an afternoon meeting my big boss, Tom Johnson, an Executive V. P. of the company, made an ironic statement to open the meeting. "We really dodged a bullet Saturday night. We would have had to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars to those we insured. We ought to give that bicyclist a million dollars!" "I dodged two and a half bullets, and I'll take the million," I laughed to myself after that statement. I knew from the fact that the story would not die that eventually I'd be exposed. I thought I had prepared myself -- not even close! You would not believe the media crush at my apartment building when I came home from work on Wednesday. At first I thought that there was a fire or something and innocently asked a reporter hanging out by the sidewalk "What's going on?" She started to answer my question then got a quizzical look on her face, looked at something below the first few sheets of her notepad and then excitedly asked "Are you Dustin Crenshaw?" I knew that my life had changed. I didn't answer her but just started trying to push my way through the crowd to the lobby. She followed me yelling questions, and the others caught on quickly. I almost had a television camera shoved in my face, and almost got knocked down several times, but finally forced my way to the door. I used my key card to open it and slammed it shut behind me. I went straight to the building manager's office and asked her to call the cops to disperse the crowd so that other tenants could get in. When I got inside my apartment the phone was ringing. The caller ID indicated some news organization. I picked up the receiver and put it back down. Then I checked voice mail. "You have one hundred twenty one new messages and two saved messages," the mechanical voice said. I called the phone company and told them to disconnect the phone, then pulled the plug. Fortunately only a few people knew my cell phone number. It rang shortly after I called to disconnect my land line. It was my parents. "Dustin, you didn't tell us you were a hero." "I'm not Mom," I replied, "I was just in the right place at the right time and got lucky." "That's not what's on T V. Where did they get that photo of you?" "I don't know, Dad, I haven't seen it yet." "There are like twenty reporters here. What should we tell them?" "Tell them that you don't know anything about it, the news reports are all the information you have, and that your son hasn't given you any other information about it." I got similar calls from my sister, my uncles and aunts, my cousins, the only two people I work with who have my cell number, and -- my ex-wife. "Wow, Dustin, you hit the big time," Isabella said in her distinctively sexy voice. In her job she did a lot of phone work because her phone voice could melt butter -- it was better than the real package in person, although she definitely was a good looking woman. "Sorry, Izzie, its purgatory not the big time. There are fifty reporters trying to crash my apartment building, and I had over a hundred voice mails. I'm afraid to check my personal email." "Don't you want to be famous, Dustin?" "Hell no; I just want to go on with my life." "You need to get a media consultant and capitalize on it," Isabella continued, "I can give you a recommendation if you want one." "Thanks, Izzie, but no thanks. I do have a request for you, though." "What?" she asked. "Please, please, please do not give anyone my cell phone number or my personal email address. Promise?" "Maybe," she giggled, then after a pause, "if you answer a booty call." "Izzie we're done. You were as in favor of splitting as I was," I replied, puzzled. "Yeah, well the bedroom was never a difficulty for us was it? I've never fucked a hero before," she cackled. "If you still want to in two months, call me," I said, chuckling. "In the meantime don't give anyone any contact information for me!" "Promise," she said, "unless I'm offered a million dollars!" She laughed, and cut off. When I saw more than a hundred emails in my personal account I deleted all of them except the three from friends. The next day things were not only bad at my apartment building but also at the office. I had to negotiate a phalanx of reporters just to get into my office building. Everyone who saw me at work congratulated me, including people whose names I didn't know, and especially one really hot woman in accounting who always seemed aloof and who I never had the guts to talk to. I actually chatted with her -- Betsy -- for a minute or two for the first time ever. We were interrupted so much that I gave up trying to talk to her any more but gently grabbed her arm as I departed and said "Thanks for your congratulations," getting a big smile in return. Betsy was the only person I talked to that I did not downplay my role in the scenario with. There were two good things -- besides getting to meet and talk to Betsy -- that happened, and one important thing that turned out to be phenomenal. My bicycle had been prominently displayed on T. V. and in several newspaper and magazine articles. The president of the company that manufactured my bicycle called my office -- it was about the only call from "well-wishers" or reporters that my secretary was smart enough to put through. "Mr. Crenshaw, this is Jud Williams, president of 'X' Bicycle Company. I'm glad that you're OK, and I hope that riding one of our bicycles helped you out," the voice on the phone excitedly said. "It sure did, Jud -- and please call me Dustin." "Great, Dustin. We understand that your bike has now got two dents in the frame from bullets that were fired at you, and that it is being kept as evidence." "That's true, Jud, and when my arm heals in a couple of days I'm really going to miss it because I ride all over town with it," I replied. I'm no genius but I knew an opportunity when I saw one. "Well, Dustin, that's why I'm calling. I'd like to send you a new bike to replace yours. I'm hoping that when you get it you'll provide a little blurb about it to our marketing people." "That's generous of you, Jud. I'd be happy to, but as we both know you've already gotten hundreds of thousands of dollars of free advertising and this is going to get you even more. Therefore I'd really appreciate it if you'd send me the absolute top of the line titanium bike as well as all of the top of the line accessories including shoes, helmet, gloves, pump, etc." (That's got to be worth $15,000, I chuckled to myself). "Is it OK if they all have our logo on them?" Jud asked. "You wouldn't be a business man if they didn't," I laughed. Everything was delivered by courier to my office the next day and I gave two appreciative sentences to Jud's marketing people. At least now I didn't have to worry about getting my bicycle back! The afternoon of the day that Jud called me Tom Johnson, my big boss, called me into his office. After congratulating me he got to the point, his typical M. O. "Dustin, your heroism has been a big boon to the company and our clients. Because of the good publicity and savings we want to reward you. In a phone vote the Board of Directors has authorized a reward of $250,000. Since it is a reward for civic achievement, and not a bonus, our attorneys tell us that it's tax free." "No shit!" I blurted out before I caught myself. "Sorry, Tom, you just caught me by surprise with your generosity." "Ha, no problem, Dustin" he laughed. "I hope that you're not disappointed that it's not a million dollars like I ironically threw out at the meeting Monday before I knew of your involvement." "I'm as far from disappointed as could be," I laughed. "One other thing, Dustin. I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice." "Sure," I genuinely replied. Johnson was one of the smartest people I had ever known so I was happy to receive any personal advice he was willing to give. "You can't avoid the media forever. If I were you I'd pick one outlet that can do something for you that you really want then call them and give an exclusive interview. If you play it right that will allow you to shut everyone else down." I thought about it a moment. In just a few seconds he had given me a solution to a problem that I had agonized about for five days. "Thanks, Tom," I said, standing up and offering my hand, "for the advice even more than the money." "I hope I helped," he responded vigorously shaking my hand. "One last thing, if you need three or four days off to deal with this take them. Administrative days authorized by me, not vacation." "I might take you up on that," I chuckled, "things have been hectic. I knew I would take Tom's advice. Now I had to figure out what I wanted. That night when I saw a YouTube replay of Kellie Pickler doing the quick step on Dancing With The Stars my mind was quickly made up. I took Friday off as one of my "Admin" days, found the card of a guy from ABC (the station that broadcasts Dancing With The Stars) who had been hounding me, and called him. Kellie Pickler's Pheromones "Hi, Jerry, this is Dustin Crenshaw." "I don't have times for games; who the fuck is this really," was producer Jerry James' irritated reply. "I guess you have a right to be suspicious since I've constantly avoided you. What can I say to prove it's me?" I said. He paused. "What was the name of the FBI agent who spirited you away from the dirty bomb?" "Murphy," I immediately shot back. "Well fuck me, it is you. What changed your mind?" Jerry inquired. "Some good advice. You may not like hearing what I have to say because there are strings attached, but I am willing to give ABC an exclusive interview." "Who do I have to kill?" he said, and it didn't appear that he was joking. "I will give up to a one hour, TV time, interview with whomever you designate. In return you will get me a real date with Kellie Pickler. Dinner at the best restaurant in the area, a limo for the entire evening, a dance club after dinner, a drive around all of the lighted monuments at night." "She's married, you know," Jerry replied. "I didn't tell you I wanted to marry her or go to bed with her. I just want the pleasure of her company for an entire evening, all paid for by ABC." "What if she won't do it?" "Then I'll have to call ESPN and get a date with Charissa Thompson." "You know ABC owns ESPN, don't you?" he laughed. "Shit, I forgot about that," I laughed back. "Then you've got two chances, Jerry. First try Kellie Pickler, and I mean you better really try as hard as you can, including having her call me if she won't do it. If that doesn't work then Charissa Thompson. If that bombs out then no deal." "What phone number can I call you at?" Jerry excitedly replied. "I'll give you my cell phone number, but if anyone except you, Kellie or Charissa call me the deal is immediately off. Got it?" "Got it! I'm getting to work right now. It may take a week, but I'll get it done or die trying." After I gave him my cell phone number Jerry sounded so excited when he signed off that I knew that he'd give it his all. I couldn't believe it when Jerry called back just two days later, on Sunday. I was depressed because I couldn't go anywhere without being mobbed by reporters and it was getting me down. I had wanted to ask Betsy out on a date, but with the swarm buzzing around me there was no way that I could take her out if she accepted. "Hey Dustin; I have good news for you," Jerry said. "I could use some," I replied. "Kellie is a go. She was actually excited about it, can you believe it? Her schedule allows her to go to dinner with you two weeks from yesterday." "Awesome!" I shouted, like a teenager. We made arrangements for me to tape the interview the next week for airing on a special 20/20 the Monday after my date. I had the contract that they couriered over the next day reviewed by the General Counsel's office at work, had a few changes made, and signed it. I was even more thrilled when Kellie herself called me Tuesday night. I'm not going to try to mimic her country accent because I couldn't do it justice. It was about the only heavy accent that I had heard in my life that I had no trouble understanding, probably because I was really trying hard. "I understand that you and me are going out for dinner and dancing, sugar," Kellie said immediately after introducing herself. "I hope so," I enthusiastically replied, "I'm really grateful that you agreed to do it." "How could I not, sugar, when the D. C. hero can make any request in the world and it's to go out with me, even though I'm married." "I hope you understand that I'm not in any way trying to put the moves on you," I responded, suddenly embarrassed. "It's just that you're my favorite famous personality and I would just love to meet you." "Well you're my favorite hero and I'd love to meet you, too," she giggled. We had a pleasant fifteen minute conversation about what we should wear, what the restaurant was, what the dance club was, whether her publicist could come along and take some photos, etc. I told her that whatever she wanted I'd agree to -- her voice alone was getting me hard, and flustered. I took one of the "admin" days that Tom Johnson had offered me to tape the 20/20 show. I was embarrassed about how well I was treated by everyone there, and most of the questions and characterizations of my activities made me blush, but I thought that the interview came out OK. I was as humble as I could be but did acknowledge that some of the things I did were unusual and worthwhile, and that I was lucky to be alive, and I completely avoided "uhs," "umms," and "you knows," so I sounded at least half way intelligent. Jerry James, and the other ABC people, were thrilled by how the interview came out and were already heavily promoting it by the time that I left the studio. I decided one more thing -- let all the other media people trying to contact me know that I had given an ABC interview and that was the only interview I'd be giving. I called up Isabella for her recommendation. "Hi, Izzie, Dustin." "I know who you are," she laughed. "Are you accepting my booty call?" "No, I'm calling to get the name of a publicist that you offered. I've given an exclusive interview to ABC and I want someone to contact all of the other media people who've approached me and tell them that's it." After some more small talk she gave me a name and phone number, asked some more about the booty call, then signed off by saying "I can't wait to see you on 20/20!" I called the publicist, hired her over the phone, and the next day gave her all of the cards and messages from the media people who had tried to contact me and told her to let them all down as gently as possible and to watch the interview on 20/20. Every single day after work, and on the weekend before my date with Kellie, I took private dance lessons. I was only a passable dancer and I didn't want to embarrass myself with Kellie. When the Saturday of my date arrived I was so excited I could shit but -- surprisingly -- not nervous. Maybe it was because Kellie and I had had such a nice chat on the phone. Whatever it was I refrained from peeing my pants when she arrived in the limo ABC provided to pick me up at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday. She actually got out of the car to greet me, and gave me a big hug. She introduced me to "Rufus and Sam," the limo driver and a guy riding with him in the front seat. Rufus was a black guy about 6'6", 290 pounds with biceps so big you could see them through his suit jacket. Sam was a white guy who was even bigger. While they were nice looking, well dressed, and friendly, there was no doubt that they were there to be sure that Kellie and I were not messed with -- or maybe so that I wouldn't mess with Kellie. "Probably both," I laughed to myself. Kellie also introduced me to her publicist, Terri, a nice looking conservatively dressed woman in her early thirties. She also sat in front with Rufus and Sam -- I wondered how there was room for her. I knew that Kellie was 5'1" and 100 pounds, but even with her four inch heels she seemed smaller next to me than I expected. Her tight knee length blue dress fit her sculptured body like a glove and her amethyst necklace and earrings, which matched her shoes, complemented the dress perfectly. Her entire outfit was perfect for her short blond hair and light makeup. "You look fabulous," I blurted out without even realizing it. "Thanks," she smiled, devilishly. As Kellie and I sat chatting while we rode in the limo to the restaurant I quickly realized that there was something about her that was -- for lack of a better word -- intoxicating. She was as cute, bubbly, and sexy as I had imagined -- probably even more so; but there was also another quality she had that I couldn't place but sure did like. The restaurant staff welcomed and treated us like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (William and Kate). They gave us the best table, made sure that we weren't bothered by other guests, and told us that the chef had prepared what we had told ABC were our favorite meals. The food and wine (neither of us drank much) were fantastic, the service was impeccable, and the atmosphere romantic. Despite the differences in our background and interests we never had a lull in conversation. Everything was perfect until just before we ordered desert. I heard a buzzing and Kellie got a distressed look on her face. "I'm so sorry, Dustin; this is so rude but I know what this call is and I have to take it." "No problem," I smiled. Kellie got up from the table and went to a remote part of the restaurant. After a couple of minutes I decided that it was a good time to go to the washroom. I went past where Kellie was talking on the phone with her back to me. I really didn't want to eavesdrop but I couldn't help myself. What I heard before ducking into the washroom was "You screwed up big time, asshole. Don't expect me to just lump it -- there are consequences for cheating." When I got out of the washroom Kellie wasn't where she had been talking on the phone. I returned to the table and she wasn't there either. She returned from the general area of the washroom about five minutes later with freshly applied light makeup. It looked to me like she had been crying. As I pulled out her chair for her she forced a smile and said "I'm so very sorry, Dustin, I just had to take it. You're a dear," then kissed me on the cheek. Instant hard-on! I didn't ask her anything about her phone conversation and she didn't offer anything. She was obviously uptight and distracted but started to return to her previous self after I told a few "country and western" jokes that I had memorized for the occasion and we ate a fabulous desert prepared especially for us. She was completely back to being bubbly after she chugged two cognacs. We posed for photographs, taken by her publicist, with the entire restaurant staff, as well as for individual ones with the chef, waiter, and maître de/owner and his wife. We also had some shots of just the two of us, including me holding the limo door for Kellie as she got in. On the way to the dance club she put her hands on my leg and I put my arm around her while we laughed at almost everything the other said. I was still confused by her mysterious "intoxicating" quality and felt comfortable with her so I just outright asked her about it. "Kellie, there seems to be something about you that is very attractive that I can't put my finger on. Has anyone else ever noticed that?" "Pheromones," she replied without hesitation and with a big smile. "What are pheromones?" I asked. "I thought you were a sophisticated, educated city boy and here this poor, silly country girl uses a word that you don't know," she laughed loudly. With a smile on my face I pulled out my iPhone, said "Siri, what are pheromones?" and within seconds Siri replied "Dustin, in humans pheromones are hard to identify chemical substances released by a member of one sex that attracts members of the opposite sex." I blushed; "Sorry I asked, Kellie." As she laughed Kellie said "You have pheromones too, Dustin." The reception at the dance club was as enthusiastic as at the restaurant. There, however, there was no way or reason to keep us isolated since the whole idea is for everyone to mingle on the dance floor. My dance lessons really paid off since I didn't make a fool of myself. I was as embarrassed as hell, however, when (apparently arranged by her publicist Terri) the band leader announced that Kellie and I were going to perform the quick step. Just before we started, with the crowd forming a circle while clapping or cheering, Kellie bent over, unzipped a hidden zipper along the side of her left thigh to provide a long slit in her dress, then looked up at me and smiled "I need more freedom for this dance." WOW, her thigh was awesome! Despite my nervousness and our height differential our quickstep was at least decent, and got a big round of applause. When during breaks several guys asked Kellie for a dance I politely declined on her behalf. Since Rufus and Sam had accompanied us into the club we got no arguments. Things took a real turn about midnight. Kellie and I were both perspiring from the dancing and were mingling well with the other guests -- as long as they didn't ask her to dance -- when I saw Terri go up to the band leader. Shortly thereafter a type of slow song that was unheard of for this type of rocking place started playing. Kellie didn't wait for me to ask her if she wanted to dance to the slow song. She glommed onto me and stuck one of her thighs between mine. The boner I had primarily successfully suppressed the entire night wouldn't listen to reason. She had to have felt it. Looking up at me Kellie said "I've had a wonderful time; I really like you, Dustin." "It's been the best night of my life," I smiled back. "The best is yet to come," she snickered then buried her head in my chest. Shortly after the song ended Kellie asked if we could leave, which somewhat disappointed me but after the fabulous time that I had had I wasn't going to say "no" to anything. The plan was for us to ride around the monument areas of D. C. to view them while they were lit up. We started out doing that with Kellie again placing her hands on my knee and me with my arm around her. Suddenly Kellie blurted out "Tell me, Dustin. Do you think that it was the luckiest night of your life when you didn't get killed by those terrorists?" I was a little surprised by that since we really hadn't talked about the "incident" for more than a couple of minutes the entire night. I'm sure that I was wide-eyed as she stared at me with a half-grin on her face, waiting for an answer. "I guess that it probably was the luckiest night, but since it led to meeting you also a really good night," I replied. Then she kissed me on the lips. I got a full dose of her pheromones. I didn't know if I could restrain myself from attacking her and making a fool out of myself. When she broke our kiss she said "I know that you were too much of a gentlemen to do that so I did it for you. Now I'm going to ask you an unladylike question." "OK," was all that I was able to mumble out exercising every bit of willpower I had not to start ripping her clothes off. Kellie put one arm around my neck, looked not just into my eyes but into my soul, and asked, "Would you consider tonight the luckiest night of your life if we went back to your apartment and fucked each other's' brains out?" I was having real trouble processing those words. Between what she said and her pheromones hanging heavy in the air my mind was not functioning. I finally got out something profound like "Holy Shit, are you serious? Why?" "Think of it as a thank you from the people of D. C. and the whole country, and revenge on my husband for me. It would be a true two-fer!" I smashed my lips against hers and while hugging her whispered into her ear "It would be the luckiest, best, most fabulous, and fantastic night ever, and I'd give up a year of my life to make it come true!" Kellie broke away from me, smiling, then picked up the intercom phone and said "Rufus, drive us back to Dustin's apartment immediately." We mauled each other on the short drive back to my apartment. When we alighted from the car, hand-in-hand, she said to Terri "Have someone pick me up tomorrow morning. What time do we have to leave for the airport?" "We need to be at the airport at 8:00 a.m.," Terri replied. "Have an ABC limo pick me up here at 7:00 a.m.," Kellie responded, "not a second sooner, and with a change of clothes suitable for a flight; I'll change in the limo." I thought that was playing it tight, but I sure wasn't going to say anything. Terri nodded but didn't verbally reply; her eyes got wide and probably followed us until we got into my apartment building's lobby, but I'm not sure since Kellie had my full attention. As soon as my apartment door closed behind us Kellie turned from bubbly to wild. I had to undress myself quickly to keep her from ripping my clothes off, although my boxers were a casualty that I couldn't prevent (nor did I give a shit). I was able to successfully negotiate the zipper on the back of her dress and when the dress dropped all she had on were a pair of panties. She yanked those off herself. After very short foreplay where I fingered her already soaking wet pussy and she stroked my already rock hard cock, she jumped onto me with her arms around my neck. I held her up by the ass with one hand and after gently pushing her back against a wall used my other hand to caress her creamy thigh and then guide my cock to her pussy. I slowly buried my cock as we both moaned into each other's mouths while tongue wrestling. She was so tight that I couldn't believe it. I went from disbelief to shock when she started contracting her pussy muscles, milking my cock. I probably stroked only two dozen times before she spasmed in orgasm and I shot my wad. We both groaned and swore as the most intense feeling of my life overtook me. It was like every single nerve synapse in my interior body was firing at the same time. I was afraid that I'd fall if I tried to move, especially with Kellie now limp in my arms and virtually incoherent. Finally I got enough strength back to pull my cock out of her pussy -- causing another electrical charge up my entire spine and a spasm from her -- and carry her into my bed. After we lay there mumbling for the longest time we both finally regained cognizance. "You're beyond awesome," was all that I said while stroking her head. Kellie smiled. "Now that we've gotten an animal fuck out of the way let's make love." I was surprised that my cock was as up for it as my brain. As Kellie started gently sucking on my cock I massaged one of her perky, turgid boobs with one hand, and gently fingered her pussy with the other. There was still fluid running down her spectacular thighs as I did that. After I was one hundred percent rock hard again and she was leaking like a sieve and her oversized nipples were steel nubs I gently turned her on her back. "Turn a low light on, I want to clearly see your face," she panted. I did as instructed, and then straddled her. We made eye contact, or watched the penetration of her vagina, the entire time as I slowly buried myself in her tight pussy and she wiggled her hips back and forth to facilitate penetration. I slowly stroked as I played with a tit with one hand while supporting myself with the other and she ran her hands over my chest and shoulders. After a few minutes of this bliss she lifted her legs up and put her heels on my shoulders and groaned as in this position my cock bottomed out. I continued slow stroking while playing with both of her tits, and she continued upward bucking in response to my downward strokes as we unrelentingly stared into each other's eyes. It was the most erotic experience of my life! Suddenly she started shivering, lightly at first then powerfully, swearing as her quakes got more intense. I let go of her boobs, grabbed her hips, and started stroking vigorously. She screamed first and then I did as I discharged cum grenade after cum grenade into her anxious pussy. Now, having had the two best sexual experiences, an animal fuck and making love, in my life within the past seventy minutes or so I collapsed. She did too, rolled her head onto my shoulder, and after we each had a few orgasmic "after-shocks" we fell asleep. I woke up to a buzzing sound. "The alarm on my smartphone," Kellie hoarsely said as she lifted her head off of my shoulder, exited the bed, found her phone and turned it off. "It's ten to six. We have time for a fuck between animal and love and a shower before I go. Are you and your friend up for it?" she said with a diabolical grin. After running her fingers over my rapidly inflating cock she grinned more widely and said "well at least one of you is." Kellie Pickler's Pheromones "Where he goes I follow," I chortled. After some more passionate kissing and foreplay I turned her on her hands and knees, penetrated her pussy in one thrust, and played with her pucker hole as I fucked her doggy style. She stuck one hand between her legs and stroked my balls with her fingers every time that I pumped inwardly. "God, this woman is an all-time love machine," kept running through my brain as I happily stroked away matching each of her moans with an equally exuberant groan. Our orgasms were almost as earth-shattering as the night before. I lay on her back, stroking her boobs, until I went completely flaccid and pulled my well-worn cock out of her abused pussy. Our shower was, at the same time, passionate, functional, cheery, and melancholy. We helped each other dress and I walked her down to the waiting limo at about five after seven. We had a new, normal sized, driver named Jason. "Ride with me to the airport," Kellie said staring into my eyes. "Jason will bring you back here after he drops Terri and I off, won't you Jason." "Yes, ma'am," he replied. Terri gave us a funny, though not hostile, look as we got in back and she got in front next to Jason after she handed Kellie a small piece of soft luggage with a change of clothes in it. I gladly helped Kellie change clothes, getting my hand playfully slapped when I tried to finger her pussy as she was changing panties. Once she changed the entire rest of the way to the airport we held each other tight not saying anything until we got to a stoplight near the entrance to the airport. "Kellie, I had the luckiest, most fantastic, over-the-top night of my life. You're not human; you're a goddess. Thank you a thousand times!" "Thank you, Dustin," Kellie replied with dancing eyes after giving me a kiss on the lips. "I trust that last night and this morning was a proper thank you from the people of America, and you gave me the opportunity for an all-time titanic revenge fuck!" We kissed again. "Will you be bragging about this to your friends?" she asked with her eyes still dancing. "None of them would believe it so there is no point," I laughed. Then I got serious. "I will not reveal significant details of our night to anyone, ever -- except maybe on my deathbed. However I will think about last night every day for the rest of my life." She smiled. "And you?" I asked. "I WILL be telling my husband," she said, with an edge to her voice, "and of course Terri already knows, though not the details. I also will be telling no one else, but will think about it fondly until I'm senile." When we pulled up to the private plane departure area I was a little surprised. When she saw that look on my face she said "It's the least that ABC could do," then laughed. "Can I help with the luggage?" I asked getting ready to depart the limo. "No, please don't leave the car," she said, with a serious tone. "I don't want you to. I've always been bad at saying goodbye." With that she kissed me a last time, exited the vehicle, and went straight to the Lear Jet stairway. I caught a glimpse of her profile just before she entered the plane. I swear that she was tearing up. Terri had handed me an envelope of photographs from our date night. I looked at them on the way back to my apartment. Despite my best efforts I cried almost the entire way home. That Sunday was one of the shittiest days of my life. I was longing for a married star, about as unrealistic as you can get. My arm was healed from the gunshot wound so I got on my new, top-of-the-line, titanium bike, with all of my top-of-the-line accessories, and rode until I almost fainted from fatigue. Then I got a massage at the health club I belong to, fell asleep on the massage table, ate dinner, and passed out in bed. I was overjoyed when friends asked me over to their house to watch my 20/20 interview with them. There were about a dozen people there. I expected to get a lot of shit, especially from the guys, but didn't. Every woman there gave me a kiss, and every guy a hug. I felt really good. After it was over and we had exchanged hugs and kisses some of the women started interrogating me about my date with Kellie. "How did you know I went out with Kellie?" I asked. "Don't you read the newspaper or Yahoo anymore?" one of my friends chuckled. Then she turned to an article in the style section of the Washington Post with a photo of Kellie and me dancing. The host fired up his laptop and showed me an article on Yahoo about it, complete with a number of other photos, all obviously supplied by Terri. "It was great. She is a beautiful person in every way, I had a wonderful time, she was a perfect lady and I was an almost perfect gentleman the entire evening," I said while grinning. Despite their best efforts none of my friends could get anything else out of me. The reaction to my 20/20 interview that played Monday night was exactly what ABC had hoped for. They got the second highest ratings ever for a show of that type. Jeremy called me on my cell phone Tuesday morning bubbling over. "If there is anything else I can do for you, ever, let me know," he effused into the phone. "There is one thing, Jeremy -- lose my cell phone number," I chortled. "OK," he laughed, "Thanks again." "No, Jeremy, thank you," I said aloud, and after I cut the call off to myself continued with "for the night of my life!" The walking wet-dream known as Betsy came by my office at lunch on Tuesday to tell me that she had really enjoyed the interview on 20/20. Her long blond hair swept past her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkled, her perfect complexion with just a smattering of makeup glowed, her Kate Middleton nose enchanted, and her voluptuous body screamed "fuck me!" I asked her to dinner; I figured that if Kellie Pickler could be attracted to me so could she. It's now four months after the 20/20 interview aired. At work I got a promotion to a V. P. I bought and moved into a fixer-upper house in Arlington, and I've politely declined four booty calls from ex-wife Isabella. Oh, also -- Betsy is moving in with me this weekend. She's not at all aloof like she appeared to be at work; that was just to discourage the dozens of guys who hit on her. In addition to being as hot as the sun she is sweet, funny, cheerful, and smart; and second only to Kellie in the "best fuck of my life" category. I'm in love. It's funny how luck on one night changed my life.