Troubles and Treats

by Tara Sivec

  “GAVIN TOOK THE CLOTHES OFF OF ALL OF OUR DOLLS AND POPPED THEIR HEADS OFF!” Charlotte screeches.

  “My dolly has no head!” Ava wails.

  “He drew boobies on my Barbie!” Sophia cries as she waves the torso of her inked Barbie in front of our faces.

  “Hey, those look pretty good. Nice nipple placement,” I tell him.

  “Why does this one have a big red dot in the middle of its chest and a shaved head,” Jim asks as he grabs the only one with its head still intact that three-year-old Molly is cradling to her.

  “She’s got a third nipple because she was abducted by aliens and they experimented on her. The other Barbies shunned her and cut off all of her hair when she went to sleep,” Gavin explains.

  The wails from the five girls grow louder, and we all wince at the sounds they are producing.

  “Oh my God, make it stop!” Carter complains.

  “GIRLS! Calm down!” Jim yells in an effort to be heard. Living in a house with three girls and a wife, he is quite the expert at the trials and tribulations of females. But even he looks shocked at the amount of noise that is coming out of them.

  They begin crying even harder because they think Jim is yelling at them, which in turn produces snot, dry heaves, and honest to God foot stomping.

  “No, no, no! Please stop crying!” Carter pleads with them, getting down on his knees so he is eye level with them.

  “I WANT MY MOMMY!” Veronica shouts.

  And thus begins a half hour chant of “I WANT MY MOMMY” from five little girls.

  Instead of calling the wives and admitting to them that we have no idea how to control the situation, Carter calls his own mother. She tells him to bribe them with candy. Exactly six seconds after he hangs up the phone, each girl has a sucker in her hand and a smile on her face as they walk back to the toy room to play “Headless Barbie Princess Parade”.

  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 el
even 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.