by Tara Sivec
I've left Jenny at home to finish getting ready and because I know if she goes with me to drop the kids off, it would have taken at least an hour of her kissing them over and over and apologizing for leaving them and then kissing them both ten more times before we could even walk out the door. At least she doesn’t make too much of a scene when I leave our house with them. As soon as I see her eyes start to fill with tears, I do the whole, “Oooh look, a butterfly!” and then turn and run. I would have made it to the car too if Veronica wasn’t so slow. I need to practice some wind sprints with that kid for situations like this.
I get back home and pull into the driveway, and when I get out of the car, the new guy who moved in across the street is taking his garbage out and lifts his hand in a wave. I wave back and wonder if the dude even owns a shirt. Every time I’ve seen him outside since he's moved in, he’s been half naked. It’s a disgrace to the neighborhood. Especially since everyone on this street knows I’m the one who looks the best doing yard work without a shirt. Some people just don’t know their place.
Walking through the front door, I check myself in the mirror in the front hall.
Damn, I look good. Screw naked guy outside. I’ve got it going on.
I straighten my hair and smooth the front of my date night shirt that says: I fuck on the first date. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jenny in the mirror and turn around, my eyes bugging out of my head. She’s wearing a short, red strapless dress with her hair piled up on top of her head, and a pair of red, strappy sandals that are so high I’m surprised she can walk in them. She looks so hot I can already feel myself getting a chubby.
“Holy fuck, baby. You look awesome,” I tell her as she walks up to me and smiles.
“Thanks. I haven’t fit into this since before Veronica was born.”
She grabs her purse and we head out the door, my eyes never leaving her ass.
I am so getting lucky tonight.
~
“Oh my gosh, remember that time you went down on me during my cousin’s wedding?” Jenny asks as she finishes off her fourth glass of wine and leans closer to me so our shoulders are touching.
After her second glass of wine, she starts getting chatty, just like old times. Whenever we used to go out before we had Billy, we would always wind up talking about our sex life. We had an amazing sex life. I used to think about Jenny and I doing some sort of seminar for loser married couples who only have sex to get pregnant. I had always thought we would be the best people to teach others about how much fun you could have in the bedroom. We could use props and I could make a flow chart. Listening to her talk about our fun times makes me realize how UN-fun our times have been lately. Hopefully not for much longer.
“Oh my gosh, remember that night we played Monopoly and every time someone landed on Park Place one of us had to have an orgasm?” she asks as she puts her hand on the back of my neck and runs her fingers through my hair.
“That was the best game of Monopoly ever. Didn’t we have to throw the board away because we got ketchup and hot wax all over it?” I ask her, trying not to pant like a dog as her nails lightly scratch the back of my neck.
“Yep. And we had to use nail polish remover to get the play money off of your ass when we played ‘Pin the money on Drew’ with the wax. Best night ever,” she whispers in my ear.
The hard on I’ve had since she had walked out of the bedroom in the red dress is now a full blown state of emergency. One more story about our past sexcapades and I’m going to need to shut this restaurant down, and the waiters will need to put on Hazmat suits.
“What about that time when we first moved in together at your old place when the neighbors used to sell honey at a road side stand in their front yard?” she asks softly close to my ear.
I’m going to come in my pants in three seconds.
I clear my throat and shift in my seat, trying to move Big Drew around a little so I’m not so uncomfortable.
“Ha, they formed a neighborhood watch because they thought there was some huge conspiracy where people were stealing honey to sell it on the black market,” I remember with a laugh.
“I never understood that. Why would they think only black people want honey?” she asks in confusion.
I don’t even think about correcting her because I don’t want anything to ruin this good mood she’s in.
“I wonder how many bottles of honey we actually stole that month. It had to be close to a hundred.”
She smiles and nods, placing a soft kiss on my cheek before pulling back to continue with the memory.
“That last night was a fun night until we spent a little too long on foreplay and the honey started to dry and get sticky. It was like giving you a Brazilian wax to get that stuff off!”
We both laugh and move a little bit away from each other as the waiter comes to our table and steps in between us to place the check on the table.
“I still have that scar on my ass from when you had to help pull me off of the tree. I don’t care though. That was the best blow job ever. Well, aside from the shower one on our first date.”
We sit there quietly for a few minutes staring into each other’s eyes, and I am trying to force all of my thoughts into her head.
You want to bang me, you want to bang me, you want to bang me.
“I want to bang you,” she states.
My brain is an awesome and powerful thing.
I throw all of the money in my wallet down on the table without even looking at the bill. I’m pretty sure I just gave our waiter a seventy percent tip, but I don’t give a fuck. I grab Jenny’s hand and together we run to the exit and out into the parking lot.
~
In hindsight, trying to have sex in our four-door, compact car in our own driveway probably isn't the best idea. But after Jenny spends the fifteen minute drive from the restaurant back to our house with her hand down my pants, rubbing me one second away from orgasm, I can’t even think about opening the car doors and going inside. I turn off the engine, hit the button to move my seat back as far as it will go, grab Jenny around the waist, and haul her over the center console and onto my lap.
With her legs straddling me, I slide my hands up her thighs and push her dress up to her hips, realizing she isn’t wearing any underwear.
“You’re wearing my favorite clear pair of panties,” I tell her as I slide my hands around her hips and onto her bare ass.
“I wore them just for you,” she says with a smile as she leans forward and runs her tongue along my top lip.
I reach between us to unbutton my pants, freeing my dick and feeling quite proud of myself that I too chose to go commando this evening.
With one hand still clutching her ass, I pull her down so I can rub the head of my cock against her. She’s wet and warm and even though she hasn’t shaved down there since before Billy was born, I don’t give a fuck. I love her pussy whether it’s smooth or has a porn bush fro. As I use my hand to glide myself back and forth through her, she starts to move her hips to create more friction, and we both moan against each other’s mouths.
“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. I wanna fuck you like an animal.”
She stops the movement of her hips and pulls her face away from mine.
“Don’t quote Nine Inch Nails when we’re about to have sex. It’s creepy. I don’t want to think about animals having sex. Remember that time we saw my cousin’s dogs having sex? Oh my God, I had nightmares for weeks. I kept dreaming we would have sex and your penis would be stuck inside me until you finish like those stupid dogs,” Jenny complains.
“Sorry, no more animals fucking talk. Let’s just talk about us fucking. Right now. In the car,” I tell her as I move the head of my penis to her opening and push my hips up slightly so I enter her just a little bit.
“Son of Al Sharpton,” I moan as she pushes her body down a little more and I go deeper.
Jenny doesn’t hesitate to slide the rest of the way down on my cock, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut
so I don’t blow my load right this second.
She grips onto my hair and yanks me towards her mouth.
“You’re such a dirty whore,” I mutter against her lips.
She stops and pulls back to look at me again. “Eew, don’t say that.”
I look at her in confusion for a minute. She’s always thought that was hot. In the past, she usually begs me to call her a dirty whore. I want my dirty whore!
“It’s just weird. I’m a mom now,” she explains.
“You were a mom the last time I called you a dirty whore,” I complain with a pout.
I know, I know. My penis is finally home and I’m complaining. But you don’t understand! This is our thing! She’s my dirty whore and I’m her big, bad slut.
“Just…I don’t know, do it normal. Call me Jenny and I’ll call you Drew.”
Normal? What the fuck is normal?!
“What? But that doesn’t even make sense! We’re not normal. We’re dirty and filthy, and I don’t know what is going on right now!”
I think my penis is dying. I’m inside my wife’s vagina and I’m starting to go soft. No, no, no! This is NOT happening right now!
“Can’t we just have vanilla sex?” she asks as she leans back from me as far as she can while I’m still inside of her.
“Vanilla is white! WE’RE NOT WHITE! We’re…fuck! We’re Napoleon or whatever the fuck the three colored one is. We’re fucking Superman or the chocolate kind with peanut butter in it. I don’t even know what vanilla means! WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”
I know I’m yelling while my wife is on top of me, naked from the waist down but this is a complete and utter mind fuck right now.
“You’re not hard anymore,” she tells me as she looks down where we’re still, sort of, joined.
GAAAAAH I’m not listening! I’m not listening! I’m always hard! I’m hard when I’m grocery shopping in the frozen food section. Son of a motherless goat!
“Quick, call me a slut. HURRY!” I yell.
“I’m not calling you a slut. This was a bad idea,” she says as she lifts herself off of my wilted willy and crawls over to her side of the car, pulling her dress down as she goes.
NOOOOOOOO bring it back!
Jenny opens her car door and gets out, and I stare down at my limp dick in disgust.
“You are a disgrace to all of penis kind. That’s what you are. You couldn’t just keep it up for like five more minutes. Oh no, you had to be a quitter. QUITTERS NEVER WIN!”
I angrily shove my dick back in my pants and get out of the car and come face-to-face with Mr. Naked Guy from across the street.
“Hey there, buddy! I saw you guys pull in and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. My name’s Jackson,” he says with a smile as he sticks his hand out for me to shake.
The only good thing about this moment right now is the knowledge that the hand I’m touching this douchebag with is the one that was just on my dick.
“Hey, Jackson! How were those Snickerdoodles yesterday?” Jenny asks him as she comes around to my side of the car.
Who the what? Snickerdoodles?
“Oh my God, those were the best cookies I’ve ever had. Seriously, Jenny. You can bake a mean cookie,” Fuckson tells her with a big smile.
I know his name is Jackson. Shut up. Bitch ate my Snickerdoodles. He’s Fuckson from now on.
“Well, my girlfriend owns a bakery so I get all the inside tips,” she says with a giggle.
A FUCKING GIGGLE.
“Oh, before I forget, tell Veronica my niece left Barbie’s giant Malibu house at my place the other day, so I’ll bring it over on Wednesday for our play date.”
The fuck you say!
“Oh my God, she will absolutely freak out!” Jenny tells him.
Fucky McFuckson says his good-byes and jogs back over to his house, whistling the whole way.
Who the fuck whistles while he walks? The Seven Dwarfs, that’s who. Fuckson is a dwarf. He’s Fuck Head Dwarf; the sneaky bastard dwarf that tries to steal wives and children and makes them suddenly want vanilla instead of Mint Chocolate Chip.
“I’ll call Claire and let her know you’ll be over in a little bit to get the kids,” Jenny says as she turns and makes her way up the driveway to the house.
I stand there in the driveway long after she’s gone inside, staring over at Fuck Face’s house.
“As God is my witness, I shall never like vanilla again.”
Chapter 19 – Brazilians and FUPAs
I have a headache of mass promotions. Sticking around Veronica’s preschool the whole two hours she’s here probably isn’t the best idea. There’s a parent viewing area with a two-way mirror so we can see the kids but they can’t see us. Unfortunately, we can still hear all twenty-three kids screaming.
“You look like shit,” Liz says as she sits down next to me and hands me a cup of coffee.
Her three-year-old Molly goes to the same preschool as Veronica and usually we alternate who picks up and who takes the kids. Today is Liz’s day but I need a break from work and had decided to spend my free time watching Veronica learn and play.
“I feel like shit. I have the worst headache and Jackson had to cancel our play date yesterday so I didn’t get a nap,” I tell her.
Liz knows all about Jackson ever since she stopped by last week to drop off some hand-me-down clothes from her girls for Veronica. She had walked through the front door to find me asleep on the couch, Jackson giving Billy a bottle, and Veronica sitting next to him watching cartoons.
“I still can’t believe you have a manny,” she says with a laugh as I take a sip of my coffee.
“His name’s not Manny. It’s Jackson. Remember, I introduced you?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “A manny is a male version of a nanny. And as far as I know, they are young and hot and usually gay. But your manny definitely isn’t giving off the gay vibe,” she explains.
“He’s not a nanny or a manny or whatever. He’s just a friend helping me out.”
“A hot as fuck friend that I would bang seven weeks to Sunday if I wasn’t married. Oh, who am I kidding? If Jim was a complete loser of a husband and never helped me out around the house or with the kids, I’d still bang him,” she laughs.
I look at her in shock while she laughs and doesn’t even realize that she just summed up my life lately with that one statement.
“It’s a good thing you and Drew are back to fucking like twisted, demented rabbits, right?” she asks with a smile.
Her smile drops as soon as she sees the look on my face.
“Oh no, what the fuck? You guys just had date night four days ago. That was supposed to cure everything. I assumed you looked like death warmed over from having sex in a bounce house or some shit like that. What the hell happened?”
I can feel the tears stinging my eyes and my lip start to quiver, and I know I’m going to break down any second.
“Shit. Don’t cry. Not here. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
Liz grabs my arm and pulls me up from my chair and drags me out into the school hallway.
We walk down past a few other classrooms and she stops and turns to face me. “Talk.”
I take a deep breath and let it all out in one enormous explosion of truth. Everything I’ve been feeling and have worried about and stressed over for the last few months. It all comes pouring out of me.
“I’m so tired, Liz. I’m physically tired and brainy tired and Drew is just no help at all, and I don’t understand how he can NOT see that I need help or ever even ask me if he can get up with Billy in the middle of the night or change a diaper or fix Veronica lunch or get her ready for school or help me with the other fucking million and one things I’ve got going on,” I complain, as I start pacing in front of Liz. I grab onto a lock of my hair and start twirling it around my finger, something I do when I’m nervous or freaked out. And I’m freaked out right now! I’m also not paying attention to just how fast I’m twirling and before I know it,
my finger is stuck in a knot of hair right next to my head.
“My finger’s stuck. MY FINGER’S STUCK!” I yell in a panic.
Liz rushes up to me and puts her hand over my mouth so I stop yelling and tries yanking on my arm with her other hand.
“Mmmmmmmmmffffff!” I mumble-scream into her hand.
Liz huffs and shakes her head at me. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. Don’t you dare scream.”
I nod my head at her so she knows I’ll be good, and she slowly removes her hand from my mouth. Once she’s satisfied I’m not going to freak out every classroom in the hallway, she gets to work trying to free my finger from my hair, and I go right back into my complaining.
“All he wants me for is sex and then when I do try and give it to him, he wants to do it the same way we always have, and I think there’s something wrong with me because I just don’t want to do it the same way we always have, and I don’t know if I want to be a dirty whore anymore even though he still wants a whore, and I just didn’t feel right calling him a slut on Saturday but maybe I will next time, but now I don’t even know if there ever WILL be a next time, and Jackson is just so nice and pretty and helpful and he knew immediately that I just wanted sleep and some help, and I don’t know what to do! What the fuck should I do if I don’t want to be a dirty whore anymore, Liz?!”
The sound of someone coughing stops my rant and Liz and I both turn to see one of the teachers from the kindergarten class standing behind us with a line of kids, everyone staring at us with eyes wide and mouths open. Twenty five-year-olds are looking at me like I’m crazy and who knows, I probably am. I think I’m cranking up. I’m going to have to leave my kids and go live in a nut house with my finger still stuck in my hair and I don’t even LIKE nuts.