The Spy
Harvey Harlot was an international spy; he had also been the top of his class, graduated valedictorian, had participated in literally every single club and sports team his high-school and college had to offer and had a body count that might make the CDC name a disease in his honor.
...Or ten.
Despite his ravaging good looks and luck with women, Harvey had a secret tragic past. It wouldn't be revealed until he met his main love interest, of course, because why else would he have a backstory unless it was to grow closer to a woman?
His dog died in the sixth grade (after he accidentally ran it over driving under the influence, before he'd even gotten his license). It had been the same day his middle school girlfriend had broken up with him (because she caught him cheating and watching very concerning porn categories; the NSA made a new category of watchlist just for him). Avery had broken his heart, so he vowed never to love a woman again.
...Until he saw a super hot chick on a top secret spy mission, one that made blood rush to his penis; this must be love.
The tight leather suit she wore was super practical; she even knew how to hold a gun! (She didn't). When his boss (Who was also the president for some god damned reason) ordered him to take her out, he did.
To dinner.
Then to bed.
They had super awesome, super satisfying sex. He even made her finish a bunch of times. (He couldn't even find the clitoris and insulted her body twice).
She disappeared by morning light; despite the president's orders, he vowed to find the love of his life. The problem was, he didn't know a single thing about her. I mean really, was he supposed to ask her questions? Women asked for way too much these days.
Her name had been something beautiful; it had started with any letter from A-M, though it could have been N-Z. She was Russian...or Chinese, or American, or...British. If he recalled correctly, she was every race - it made her an enigma.
More than that, it made her every man's dream; he didn't HAVE to choose.
In a stroke of luck, he found her - in the hotel lobby, where she was asking for an 'angel shot.' Funny, he didn't know what that was, but if she'd wanted to go drinking he was the best partner to go drinking with. By the time he was twelve he had three DUIs. Safe to say, he was an expert in drinks.
As he approached the woman who'd cured his soul and heart, he realized they were star crossed lovers; they weren't meant to be. Through tears in his eyes, he explained to Ana-bella-carla-dion-something that they couldn't see each other anymore.
"You'll always be my favorite."
"Dude, I've known you for like five hours."
"So long, Amore. In another life."
He hopped onto his sick ass motorcycle and fled the love of his life; it was only a matter of time before she came running back, because they were soulmates fated to be.
...She didn't come running back, however. After three days he presumed she was dead.
Great; first Avery, now Sally-Aurora-Amber-whatever her name had been.
His heart was broken.
He'd aged significantly since he knew her; he'd never taken another lover. (It had been a week).
Time marched on while he processed and cried over the one who'd gotten away.
...Until one day, when he saw her at a club. A strip club; she was clearly undercover, staging a coup...on a secret mission.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? I'm not a spy. You think a real spy would wear that shit?"
She'd lied, likely to get top secret secrets from his top secret presidential missions.
That's all women were, Liars.
She probably hadn't even enjoyed the sex, that bitch!
"You double crossing agent! I bet your name isn't even..." Fuck, what was it again?
"Dude, you need to back the fuck up before I call security."
So this was how it ended; with a black eye in a back alley, a head full of mace and a cease and desist from the white house.
Harvey Harlot had risked it all on love, and he'd lost it all. No job, no money, and no woman.
...But stories always have sequels, and the woman in a pink leather cat suit looked close enough to the woman who'd broken his heart that he could presume they were sisters. (All women looked the same, after all).
He'd get his revenge alright...by falling in love with Bianca-Blanche-Renee-who the fuck cares sister!
This would warrant a sequel; hell, a trilogy. Fuck it, let's go for five books! It could be a love web, and at some point president Biden gets caught in the middle of an orgy.
_______________________
"Okay, I have to stop you there." Isaiah interrupted, glancing down at his clent.
"I mean...come on."
"Hey, YOU told me this is what sells. I'll fix the outline later, if that's what you're worried about." She reassured him.
Whether she liked it or not...she had a spy novel's storyline planned out.
...She'd just need to refine some of the language.
