O Little Town of Mitchellville

by Jennifer Foor

  After that first time, Van was a little freak in the sheets. She wasn’t wild and crazy like other women I’ve experienced, but she liked sex in the beginning of our relationship, whether it was to please me, or her personal needs. We were banging on the daily those first few months after I took her V-card.

  Fast forward a year. It’s Christmas time and we’re completely comfortable with one another. She’s still modest, while I’m basically naked whenever I can be just in case she wanted to do the nasty.

  She’d gotten used to me walking around with a stiffy, so much that she used to have to put a pillow on my lap so her parents wouldn’t see my predicament and hate me even more than they did back then.

  On one particular night, her parents were going out of town to visit some friends for a holiday party. She was supposed to go with them, but played sick so we could have the house to ourselves for a whole night. If I have to say one thing about Van it’s her need for companionship and cuddling. That chick needs to know she’s wanted. It’s all good, because back then it got me laid, and let’s face it, that’s all I really cared about.

  You can stop with the shallow prick comments. I’m a changed man, and I’ve learned the hard way how not to treat a woman. Life’s little lessons.

  While Van was making plans for some grub and a chick flick, I had my own ideas to make the evening eventful.

  Before leaving my house, I raided my parents bathroom in hopes that my dad would have some kind of stimuli I could take that would keep me from blowing my load too soon. My friend Mike said he’d done it a couple of times and it worked with a few beers. I’m famous for getting distracted and that’s exactly what ended up happening. One second I’m checking for pill bottles and the next I’m sticking a bottle of hair remover in my coat pocket to take back to my bathroom.

  In my defense, I read half of the directions. It said to apply liberally in the general location of where I wanted to remove the hair. Easy as pie.

  Or so I thought.

  While laying on my bed, with a hand mirror, I got a good look at my junk. There was a lot more jungle down there than I’d expected. Since the bottle was only half full, I decided maybe I should give myself a little trim to prepare. If the strands were shorter I’d be able to do a fancy design that I hoped would impress Van.

  Taking my beard trimmers, I went to town, cutting the whole area down to less than a half inch. I took off everything on the sides connecting my thighs. It would look stupid if my legs were full of hair, but my nether regions lacked thereof.

  To go along with the Christmas theme, I decided to do a tree shape. I applied the hair removal lotion liberally in the shape of the pine outline including a star at the top. For the inside bulbs, I dotted circles of the lotion on the inside of the tree to remove the hair there to resemble ornaments.

  In hindsight, I probably should have read the directions.

  I never expected it to smell so bad, or how it would sort of dry to my skin. While waiting for the magic to happen, I was spread eagle on my bed.

  After a couple minutes I started to feel the burn, but just assumed it was how it worked. I figured some chemical inside was supposed to literally burn the hair from the root.

  After ten minutes I was in the shower, cold water being the only relief as I desperately tried to remove the lotion. I scrubbed the area. The soap made it worse. I tried conditioner. I even sat down in the collected tub of water in hopes of results.

  Nothing worked.

  But I wasn’t about to give up. I couldn’t cancel my well planned night of hot sex with my girlfriend because of the burn. Boxers combined with jeans were a no-go. It was like putting a match to my balls. It seemed from washing, I’d not only burned the skin under the hair I was trying to remove, but also everything beyond, and from being on my back on my bed, it had spread into the crack of my ass.

  Originally I’d planned on wearing Christmas underwear with a Santa hat. All I wanted was to see Van smile and compliment my hard work, but instead, I was now dealing with a huge dilemma.

  After throwing on the loosest pair of boxers in my dresser, I was able to put on a pair of x-tra large coveralls that I literally swam in.

  Getting out of my house in such get-up was another problem.

  While still in a good amount of discomfort, I sauntered out into the living room to find both of my parents flashing inquisitive stares.

  Not only did I need to come up with a reason to be dressed so inappropriately, but also one to give the excuse that I’d be staying out all night.

  “Um, so Mike invited me to go skiing with his grandparents. We’re leaving tonight and won’t be back until tomorrow night. I figured it was cool with you since I’d be with an adult.”

  They looked to each other for approval. Dad speaks up. “You need money?”

  I shrug. What kind of idiot would I be if I didn’t go along with it? “Yeah, Maybe just a little something for food. They’ve got the other stuff covered.”

  Dad pulls out his wallet and hands me twenty bucks. “It’s all I have on me.”

  “That’s cool. I’m taking some of my own money anyway. Thanks guys.”

  I had to get out of there immediately. I could feel sweat coming from my pores at the effort it was taking me to act normal when in reality there was a fire in full force in my nether regions. “So, see ya later then.”

  Even the twist I made to turn and leave the room resulted in the most intense scrape of fabric against my skin. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath of air that I kept holding until I was outside.

  My first truck was a piece of shit. It’d been a farm truck prior to me commandeering it. The inside smelled like a horse stall, and the exterior was covered in three layers of filth and rust. Van was adamant about making sure I kept blankets behind the seat in case we parked and used the bed.

  Climbing inside and extending my thighs was a struggle. My lips quivered when the pain became too much. In my head I’m still thinking this is only temporary. The burn will subside and I’ll have the most festive pubes in all of North Carolina. Maybe the whole US.

  The drive to Van’s house hurt like a bitch. I think I spent most of it with one knee up on the seat to keep my balls from touching it. My adrenaline had to be in full force due to the excitement of an all-night sex fest. That’s all I can come up with.

  By the time I arrived at her house and parked way down the road to avoid being discovered, I was near tears. My stomach became knotted, and I felt sick. I walked like an ape toward her house, passing by neighbors who thought I was doing it to be funny. Nonetheless, it took all of my willpower to make it the couple hundred feet to arrive at her front door.

  While standing there, the burn became unbearable. My eyes were watering and my body started shaking beyond my control. I checked the knob but the door was locked and she wasn’t answering. It would take too much energy to run to the back, so I kept standing there banging on the door and crying out for her to answer it. No, it was more like a desperate plea.

  When that failed I pulled out my cell phone and tried to call. It went to voicemail. The last time we’d spoke, she’d said she was going to shower. Figuring that’s where she was, I knew I’d have to wait a few more minutes, but my dick, balls, and the rest of the surrounding areas were burning like a wild fire.

  I was sitting on the stoop, reaching back knocking, while using my free hand to hold the fabric of the heavy coveralls away from my skin.

  More time passed. The burning was beginning to itch as well. Something was very wrong and I’d began to freak out.

  The quickest way for relief was to rid myself of the clothing that was making me sweat. Right on the front porch I rid myself of the coveralls.

  One neighbor was blowing leaves into the street. I offered a kind wave while standing in my boxers in the bitter cold.

  When Van finally opened the door I was in too much discomfort to greet her. I flew by and rushed into the bathroom, shoving down my underwear while turning the sh
ower to cold. I didn’t close the curtain, or worry about her following me. “Ty, what the hell is going on?”

  “Can’t talk. Dick on fire. Emergency in the crotch.”

  She was laughing, until she looked down and saw the predicament. “Holy shit. Oh my God. What happened to you?” More giggles come out. “Why does it look like that?”

  I took that removable shower head and aimed it between my legs while standing in the tub, feeling instant relief. My head went back and I closed my eyes, silently praying it would finally subside.

  Nope. It didn’t.

  I knew she was staring, but I didn’t care. I needed to extinguish the fire before I could converse with my girlfriend. Part of my brain was burning away.

  After having to explain myself, Van couldn’t contain her amusement. Not only did my manscaping turn into an epic fail, but I had physically burned layers of skin off my body.

  I ended up spending the first hour sitting in a tub of cold water, while Van fed me pain medication and a Benadryl in case of an allergic reaction.

  “We should go to the hospital. It’s looks so bad, Ty.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I’m in pain here. Pamper me. Make it stop.”

  “I can’t,” she snorted as she said it. “You did this for me?”

  “Well, I thought a Christmas tree design would make tonight festive and memorable.”

  “Oh it’s memorable. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee this. It’s like you have a vagina. Your skin is so swollen you can’t see your cock. Then there’s the bald spots of missing hair. They’re even more swollen. They look like lumps.”

  She jumped up and ran out of the bathroom, only to come back with a camera. I covered up the best I could before she was able to ruin my life. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Please. Don’t you want to remember this forever?”

  “No! Woman, you’re never to speak of this again.”

  “What’re you going to give me to keep me quiet, and don’t you dare offer sex, because that vagina looking thing isn’t getting near me anytime soon.”

  The only option I had was to surrender and play the victim. “Please. Please don’t. I know I probably deserve this, but this is my dick we’re talking about. It’s my balls and the taint. Don’t take away my manhood. Protect my dignity. It’s in your hands.”

  “That’s the only thing that’ll be in my hands tonight, Ty. I can promise you that.”

  When it was all said and done, the pain lingered, and my artistic take on a Christmas tree was nothing more than welts and patches of missing hair. It took me three days to be able to get an erection again, and I didn’t start feeling better until my hair began to grow back. I’ll take that itch over the burn any day.

  Lesson learned.

  At least she kept her promise, and now I’m sharing it with the world. Nair is the devil. When it says to rinse well, soak that shit in water and soap. Better yet, skip the manscaping all together. It’s better to have hair, than grow a swollen vagina.

  Balls and Titzle

  My life changed the moment I became a father. It just so happened that I was picked for the job the day my Isabella came into this world. I’d never felt that kind of love before.

  It’s only expected that one of my favorite holiday memories is one that involves Izzy as a toddler. She must have been three. Miranda and I were married and living in the carriage house. She’d gone with my mother to do some Black Friday shopping while I stayed home with Iz.

  Since this had been planned, I’d agreed to set up the tree and get it decorated while she was out. Miranda had left me strict instructions. “Wait until Bella goes to bed and then get out the decorations or else it’ll be a disaster.”

  The thing is, when it came to my daughter, I never followed the rules. We were a team and I wanted her to be a part of this tradition. Keep in mind, I was newly wed and being a family was a learning experience for the first five years.

  We waited for the women to leave before opening the boxes. One by one I pulled out the special bulbs our parents had given us, and even though she was too young to appreciate what they were, I still explained each one.

  “This one says Mommy’s name. It’s from when she was your age.”

  “Me see. Me hold it, Daddy.”

  “This is a glass bulb, sweetie. Daddy doesn’t want it to break.”

  “Daddy, pease. I not break it. I hold the ball.”

  I quickly hung it on the tree up top and went onto the next ornament.

  If it wasn’t fragile, I let her hang it low. She got a kick out of helping and sometimes reached into the box to get the next bulb herself. While I was working on a set of lights that were half out, I saw her with a bulb in each hand. “Daddy, yook, I got two balls.”

  There was a moment of spit-laughing before I could respond to her. “Bulbs.”

  “Balls.”

  “No, sweetie, BULBS.”

  “Yes, balls.”

  She’s been learning numbers and could count to five easily. I didn’t want to take away from her counting, so I let the word pronunciation issue slide. Besides, my daughter saying balls was pretty damn funny. I couldn’t wait to explain it to Miranda.

  After we’d managed to get the lights and “balls” on the tree, I pulled out the messy stuff. Back in the day tinsel was the go-to finish for the tree. Miranda had found it in gold and it went well with our red ornaments.

  Izzy was amazed by the shiny, sparkling layers upon layers of the stuff. I allowed her to play with some while I showed her how we were going to put it on the tree.

  I wanted it to be fun, no naturally I started throwing handfuls at the branches.

  Izzy giggled and copied me, getting more in her hair and on the floor than the tree.

  “This is called tinsel. Do you like it?”

  “Titzle.”

  “What did you say?”

  She gave another hand of it a toss, broadcasting it on the floor around her. “Titzle, Daddy.”

  I could hardly hold the laughter in, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  In all fairness to my wife, she’d been right to warn me about putting Iz to bed first. We ended up falling asleep on the floor together, half the “TITZLE” done and the rest all over the room.

  That next morning I forgot to mention the balls and titzle. Days went by and I figured it was something I’d keep between us and cherish. I knew one day I’d tell Iz all about it and laugh with her.

  Christmas came and the whole family was together again. We always had a huge tree at my the Mitchell Ranch that was fancily decorated.

  In front of the whole clan, my daughter runs up to the tree and yanks off two bulbs and some stringy decor and then makes an announcement.

  How come when it needs to be loud it’s always dead silent?

  “Yook, they got balls and titzle, Daddy. Balls and titzle, Mommy.”

  Everyone looked at me. Of course they did.

  Miranda leans down and asks her, “Who taught you that?”

  She swayed excitedly, a smile and two dimples on those fat cheeks. “My Daddy did.”

  Yeah, I was in the doghouse, but from then on the whole family called them balls and titzle.

  God and the Christmas Lights

  When the twins were four we went all out decorating the house for Christmas. We’d raided my parents attic and went to every second hand store in the area to reenact the Griswald house from the movie.

  This was also the year that the movie played twenty-four seven from November 30th - December 25th. I happen to know every word of that movie without it being on. I’m not sure if I love the movie or wish it was never made.

  At any rate, we were obsessed with it this particular year. You’re thinking it was inappropriate for us to let our four year olds watch it, but it’s nothing they hadn’t seen or heard before. Besides, it’s for Christmas. Where else can you get your kids to learn the Star Spangled Banner without them knowing it? Thanks Aunt Grace. And also thanks for wr
apping up and regifting your cat.

  Anywhoo, with the help of Conner, we were on a mission to cover every inch of interior and exterior with hideous multi-colored lights. We were looking for that wow factor.

  It actually started as a challenge. Colt said we couldn’t do it, so of course we aimed to prove him wrong.

  You’d think the hanging of the lights would be the toughest part. Nope. First we had to untangle the damn hundreds of lines of lights. Miranda, Amy, Izzy, and me and Conner sat each night for a week untangling those damn pieces of shits. Never again!

  In order to keep them untangled, we hung them from the loft in the barn in strands. One by one, we’d grab a line and hang it, then move onto the next.

  After the first hour we’d barely made progress and Conner was ready to throw in the towel.

  “I quit!” Conner proceeded to climb down the ladder and leave me on the roof to do the job alone.

  “Come on, bro. Don’t quit. You want your kids to think you’re a pussy ass quitter?”

  I’m peer down at the ground where he remained looking up at me.

  “It’s cold as shit. I’m freezing my balls off. There’s a pot of chili calling my name and a deer stand waiting to be sat in.”

  “You have plenty of daylight for that. This is going to be epic.”

  One thing you need to know about me is that everything has to be “EPIC”. Anything else is just satisfactory.

  “Do you know what Colt will say when he hears you copped out of the challenge?”

  “Screw Colt. I’m too old for this stupid shit.”

  Standing on the roof, I spread my arms wide like an eagle in flight. “Noooo! Blasphemy!”

  He shoos me and walks away toward his home.

  I keep at it until lunch. Just as I’m about to go back on the roof, Conner reappears. Amy is walking beside him with a stroller. “You came back?” I call from the ladder.