“So how long HAS it been since you and Jenny had sex?” Jim asks.
The guys know all about the sex swing incident. As much as it had pained me to have to relive the horror of that night last weekend, they knew what I was planning and were expecting a full run-down of the events. The guys at the hardware store had a candlelight vigil for me earlier this evening. It really was a touching moment but it just made me all emotional and shit. When I had walked into work tonight and started sobbing uncontrollably, mumbling words like “rocking” and “sleepy penis” and saying, “My kid is the spawn of Satan,” they knew the night didn’t go as planned.
After telling them about my cock-blocking kid and showing them the Ziploc baggie filled with rice that had my cell phone nestled in it, they know it was a banner evening at the Parritt house.
“And more importantly, why is your phone in a bag of cooked rice?” Carter questions as he reaches across the table and fingers the contents of the bag. I smack his hand away and pull the bag closer to me.
We are on our lunch break at the automotive plant and seated at a corner table in the lunch room. The three of us still work the night shift, and there is nothing unusual about the fact that our “lunch break” occurs at 11:30 at night.
“I dropped my phone in the toilet,” I mutter.
“Again?” Jim asks with a laugh.
“Shut up asshole. I was trying to scroll to the next page of the story. Fucking touch screen phones. And I wasn’t even jerking off this time. I was sitting on the edge of the tub. It was a really good part of the story too. Buffy just recited the theory of threesome-tivity, and Misty was going to reward her for being so smart. I wanted to see if Misty was wearing the pink jean skirt and white tank top like in the story about their senior prom. It was a really cute outfit.”
Both men stare at me for so long I’m pretty sure their faces might be frozen.
“You seriously need to get laid. Right the fuck now,” Carter tells me. “And you’re not supposed to use cooked rice, genius. Why the hell is it brown?”
I roll my eyes at him. The rice is obviously not the important part of this story.
“It’s Uncle Ben’s beef flavored rice. We were out of white,” I explain. “Can we please focus here? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Stop diddling your twigs and berries over a body of water,” Jim deadpans.
“I don’t diddle anything. I stroke lovingly. I like my penis. He’s a good guy. And the berries are never involved in the stroking. Wait, do you guys play with yours?” I ask.
Jim shrugs as he takes a bite out of his bologna sandwich. “Sometimes I do. It’s nice to incorporate the boys every once in a while so they don’t feel left out.”
“I agree. A little ball fondling goes a long way. It just depends where you are and if you can get the right angle to get down there and bring them up to the party. I like to give them a good cupping when I’m alone. Claire does this thing with her fingers where she pushes them up so that her mouth—”
Carter stops mid sentence when he hears me whimper.
“Sorry, man,” he tells me sheepishly.
This happens a lot lately. Carter and Jim will start to tell some awesome story about the sex they have with their wives and then they stop when they realize I am sitting there staring at them, hanging on every word and dry humping the table leg.
“I don’t fucking get it. You and Claire have two kids, you’ve been married for almost seven years, and you still have amazing sex. What the hell am I doing wrong?” I ask, pushing my lunch aside.
“I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. I just think you guys are going through a dry spell. Everyone goes through it at some point,” Jim reassures me.
“So you and Liz went through this?” I ask, feeling a little better about my situation.
“Oh, fuck no. We still bang like rabbits. By ‘everyone’ I meant other people,” Jim states around a mouthful of chips. “But seriously, when was the last time you had sex?”
I sit there for a minute pretending like I am doing calculations in my head. There is no need for that shit. I know exactly how long it’s been.
“Good sex, or sex-sex?” I ask.
“That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard. We’re men. All sex is good,” Jim states.
“Negative, ghost rider. The pattern is full. If Claire doesn’t get off, it’s not good for me,” Carter says.
“Did you just quote Top Gun?” Jim asks him.
“Um, yes. Best mother fucking movie ever. I feel the need, the need, for speed!” Carter shouts with a fist pump.
“Okay, Homo McFaggy. If you think a bunch of shirtless, sweaty men playing beach volleyball is awesome, I’m going to need you to turn in your wings, Cougar. Your straight-man wings,” Jim states.
“Fuck you.”
“Obviously. I thought I caught you sneaking a peak at my F-14 the other night when we were pissing. Do you and Claire role play in the bedroom? Does she call you Iceman and you call her Maverick?” Jim asks with a laugh.