Calvin Walker
The thing you have to understand about so many of the boys that I know is that they just don’t seem to understand what it means when a girl tells them no. They’ve asked me if I like their hair, I tell them no and they keep the same hairstyle for years. I go shopping with them (and this rarely happens), I tell them how stupid they look in those sequinned Prada loafers and yet the run to the register with a pair. Drinks and drugs definitely doesn’t help their confusion so you can only imagine what it’s like with these boys during the nighttime.
This is exactly one of the reasons I can’t go anywhere without my J.J. nearby. He’s absolutely insane, a complete whore and probably living off of some rich woman’s husband but above all, he is mine and Manhattan knows it. For years, our lives have been chronicled on society blogs and we’ve even popped up on Street Peeper a few times much to J.J.’s disapproval.
“My ankles look fucking epic,” he wailed both times.
Obviously, he is a delusional gay as his ankles are perfect and it’s painful to admit that almost every other part of him is as well. His downside? Not his off-kilter fashion sense but dandruff. Even still, he’s the love of my life! The first summer that he and I spent together? Now that was epic. We met at a bar through mutual friends and literally never left each other’s side for three full-on weeks. My mother never understood what I saw in him and I would tell her I never saw what my father saw in her.
No, the disdain for my mother does not push me towards J.J. even more. I genuinely adore him. After we were run out of that Russian whore’s party a few months back, we actually stopped spending as much time together. It wasn’t from anything that either of us said. We just seemed to find ourselves swimming in the same ponds without really coming in direct contact with one another.
I even began dating Owen Crown, this douche king I’ve known since I was a kid. Actually, I don’t know if it would be accurate to say we were dating. Yes, we connected at a party and had our picture pop up on New York Social Diary. Sure, we began to see other on a more frequent basis and people started to question me about my involvement with him. He might have begun to stay at my apartment a few nights a week but it isn’t because of the deep, deep love I have for him.
Owen Crown has a really stupid body. Stupid to the point that when he starts to take his clothes off when we’re about to share a few adult moments, I’m glad we’re alone because I can’t contain my glee. It’s like opening a box from Tiffany’s while holding a Chanel bag and having chocolate all at the same time. It’s pure heaven. Then, he gets on top of me and it’s better than the last time. No joke it’s better than fireworks on the Fourth of July, making out with Usher backstage at one of his shows and/or paying a visit to just about every store on Fifth Avenue with my mother’s credit card for some unnecessary fashion therapy.
Right before it got really cold, we went upstate to this farm that his family owns. “Just to check up on everything; make sure it’s all intact,” he told me. I didn’t have any concrete plans so bright and early on a Saturday morning, I found myself in the passenger seat of his father’s Ferrari and headed north.
After arriving at the estate, we decided to freshen up before grabbing a bite to eat. I’m in the shower when I hear Owen Crown open the bedroom door.
“You’re clothes are dirty so I’ve got something else for you to wear when you’ve dried off,” he says simply before closing the door behind him. This is one of the reasons I think he’s an absolute jerk-off. He just doesn’t seem to register that he’s rude and obnoxious and it’s only attractive a small fraction of the time we’re alive. This was not one of those instances so I shut the water stream off, grab the towel hanging on the door knob and toss it to the floor. I open the door and storm into the bedroom where I see Owen Crown staring out the window, his back to me.
“Sometimes, Owen, you can be a real bastard,” I say. He turns, one eyebrow raised. His face continues to turn and stops at the bed. I scoff but look in that direction as well only to find a gorgeous corset next to a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps. I scoffed again and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I picked up the towel and started drying off my body, furious that he knew me well enough to know what type of garments I found sexy. When I came back out of the bathroom, he was still staring out the window.
“Put the corset on. I want to show you something,” he said. So I put the corset on. I put a robe on over it, decided to leave the shoes where they were and suddenly I was walking with Owen Crown into a barn. I wasn’t sure what the hell he had planned and was on the verge of asking when he started to get naked. I saw that body and dropped my robe. I never thought I’d experience what it was like getting it in on a hay bale but I actually throw all reason out the window when Owen Crown is in the room.
After our sex date in the barn, we headed back to the main house where I found my found buzzing with a text message from my dear J.J. A smile spread across my face as I read how J.J. missed me dearly and we needed a fast reunion. Owen Crown must have been watching me because as I began typing a response, he seemed to lose his cool.
“You’re really texting another guy right now? Like…in front of my face?”
I shot my head up and looked at him with sheer agitation.
“It’s J.J. I’m talking to.”
“He’s gay,” Owen Crown said, raising his shoulders and eyebrows.
“What?!” I said with exaggerated shock. This only pissed off Owen Crown even more.
“You’re here with me and you’d rather text him? I don’t get it.”
“He’s my walker, I’m his hag. If you don’t like it, I don’t give a shit. No one does! Do you understand?” He looked completely bemused as I stormed by him and up the stairs. I picked up the pair of pumps, picked up the small purse I brought with me from a chair and trotted back down the stairs. Owen Crown didn’t look pleased when he saw me with some of my things. I wasn’t sure where he put the cotton dress I had worn on the trip up but it was a gift from a friend who I had lost touch with so I didn’t mind if I never saw it again.
“I think it’s time you take me home, Mr. Crown. I don’t think I’m feeling well,” I said flatly as I walked out of the house and towards the car.
Kate Upton (IMG Models) for Vogue Germany January 2013 shot by Bruce Weber
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Fictitious Fashion is a flash fiction series that finds inspiration from imagery found in fashion magazines and brand campaigns.
