Текст книги "Troubles and Treats"
Автор книги: Tara Sivec
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
The peace and quiet lasts exactly fifteen minutes.
I manage to get Billy changed with only a little bit of puke coming up my throat but then I actually throw up in the kitchen sink when I look down and realize I have some poop on my finger. Carter takes over at that point and gives Billy a bottle and rocks him to sleep. Gavin is sitting next to Carter on the couch playing his Nintendo DS when all of a sudden, more blood curdling screams start coming from the toy room.
“You have got to be kidding me with this shit!” Jim complains.
We start to get up to see what the problem is now when all five girls shuffle out into the living room in a giant clump. Upon closer inspection, once we are able to get them to finally stop screaming and ask them why they are walking around with their heads all touching in the middle and refusing to separate, we find out that unsupervised suckers with little girls is a no-no.
“Oh sweet Mary. What happened?” Jim asks them.
They all start talking at once, each one with a different version of the story and who is to blame. One says it had something to do with a giraffe and a cell phone, another says it was because there were birds flying around and the princess fell out of her tower, and yet another says the crayons were talking and told her to do it.
I am beginning to wonder if the girls are dropping acid in the toy room instead of playing nicely while enjoying suckers.
I guess the giraffe on the phone talking to the birds who buzz Cinderella’s tower while the red crayon stabs people is the reason there are currently five suckers stuck in five long piles of hair which in turn are all stuck together in one big ball of hairy stickiness. They look like a set of sextuplets joined at the head. It’s funny for a few minutes until we realize the only way to get the suckers out is to cut their hair. And there is no way you can cut a little girl’s hair without their mother noticing.
The three of us stand there staring at the girls in horror, wondering what to do.
“Claire is going to kill me. She’s been growing Sophia’s hair out since she was born. She only gets trims,” Carter says nervously as he walks up behind us with Billy still asleep on his shoulder. “Maybe I should call my mom again.”
“NO! We are not calling your mother. We are grown ass men and we can figure out how to fix this shit!” Jim scolds.
“FIX SHIT!” Molly yells.
“FIX SHIT, FIX SHIT, FIX SHIT!” all five girls chant.
“We’re out of our depth, man. We’ll never make it out of this alive,” I yell to Jim over the girls chanting.
“We just need a plan. Where is the closest wig store?” Jim asks.
“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard!” Carter argues.
I look at Billy in envy as he sleeps soundly on Carter’s shoulder through the chaos.
“Do you have a better idea, genius?” Jim asks him.
The three of us stare at each other blankly, not one single idea coming to mind that will ensure our wives don’t gouge out our eyes with spoons.
“Get me some scissors, a razor blade, a jar of peanut butter and some safety goggles,” Gavin says, coming up next to us. “I got this one.”
~
Jenny walks into our bedroom a few hours later to find me sprawled out on top of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Why are their Barbie heads hanging from our ceiling?” she asks as she climbs into bed next to me and rolls over onto her back.
“Well, Gavin decided all the other Barbies needed a warning. He figured if they saw what happens to Barbies that disobey, they’d think twice about putting Ken in a frilly pink tutu and purple stilettos during a Barbie parade.”
We stare in silence at the twenty little plastic heads affixed to the ceiling by their hair with scotch tape.
“Where are the kids?” Jenny asks.
“They’re both in bed. It was a long day.”
Before I even finish the sentence, Jenny is on top of me, straddling my hips and ripping off my clothes. It’s been so long since she took control like this, I’m momentarily stunned and don’t move. She has my pants and boxers off before I can blink and pulls a Hulk Hogan and rips my tee shirt right down the middle.
“Oh my God! That was my favorite shirt!” I yell, sadly glancing down at the torn lettering that used to say: Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks – Ghandi.
Jenny pulls her mouth away from my chest, leans back, and glares at me.
“Are you seriously complaining about a shirt right now?”
Oh Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I even talking???
“No, no, no, no! Keep going. Please, God, keep going.”
Jenny goes back to what she was doing, kissing her way up my chest and grinding her pelvis into my raging hard-on.
My hands clutch onto her hips and help her move faster on top of my dick.
“You still have your clothes on,” I mumble through groans as she licks her way up the side of my neck and sucks my earlobe into her mouth. “OH SWEET SUGAR POPS!”
My hips jerk against her as she swirls her tongue around my ear.
She pulls away suddenly and I groan at the loss of her mouth on my ear until I see she’s sitting up and pulling her shirt up and over her head. Her glorious tits are spilling out of her black lace bra, and my hands immediately gravitate to them, palming them and rolling them around in my hands. She hasn’t let me anywhere near the twins since she started breastfeeding Billy, and I made that crack about cookies and milk. I feel like a crack addict getting a hit after months of being clean. I want to cry like a baby as I hold their fullness in my hands. I feel her nipples harden beneath the lace, and I’m wondering if I’m even going to last long enough to savor this moment.
Jenny leans over me, sucks my earlobe back into her mouth and starts grinding her hips harder against me. She’s moaning and breathing heavy in my ear and the warmth of her breath is making me forget all about the fact that she still has her skirt and underwear on and I’m not inside of her yet. I move my hips faster between her legs, and she says the words that have the power of making me come in a split second.
“Felix wants to purr with Buck.”
Yes, we named our privates. Sue me.
Jenny starts thrusting her hips faster, my dick rubbing against the cotton of her underwear, and I really want to reach down, move her underwear aside, and push myself inside of her but I can already feel my orgasm creeping up and my hands are clutched too tightly to her hips to move them.
Before I can stop it, I’m jerking, convulsing, and shooting my load against her white cotton underwear and the inside of her skirt.
“Fuck! Holy crab rangoons!” I shout as the orgasm makes me twitch and my toes curl.
“Are you coming already?” Jenny asks.
“I’m sorry! YES! Oh fuck YES!”
She keeps moving against me and all of a sudden begins shouting her own excitement.
“Oh my gosh me too! Oh yes, yes, yes!” she yells, sitting up on top of me and thrashing her head all around. “OHHHHHHHHHH, OOOOOOOOOH!”
I lie perfectly still wondering what the fuck is going on as she starts slapping her hands against my bare chest and continues to flop her head all over the place, her long hair smacking me in the face as she works out the longest orgasm in the history of orgasms.
“YES! YES! YES! YES! OHHHHHHHHH YES YES YES!”
I’m completely amazed that she’s still going strong. My penis has already started to go soft and her vagina isn’t even touching it right now. She’s just humping air.
“YES! YES! DON’T STOP! OOOOOOOOOH YES!”
Don’t stop what exactly? Don’t stop lying here wondering how this is happening right now?
She finally ceases all movement and collapses on top of me, breathing heavy and sighing in contentment.
Within seconds she’s up and off of me and standing next to the bed. She leans down and kisses my cheek. “That was amazing. I’m going to go check on the kids.”
She walks out of the room, and I’m left in bed with a shirt torn in half, naked from the waist down, my wilted cock resting against my thigh, and twenty Barbie heads silently judging me when I hear her shout from across the hall.
“What the hell happened to Veronica’s hair?!”
Chapter 8 – The Great Swami
It’s been two weeks since I attempted the “fake it till you make it” with Drew and I think it was a total success. He knows I still want him and that got me off the hook for a little while to try and get my libido back in shape. I had a little bit of doubt that my performance wasn’t good enough and that Drew suspected I had been faking that day, but after a little pep talk to myself, I knew I was a golden shower.
I had made Liz play that scene from When Harry Met Sally seven times and then Claire made me act out the scene to make sure I got it right.
“Don’t keep your eyes open. You’re totally giving it away by staring straight ahead looking bored,” Claire stated.
I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and started moaning loudly.
“How’s this?”
“You sound like a dying cat. A dying cat that’s trying to catch snowflakes. Put your tongue away and close your mouth,” Liz scolded.
“Really get into it. Picture someone telling you that tonight, you will sleep twelve hours straight without any interruptions,” Claire instructed.
I screamed in ecstasy and shout words I didn’t even know how to pronounce.
“Wow, you nailed that one,” Liz said in awe.
“Yeah, I guess we found your sweet spot. Just imagine you’re asleep when you’re banging Drew,” Claire said with a laugh.
“Hey, before we had Billy, our sex life was very exciting and I never would have needed to think about sleep. We were even finalists in a porn home movie contest. The contest required us to use four props. Two living things, one gas operated power tool, and jumper cables,” I told them.
“You really need to stop sharing things like this with us,” Liz complained. “But seriously. Do it exactly how you just did and it will be perfect.”
It had been perfect, if I do say so myself. I don’t get why Drew is still acting weird though. You would think that since he got off he would be in a better mood. I mean, he came without even having sex. That’s got to be a good thing. And since he thinks he got me off too, he should be feeling pretty good about himself. But he’s been moody and sad and hasn’t even made any comments about bending me over the table in days. Something definitely isn’t right with him.
Our neighbors call to invite us over for a cook-out this evening, and I take them up on their offer. In the few years we’ve lived in this house, we’ve never done anything with our neighbors. They are a very strict, religious couple, and we obviously aren’t.
Before I had got pregnant with Billy, Liz hosted a sex toy party on our back deck. The wife had been outside tending to her garden and saw thirty women waving vibrators around and trying to pop blown up condoms by grabbing a partner, putting the condom between them, and hugging each other as tightly as they could to get the condom to explode. The condoms had been full of lotion and everyone was screaming and throwing vibrators at each other.
I’m pretty sure that’s why every time I see her out in the yard, she turns and runs back into her house.
Getting an invite from her for a cookout had been a shock but I figure it couldn’t hurt. If anything, maybe this couple could help Drew and I learn to communicate better. I mean, they are religious people. They must know how to talk to each other and how to make a marriage work. I bet I can get some really good advice from them.
“The freaks invited us to their house?”
“Will you stop calling them that?” I complain as I put a pink bow clip in Veronica’s hair.
“What’s a fweak?” Veronica asks.
“The crazy people who live next door,” Drew replies as he pulls a onesie out of Billy’s drawer that reads: Screw the titties and milk. Give me a beer.
“No. Absolutely not. You are not putting him in that shirt.”
I walk over and snatch the onesie out of his hand and put it back in the drawer, searching through Billy’s clothes for something appropriate.
“How do we not have one good shirt for our son to wear?”
“What are you talking about? These are ALL good shirts,” Drew argues as he pulls out a red onesie that says, “I shit my pants when ugly people hold me.”
“These are nice people who invited us over for a nice dinner. He needs to wear something nice,” I state as I keep digging through the drawer.
“Boooo. Nice is lame,” Drew states.
“Fweaks are lame,” Veronica pipes up.
“Yeah they are! High five sister!” Drew exclaims as he puts his hand in the air for Veronica to smack.
At the very bottom of the drawer I find a shirt that says, “Pooping in progress” with a percentage line under it showing forty-five percent.
“This will have to do. Can you get Billy dressed so I can do my hair?” I ask as I lay out the shirt and a pair of tiny little jeans to go with it. “Also, you need to change your shirt. You are not wearing the shirt with a picture of Jesus and a crying Virgin Mary that says: Bitches be trippin’.
“I just want to state that for the record, I do not think this is a good idea,” Drew yells as I walk out of the room.
“Doodly noted,” I yell back.
~
“Okay, everyone, it’s game time!”
Seven seconds after walking across our yard and stepping foot onto the neighbor’s back deck I realize I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t just a fun get-together with our neighbors and a way to make new friends and hopefully learn from them about how to make a marriage work. This is the Twilight Zone and we are never going to escape. We are surrounded by women wearing ankle-length jean skirts and their hair in braids down to their asses. They pray before dinner, they pray in the middle of dinner, and they pray after dinner. They pray so much I can almost imagine Jesus himself sitting up there on a white puffy cloud saying, “Oh for the love of my dad, shut the fuck up already. I heard you the first eleven times.”
Drew keeps poking me in the side and snorts every time someone says, “Let’s bow our heads and give thanks.”
“If they ask us to drink the Kool-Aid, grab the kids and run,” Drew whispers as everyone pulls their chairs into a circle in the middle of the deck.
“But I like Kool-Aid. Grape is my favorite,” I whisper back in confusion.
“We’re going to go around the circle and everyone has to tell an embarrassing story!” the hostess announces.
“Oh this cannot end well,” Drew says quietly.
I elbow him in the side as one of the jean skirt women starts to tell her story about her husband playing a trick on her. When she had asked him to get her a glass of grape juice, he had handed her a glass of prune juice instead.
“Oh my fu-fart!” Drew states loudly as everyone around us laughs.
It’s been a challenge trying to curb our language throughout the night. At least Drew is managing to catch himself before he lets something awful fly out of his mouth.
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s just sad,” Drew whispers. “You realize that every single one of our embarrassing stories ends with one of us naked, right?”
Thankfully, halfway around the circle, people start running out of stories to tell, and I don’t have to try and find a way to clean up the story about how we experimented with popsicles and chocolate sauce and had to use a blow dryer to unfreeze the popsicle from the inside of Drew’s thigh.
“So, how did you two meet?” one of the men asks as everyone turns their attention to Drew and I.
I look over at Drew in a panic and wonder how I’m going to explain to these God-fearing people that we met after a sex toy party.
“Um, well…we, um have these friends. And they have a store that sells…um, Tupperware,” I flounder. “We met after one of their Tupperware parties.”
Everyone smiles and nods and Drew starts to giggle.
“Yeah, they have GREAT Tupperware. Every shape and size you can imagine. Jenny likes the great big Tupperware,” he says with a snort.
“Ooooh I love Tupperware too!” one of the women states excitedly. “I use it every single day. It really is a life saver.”
I just smile and nod, trying to mentally telephone to Drew that he needs to shut up.
“Do you like to use the gigantor Tupperware or the teeny tiny Tupperware?” Drew questions seriously.
“I like to use both at the same time,” another woman pipes up.
“Yeah you do!” Drew smiles and nods, giving her a wink.
“My husband takes Tupperware to work and everyone is always asking him if Tupperware is better than GladWare. I tell them that Tupperware can fit in all sorts of places and can be used for your pets,” someone else says.
“Wow, that’s disturbing. But good for you,” Drew says.
“GladWare is the poor man’s Tupperware, that’s what I always say,” one of the men pipes up.
“Amen brother!” Drew shouts.
A chorus of “Amen’s” is muttered all around the circle and I have to cover my face with my hands because I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Tupperware really has saved our marriage,” one of the women says with a laugh. “Before I filled my pantry with Tupperware, Steve was using Zip Lock bags and his stuff was just spilling everywhere. He made such a mess!”
“Ha ha. Oh, Steve! Look at you spilling your stuff everywhere. You’re so bad!” Drew tells the guy sitting on the other side of him.
“I went to a Tupperware party once where everyone was passing around the different sizes and then they sold those at the end of the party. It seemed very unsanitary to me. Everyone touching the Tupperware and putting their hands all over it and then you were supposed to just take it home and use it?” another woman states with a look of disgust on her face.
“Oh, they make a special cleaner for that,” Drew tells them.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Steve, the “stuff spiller” says. “Drew seems like a good sport. I bet he would love to play The Great Swami game.”
The circle erupts into laughter and nods of approval. Everyone starts rearranging chairs so there are two in the middle of the circle, facing each other.
“The Great Swami game, you say? I’ve never heard of it,” Drew tells them.
“Oh, it’s great fun! You have to try and do everything The Great Swami does. So far, no one has been able to beat him,” Steve says excitedly.
One of the other men takes a seat in one of the chairs in the middle of the circle and a few people direct Drew to the chair opposite him.
“Bring on The Great Swami. I will totally kick his assss-ascot!” Drew cheers, catching himself just in time.
“Okay, so Eric is going to be The Great Swami,” Steve informs Drew. “All you have to do is follow along and do the exact same things he does.”
I have no idea what’s going on but it looks like a safe enough game where Drew won’t get in trouble with his mouth, and hopefully it will have something to do with having a good marriage. Eric puts both of his arms up in the air, making a 'V', and Drew does the same. Eric then touches his finger to his nose, which Drew copies immediately.
“Man, this is easy. The Great Swami is going down!” Drew exclaims as he copies every single move Eric does with his arms and hands. I’m feeling even more confident that we will at least end this evening on a good note, even if we don’t get any good marriage advice from these people.
Since Drew has his back to me, he doesn’t see one of the women sneak up behind his chair with something in her hand. I can’t see what it is since she’s hiding it in front of her, but everyone around the circle starts to giggle when they see her.
The Great Swami Eric does a few more arm movements that Drew repeats and then suddenly he stands up from of his chair. Drew immediately follows the movement, at which point, the woman sticks what I now see is a huge, sopping wet towel onto the seat of Drew’s chair.
Eric quickly sits back down onto his own chair, and Drew follows suit, smacking his ass down onto the wet towel and the puddle it makes in his chair. He quickly pops right back up and twists and turns to try and get a look at his ass while everyone around us is rolling with laughter
“SON OF A MOTHER FUCKING JESUS BITCH! WHAT THE FUCK ASS SHIT BITCH JUST FUCKING HAPPENED?!”
I can almost feel Jesus on his puffy cloud shaking his head in shame at us and saying, “You should have known better than to mix with my people. They will fuck you every time.”
We quickly gather up the kids and thank everyone for a wonderful time. Drew tells them we need to leave because Billy has explosive diarrhea just as Veronica begins singing at the top of her lungs, “SHIT POOP DIAWEEA. SHIT POOP DIAWEEA!”
The whole walk back to our house Drew complains, “Fucking stupid ass fuck Swami. Next time we’re invited over there, I’m going to fuck that Swami up.”
I’m not going to hold my breast for another invitation any time soon.
Chapter 9 – Great Head
“I can’t believe you’ve never played The Great Swami game before. I’m disappointed that you would fall for the oldest trick in the book.”
My dad, Andrew Senior, shakes his head at me in pity as we share a beer up at the local pub and watch the Browns game. I had invited my dad up here to get his take on Jenny and see if he would be up to tailing her for a few days. I’m not one hundred percent positive that she’s falsifying a workman’s comp claim since she stopped limping the day after she hurt her ankle, but I still have my doubts. Something stinks in suburbia and it’s not my balls.
“Can we get back to the topic at hand, please? Will you do this for me or not?” I ask as I signal the bartender for another drink.
“Son, I have had your back for twenty-four-”
“Thirty-four,” I supply.
“Thirty-four years. I am not about to quit you now, soldier. I will be on her like flies on shit. She doesn’t make a move without me knowing about it. I love the smell of deceit in the morning!”
My father’s enthusiasm for trying to catch my wife doing something bad doesn’t make me feel better.
My dad used to be a drill sergeant in the Marines until word got around just how scary of a mother fucker he was. The Corps had a hard time finding recruits in his area because no one wanted to be the guy crying like a baby while my dad screamed in his face. He had retired early and opened his own private investigation business. Unfortunately, he's never lost that drill sergeant mentality.
“I need to know that you’re on board with whatever I have to do to uncover the truth, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I mutter.
“Say it like you’ve got a set of balls, you pansy ass!”
“YES, SIR!” I shout.
My dad smacks me on the back and tells me he’ll start his recon this evening when Jenny is supposedly going to be running errands after she gets off of work.
We finish watching the Browns game while dad explains to me every few minutes what he’ll be doing to try and catch Jenny in a lie. I feel really bad about the fact that I’m going behind her back, but I need to figure out what is wrong before I can figure out how to fix it.
As the game ends and my dad and I part ways, I get in my car, turn on the radio and the song “I Would Walk 500 Miles” comes on, and I’m immediately transported back in time six years ago when Jenny and I went on our first date.
“I may have had too much to drink,” I had admitted with a big smile to Jenny as I leaned my chair back on two legs.
She had smiled back at me and the beauty of it forced me to lose my balance and start windmilling my arms as I began to tip backwards.
Jenny immediately reached out, grabbed onto the front of my shirt with her fist, and yanked my chair back on four legs. The act caused the chair to slide closer to her and suddenly for the first time that night, I was close enough to run my nose against her cheek and smell her hair.
“Did you just smell my hair?” she asked.
I pulled back and gave her a sheepish look. “That depends. If I say yes, will you stick your stiletto up my ass?”
She smiled and shook her head “No”.
“Then yes, yes I was sniffing your hair. It smells like mangoes.”
“That is so hot,” she whispered.
We stared into each other’s eyes for a few minutes, and I had to mentally smack myself out of the trance she put me in before I threw her down on the table and banged her right there in front of God and everyone.
“So, I realized I’m not even close to sober when a few minutes ago, when I piss a take…I mean took a piss, I screamed when the automatic toilet flushed. I probably won’t be able to drive you home,” I told her honestly.
“Oh my God, I hate those automatic flushers! Sometimes they flush before I’m even finished and it creeps me out. Like it knows and can see me and just wants to mess with me,” she said.
“Holy hell, I always tell people that. I really think there is a camera in the toilet bowl with some pervy little man in another room watching and laughing when he hits the button early.”
We stared at each other for a few minutes and once again, there was nothing I’d rather do right then than to lean in and do dirty things with her mouth. But that wasn't something I wanted to do in the middle of a crowded bar. When it finally happened, we needed to be alone. Preferably in a bed. Or on a picnic table in a random park.
“Come on, give me the keys, I’ll drive you home,” she said as she held her hand out in front of me. I pull the keys out of my pocket and drop them in her hand.
~
Jenny insisted on stopping at Denny’s on the way home because she was hungry and always wanted to order Moons Over My Hammy because it was funny to say. I almost asked her to marry me on the spot.
“Funny you mention ham. I have issues with ham when I’m really, really drunk,” I told her, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs in my mouth. “The past few times Carter and I have gone out, we always wind up at the grocery store at the end of the night so I can go to the deli counter and order five pounds of ham.”
Jenny laughed and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Why would you order five pounds of ham?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve only heard this story from Carter so I’m not absolutely sure it’s true since I have no recollection of the events. But according to him, I always buy ham and then walk down the sidewalk tossing ham at people, calling myself the Meat Fairy.”
Jenny continued to laugh and when my cell phone buzzed on the table in front of me, I ignored it. She picked it up and started scrolling through the apps. Normally, this would make me want to smack a chick in the ovaries, but with Jenny, I didn’t mind at all. I leaned over and saw she was clicking on the Facebook app.
“Check and see if my status still says, ‘I suck big cocks.' Carter got a hold of my phone the other day and I haven’t figured out how to change it.”
Jenny leaned slightly away and typed something into the phone with a smile on her face. I let her do her thing as I finished my food.
While we waited to pay the bill, we continued talking about stupid shit we’d done when we were drunk. Jenny’s story about sending an email to her grandmother that said “I finger-banged an orangutan. It was a party at the zoo!” because she’ll do anything people dare her to do when she’s drunk had my Meat Fairy story beat by a long shot.
Jenny started up the car and I leaned over the console and rested my head on her shoulder, turned on the radio, and flipped through the stations. The gay ass song “I Would Walk 500 Miles” came on and I snorted a laugh.
“There are only two things I would walk 500 miles for: beef jerky and you,” I admitted.
Jenny immediately flipped the blinker from turning right, toward my house, to left. I didn’t say a word as she pulled out of the parking lot and away from the direction I lived. I was praying to the Meat Fairy that she was taking me back to her place and I wouldn't want to say anything and spook her into turning around.
A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a cute little blue bungalow with a front porch and flower boxes under the windows.
“So, this is my place. I hope it’s okay we came here,” she said quietly.
“It is absolutely okay. I live with Carter and he’s probably at home jerking off with a bottle of chocolate sauce. My eyes can’t take that shit anymore.”
We get out of the car and I grab her hand as we round the hood and start up the stairs. She let go of my hand to dig into her purse for her keys and unlock the door. As we walk inside, I was suddenly reminded of the fact that I smell like beer and tequila. I needed a shower and I needed it bad. Even if nothing happened between us tonight, I still wanted to do everything in my power to be close to her. I wasn't doing that when Budweiser is leaking from my pores.
She happily obliged my request, showed me to the bathroom, leaving a folded, clean towel on the back of the toilet for me before leaving and closing the door behind her.
I undressed as quickly as possible and hopped into the shower, not wanting to waste too much time away from her. As always when I was in the shower, I started singing.
“Hold me closer, Tony Daaaaanza. Count the head lice on the hiiiiiiiiighway.”
While singing and washing my hair, I heard a noise behind me and turned to find a wet, naked Jenny standing in the shower with me, a huge grin on her face as she looked me up and down.
“Holy fuck, am I dreaming,” I asked, speaking directly to her boobs. “I’m sorry, I’m finding it impossible to look you in the eyes right now.”
I continued staring at the world’s most perfect boobs as she took a step closer to me and held up a tube of something for me to see. I regrettably pulled my eyes away from booby heaven to read the label on the bottle that bottle said, ‘Great Head’.
“I got this the other night at the sex toy party I went to. It’s supposed to numb the back of my throat so I don’t gag during a blow job. I’ve never been with a guy whose junk was anywhere near the back of my throat, but I’m pretty sure you have them beat. Wanna give it a try and see if it works?’
I stared at her with an open mouth and, I wasn't going to lie, a few tears in my eyes. Thank God the shower was throwing mist and drops of water all over the place and she wouldn’t see my tears of joy.
All I could do was stare and nod my head up and down, my mouth still open in awe. She opened the tube of gel and squirted a generous amount on her index finger before sliding it into her mouth and sucking it clean. Little Drew jerked down below, and I mentally told him to calm his shit down or he was going to spit all over the place before this even started.
