by David Jester
“You’re doing it now!?”
“Is that a problem?”
“While you’re on the phone with me?”
“I have two hands, don’t I?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I don’t see—”
I hung up, pressing the call-end button way more times than was necessary and feeling a desperate need to shower immediately afterward.
To say he had a skewed view of the world would be an understatement. He recently tried to convince me that Jehovah’s Witnesses were secret government agents sent to catch you masturbating, insisting it was more than a coincidence that they only showed up when he was in the bathroom trying to knock one out. He didn’t seem to acknowledge that ever since his wife stopped showing an interest in sex, he was barely out of the bathroom.
“And why would they want to catch you masturbating?” I had asked him.
“Exactly!”
He had tapped his nose and I’d shook my head. The excessive masturbation was definitely doing something to his brain. For most men, masturbation was a private act. Something they did away from the rest of the world and something they kept to themselves. For Matthew, it was as natural as clipping his nails or making cereal, and I’m fairly confident he had masturbated while doing both of those things in the past.
It could have also been the lack of sex rotting his brain. Matthew had always been a sexually active guy, more so than any man I had ever known. He lived and breathed sex, and he had been that way for as long as I had known him. Take that away from him and he just wasn’t the same man. Like Samson without his hair, or Professor Hawking without his wheelchair.
Matthew invited himself around the following morning. He looked tired, like he hadn’t been sleeping and had been up all night doing something else, which was exactly why I refused to shake his hand. I had actually slept. Ben hadn’t been as troublesome. He had slept through the night, woke for his breakfast, and was asleep again in my arms as I stood in front of Matthew, trying to cover Ben’s ears when Matthew spoke, just in case anything got through to his developing brain.
“You look like shit,” I told him.
“You don’t look so smooth yourself, prick.”
Matthew isn’t very good at taking criticism.
He brushed past me and I heard him talking to Lizzie in the living room, polluting her mind with his filth before she even ate breakfast. I had only left him alone for a few seconds, but that was more than enough time for him to offend someone. When I entered the living room, Lizzie was on the couch, one of her breasts on show. She had just fed Ben and was now using an alien contraption to suck out some breast milk for later. She looked half-asleep and very annoyed.
“Do you know what your perverted little friend just said to me?” she said when she remembered how to speak.
Matthew was looking quite happy with himself, so although I hadn’t heard, I could have made an educated guess.
“He asked me if he could have a suck,” she said, gesturing toward her breast, which she now made an attempt to cover. “Then he told me to get in the kitchen and make him some breakfast.”
“Toast will do,” Matthew chimed in. “But if you want to make some cornflakes and squirt some of that on them, that’d be great.”
“You disgust me,” Lizzie said bitterly.
“Thank you.” As bad as he was with criticism, he considered that a compliment. I was sure that he got a kick out of being insulted by women. If he had his way, small talk would be banished and replaced with dirty talk. He’d get a sexual thrill out of every conversation, and it would also make the world a little more interesting.
Lizzie made an annoyed grunting noise and then slowly climbed to her feet, doing her best to scowl at Matthew on her ascent before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her.
Matthew rubbed his hands together and I had flashbacks of the previous night. I’d actually dreamed about that, and in my dream I hadn’t been able to escape as Matthew followed me around, waving his penis about and threatening to slap me with it. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get away from him and his insatiable needs. If he wasn’t harassing me on the phone like some sexually perverted creep, he was invading my dreams like an exhibitionist Freddy Krueger.
“Right, now that she’s out of the way, let’s get down to business.” He frowned at me as I moved to cover Ben’s ears. “Why do you look so scared?”
“Nothing. No reason.”
“Okay. So, what’s the plan?”
I had no idea. Although Matthew liked to think of himself as the center of the universe and had no doubt been expecting me to stay awake all night contemplating how to get him laid, I hadn’t given it a second thought. In fact, I had been so haunted by the phone call that I hadn’t been able to think of anything else.
“If I don’t have sex soon then I’m going to explode.”
“When you phoned me last night, it sounded like you were making an effort to release some pressure.”
“Believe me, if there was any pressure left in there, it’s gone. Like completely. I don’t even use tissue anymore. I use a duster.”
That was my fault. I engaged him, so I asked for it. I tried to shake these new haunting images out of my mind, worried that they would also invade my dreams.
I sat down next to him, careful not to wake Ben. I didn’t want him to wake up and find an irritable Matthew sitting next to him. It was an experience that countless girls had been through and one I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, let alone my five-week-old child.
“I think that we should start by talking to your wife, get her side of the story.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” He spun around on the seat, his red eyes glaring angrily at me. I had images of him whipping out his penis and chasing me around the room.
“Language!” I hissed, probably looking a little more scared than I would have liked, on account of the penis imagery.
“He’s a baby, he won’t understand.”
I glared at him.
He rolled his eyes, mumbled a “fine,” and then continued. “She’s been off it lately. Stressed, working late, snappy as hell. I’m not sure if something’s not right with her or if I’m so desperate for sex that I’m projecting and making her like that. Either way, I can’t just openly talk to her.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s fu—it’s insane.”
“You’re right,” I said, nodding slowly and not breaking eye contact. “Talking things over with your life partner is insane. It makes much more sense to book a hotel room and hire a prostitute.”
The sarcasm couldn’t have been laid on thicker, but Matthew bypassed it, thinking with his penis again. I saw his eyes widen as a smile broke out on his face.
“I was joking,” I said quickly.
“No, no, it’s a great idea.”
“It’s not. It’s really not, I mean, for one thing, it was my idea and ideas are not my forte.”
“Stop blabbering,” he said, swatting at me limply as if I was a fly trying to spoil his picnic, which in some ways I suppose I was. “You get online and find a nice hotel, not too expensive, though; the less I spend on linen and amenities, the more I can spend on tits and pussy, the things that matter.”
Oh God, what have I done?
“While you do that, I’ll go and get ready. I’ll pack an overnight back and get the number of an escort agency from a friend.”
I knew I could trust Matthew to have those sort of friends.
“You really want to do this?” I asked as he stood up, looking excited.
He nodded. “I don’t want to, I need to. If I don’t get sex soon then I’ll explode. If I don’t get sex soon then my marriage might even be in jeopardy. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I need to do this for myself, for my sanity, and for my balls, but I also need to do this for Sharon and for our marriage.”
I covered Ben’s ears. “You’re a regular fucking hero, aren’t you?” I said softly.
/>
“Quit your moralistic bullshit,” he said bitterly. “I need this. Find a hotel, I’ll be back shortly.”
I found a fairly expensive hotel, making sure that it had its own private hot tub and porn on pay-per-view. I secretly hoped that that would be enough to satisfy his needs and stop him from ruining his marriage, but knew that it was a long shot.
“It was the cheapest they had at short notice,” I told him when he saw the price and complained, mentally deflating the breasts of the woman in his head. He was probably adding a mustache and a few warts, as well, but it didn’t really matter. He was desperate enough to poke his penis in a female Chewbacca.
He hit on the girl at reception, but he seemed different suddenly. Not like the Matthew I had known for many years. He was just as crude and just as forward, but it wasn’t as innocent now that he was a grown man. He was less Jack-the-Lad and more Peter-the-Pervert. The woman at the desk flattered him as she was wont to do, but I saw the look she gave him when she thought we weren’t looking. It was a shame to see how far he had fallen, but at the same time, he didn’t need to be any good with women; he had a beautiful wife who loved him and still fell for his bullshit. She was all he should need, all that anyone could ever need, but he had been blinded by his penis.
In the hotel room, as I prepared to show him the hot tub and the pay-per-view channels, he went straight for the phone and dialed a number he had written on a slip of paper. I stood over him with my arms folded, hoping I could somehow pressure him into actually doing the right thing.
“I would like to order a girl, please,” he said, grinning. “To be delivered.”
He chuckled lightly and I heard the woman on the other end of the phone do the same, even though it was probably the creepiest joke she had ever heard.
“My name is Kieran,” he said, winking at me, a gesture that I didn’t return. He gave the address of the hotel, gave his preference as, “face is not important, just give me a nice pair of tits and a firm ass,” and then moved onto the extras. “Maybe just some foreplay, some kissing, and maybe a little light spanking, if the mood strikes.”
Maybe he wasn’t going to go all the way after all. Maybe he just wanted female company, maybe—
“And potentially some fisting, and some anal, but we’ll probably go for straight-up sex first and then see how it goes.”
He hung up with a grin and then turned to me. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “If that disgusts you then I need to show you some of my home movies.”
I was back to realizing that my best friend was just as twisted and soulless as he had always been. “So, what did she say?” I asked.
“She’s game for it, what do you expect?” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s money, that’s all that matters.” He paused, lost in thought momentarily. “She actually sounded quite hot. Maybe I should ask her if she’ll come around instead.”
“She’s not the escort?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot, a look I was accustomed to. “It’s an agency, she’s just the admin. She speaks to the clients, arranges the bookings, finds the right girls—don’t you know anything?”
“I’m not as experienced as you are when it comes to prostitutes.”
“Escorts,” he said, stressing the word.
“What’s the difference?”
“Usually bigger tits,” he said, pressing his hands to his chest to mimic breasts, in case I didn’t know what they were either. “And more stamina. I think it’s all about quality. Prostitutes are skinny, poor, and usually addicted to drugs; escorts are a little higher class so they tend to be better.”
I had no idea how that related to breast size, but I wasn’t about to question a master on his favorite subject, a man who had probably slept with every working girl in the city. Matthew had had so many sex partners that I was surprised he still found sex entertaining. If I do the same thing too many times, it loses its appeal and becomes dull and boring, regardless of how fun it was to begin with. That was the reason behind my recent indifference toward M&Ms.
“Do you want me there?” I asked him.
“Do I want my best friend beside me while I spend the night with a beautiful girl who wants to have sex with me?” He put a finger to his lips. “Hmm. You know what, I think I’ll pass.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it, you know. I’m just trying to help. You asked me to help you, remember? And yet I haven’t really done anything but stand by while you find, phone, and then potentially fuck a prostitute.”
“Escort.”
“Whatever.”
“You have a kid at home, remember.”
“Do I remember? You’re the one who seems to keep forgetting, having me run around and do your dirty business when I should be tending to my new child.”
“And why aren’t you?” he said, a cheeky smile on his face that suggested he somehow knew what the answer would be.
“Because Lizzie said I was useless and needed to give her and Ben a break.”
He laughed. I glared.
“So, why did you want me here?” I pushed.
He shrugged. “Maybe I just needed you for moral support.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Maybe I just wanted to give you something to do. I know you must feel useless not having any work to do.”
“I feel useless? And I suppose you feel perfectly useful working every day, making all that money, and achieving all that you achieve,” I said, knowing that Matthew was just as pathetically unemployed as I was.
“That’s low,” he said.
“I agree. You deserved it.”
He sighed. “Okay, the truth is that I needed you to be the sane one, to let me know that all of this is okay,” he admitted honestly. “I am potentially cheating on my wife, and I don’t trust my own morality, so …” he shrugged. “That’s your job. You have a conscience, or so you’re always telling me.”
“But all of this isn’t okay. I never said it was. In fact, if you’re taking my advice on this then I think you should leave this hotel right now! Go home, talk things out with your wife, and—what are you doing?”
Matthew was sitting on the bed, remote in hand. “I’m ignoring you.”
“But—but—you can’t do that. You asked for my help and—what is that—porn? You’re watching porn? Are you fucking serious?”
I should have known he would find it. He has a built-in vagina radar.
“Like I said, I’m horny, I need my fix.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I told him.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment. And just so you know, I’m not leaving.”
That got his attention. He sat up on the bed, muting the moaning on the television. “You can’t stay,” he said.
“Watch me.” I sat on the chair in the corner, spreading my legs and folding my arms across my chest.
“Are you really going to sit there and watch me have sex with an escort?”
“I’m going to sit here,” I said. “As for the sex, well, we’ll see. I’m hoping that the person I have called my best friend for a number of years now is not some sex-hungry pig who always puts his penis first. I’m hoping that the man who promised to love, honor, and obey Sharon will do just that, and won’t look to stick his filthy dick in the first prostitute he sees.”
“Escort.”
“Whatever!” I spat, throwing my arms around wildly and feeling a little silly for doing so. “You call them what you want. I’ll sit here while you do that. So when you’re peeling off her panties and preparing to fill her full of STDs, just remember that I’ll be sitting here watching every move you make; when you whisper sickly sweet nothings into her ear and promise to rock her world, just remember that I’ll be able to hear every single word.”
I could see I was getting through to him, and I could see the doubt and the regret coming through, but I could also see that he was going to do his best to hide it. “You’re disturbed,” he said.
“You sicken me,” I told him. “You should phone this girl up right now and tell her that you’re married. Tell her that you can’t look at her face without thinking about your wife and therefore you can’t bring yourself to sleep with her.”
He thought about that for a moment and then exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” he said eventually.
I shot forward in the chair, surprised. “I am?”
He nodded and slowly picked up the phone. “I wouldn’t feel right looking at her face, seeing Sharon and feeling the betrayal.”
“Right!” I cried happily. “Finally!”
He picked up the phone and I watched as the glum expression remained on his face while he waited for it to ring. I stood above him, looking and feeling proud.
“Hello,” he said. “I phoned a few minutes ago requesting a girl. My name is Kieran?”
I beamed at him, feeling proud as he prepared to admit defeat, to retreat. I had conquered a beast that seemed untamable. Many had tried and failed before me, but I had finally—
“I want her to wear a mask.”
“What?” I hissed under my breath.
The woman on the phone must have asked him the same question because he quickly reiterated. “A mask, any will do, but something that covers her face entirely. It’s a thing, I’m sure you understand.”
I slumped back into my chair, and the smug smile that had been wiped off my face slowly transferred to Matthew’s.
“There,” he said, hanging up. “Problem solved. Now, you can stay there all you want, but I’m going to continue watching this to get me in the mood, then I’m going to bang the living daylights out of a hot escort. So if you do insist on staying, then at least take some pictures so I have something to look at later.”
When she knocked on the door, Matthew didn’t even acknowledge me. He simply turned off the television, checked himself in the mirror, and then opened the door. I couldn’t see the woman, but I heard Matthew speak and I didn’t hear her reply. He spoke again and this time he stepped away to invite her in, revealing her to me. She wore a long coat, clearly to disguise the fact that she wore very little underneath, and she also wore a Venetian mask that obscured her features. Her hair was tied back tightly, giving her the appeal of a secretary or even a dominatrix, both of which I knew would turn Matthew on. Although it didn’t take much.