I stand in the doorway of our room staring at the sight before me, and I want to fall down on my knees and weep. Not in the “Oh my God I’m so happy!” way either. In the “Oh my fuck, what is going on???” way.
After three hours of hard labor while Jenny was out, I had managed to install a sex swing in the corner of our bedroom. A sex swing to end all sex swings. This thing is the shit, and I almost had to crank one out in the middle of installing it. I couldn’t stop picturing Jenny hanging in it, naked and waiting for me to rail her. I had to go to the hardware store three different times for materials and ended up removing part of the ceiling to reinforce the beams up there. I had to attach two-by-fours and consult five different guys who worked at the hardware store, all who were anxiously awaiting my return so I could give them a play-by-play of the evening.
Now, instead of waltzing back in there like a God to tell them about the hot sex we had suspended from our ceiling, I’m going to have to walk in there with my head down in shame. I’m not going to have an awesome story to tell about the cops being called because of strange jungle noises coming from our room or windows being broken because of swinging too hard. The only story I’m going to have is the one about me falling to my knees and sobbing like a girl.
When I close my eyes to sleep at night, I’m going to have to picture Jenny, fully clothed, holding our three-month-old son in her arms, rocking him back to sleep in our SEX SWING.
“But…that’s my swing,” I whine loudly and try not to stomp my foot.
“Shhhhhhh, I just got him back to sleep,” Jenny whispers while giving me a stern look as she gently sways from side to side and stares lovingly down at Billy – IN MY MOTHER FUCKING SEX SWING!
“Sex…me…the swing…bad….sex…barf.”
Nonsense. That’s what is coming out of my mouth. Pure nonsense.
The gift that's supposed to rejuvenate our sex life has now become a new baby rocker.
Barf.
“Come over here and sit with me on the swing, Drew. There’s plenty of room,” Jenny says softly as she stares down at Billy.
Sit next to my wife on a sex swing and NOT have sex? I do not understand what is happening right now. Is she speaking English?
“No hablo SEX! Billy bad! Me want!” I complain, stomping my foot for real this time.
“Drew! What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Jenny whispers loudly.
MY PENIS IS DYING AND MY EYES ARE BLEEDING! That’s what’s wrong with me, woman!
“You are ruining my present,” she complains.
“You ruined my penis!” I complain back.
“I ruined your pens? What does that even mean? I never touched your pens.”
Oh believe me, I’m well aware of how much you HAVEN’T touched my PENS. This whispering thing obviously isn’t working.
With resignation, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and head into the bathroom while I scroll through the newest Erotica dot com updates.
“Where are you going?” Jenny asks softly as she watches me take my walk of shame across the floor of our bedroom.
“To a backyard barbeque where Misty and her friend Buffy cornered their high school Science teacher in a bathroom and asked him to explain the theory of threesome-tivity,” I mumble sadly.
Chapter 2 – Negative, Ghost Rider
Jenny and I have been married going on…uh, something like four years. Or is it three? Our daughter Veronica is three and Jenny definitely wasn’t knocked up at our wedding. So, three, take away the one, carry the two…eh, three years and some change sounds about right.
Our wedding was the shit! It was the most romantic, perfect day ever. Our friends and a few family members went with us to Vegas, baby! And the best part? You guessed it, we were married by Elvis. Not the real Elvis. Last I heard he was spotted somewhere in Piedmont, North Dakota. This guy was totally a fake, but he was still shitballs good. Jenny surprised me with a shirt to wear during the ceremony. In big, block letters it had the word “Groom” with a giant “X” through it. Underneath it was written: The Bride’s Bitch.
I had known the first moment that I met Jenny I would be her bitch, and I am perfectly okay with that. If I wasn’t with her, I’m pretty sure I would be in prison and belong to the dude with the most packs of smokes. This is way better. The day we met she had just finished throwing a sex toy party and sampled the merchandise a few minutes beforehand. I didn’t know if it was the glow from her recent orgasm or not, but she was the hottest chick I had ever laid eyes on. I had immediately thrown away my man-whore card and stuck to her like glue.
Every day since that moment, I have never regretted one second I’ve spent with her. That makes it imperative I fix whatever problems we have as soon as possible.