by Julia Kent
“Nice labia,” Sunny says to Declan. “You know the female body very well. Are you a gynecologist? An artist?” Poking the felted wool, she’s made it clear our projects will have hair. Lots and lots of hair. I wonder if Sunny is behind the Twitter hashtag #thebarepieisalie ?
“I own a coffee chain,” he says. “Grind It Fresh! Heard of it?”
“I only drink Fair Trade herbal, non-caffeinated teas farmed by persecuted Jainists who reclaim factory-farmed land.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Hmmm. So vaginas are just a hobby for you. Not a profession. Have you ever considered devoting yourself to the study of the female flesh orchid?”
Declan grins at me. “Oh, yes.”
A fracas in the hallway makes us all turn as four men, two in black police uniforms, two in suits, burst into the room.
“Sunshine Bacardi Tailorhaus?” one of them asks. Bacardi? If Mom and Dad named Carol after Christmas caroling, what the hell were Sunny’s parents doing when they conceived her?
“Oh, shit,” she mutters, moving fast to the back of the room, grabbing her purse and a pelvis with an upside-down doll in it.
“Freeze!”
Every guy in the room stops, hands in the clay.
“Ms. Tailorhaus, you are under arrest.”
“Pigs can’t stop me! I know my rights!” At the back of the classroom there is a door. Sunny grabs the handle. It’s a janitor’s closet.
“None of the pot in my van is mine! I swear! Big Al put it allll there. And if it’s there, it’s a gift! Massachusetts made pot legal and I’m giving it away!”
“Sixty pounds, Sunny. You can’t gift sixty pounds of GSC and try to claim it’s legal,” one of the suited men says.
“What’s GSC?” someone in the class yells.
“Girl Scout Cookies,” one of the future dads explains.
“That’s not illegal!” Ivan says, thoroughly confused.
“It’s the name for a strain of marijuana,” another man whispers.
“Oh.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Now I want a sleeve of Thin Mints.”
“Make it two,” Vicki says, tugging on Ivan’s arm. “Is your niece selling them yet?”
“Is it my fault I have lots of friends?” Sunny shouts. “Just because you’re a bunch of friendless stoogies for the state who everyone hates doesn’t mean the rest of us have no friends!”
Her sounds of resistance peter out after a few minutes.
“Did... did our childbirth education instructor just get hauled away and arrested for having sixty pounds of pot in her possession?” someone chokes out.
“Worse,” her partner says, “did I just shove felted wool all over a clay reproduction of the female vulva, to simulate hair?”
Someone peers at the felted wool. “Uh, I’m not so sure that’s simulated. Some of those fibers look pretty authentic to me.”
“Ewwwww.”
All the couples in the room just blink, until finally, Ivan stands up and looks at his vulva.
“Honey?” Vicki says, looking at it with him. “It’s not quite right. You put the clitoris inside the vagina.”
“I know. I did it for you.”
We’re all cleaning up, wondering what happens next, when a very harried woman in scrubs rushes in.
“Ah, so, it looks like childbirth education class is experiencing a technical difficulty.”
Declan snorts.
“We’ll email you about rescheduling, or finding a new instructor. Sunny is now... indisposed.”
“Pretty sure she’s about to be deposed,” Dec says under his breath.
“I’m due in three weeks!” one of the pregnant women gasps. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Hey,” another partner asks, holding high his eggplant. “What were we supposed to do with this?”
We slip out as everyone pelts the poor hospital worker with questions, peeling off to our respective bathrooms before meeting up in the hall.
“What now?” I ask.
Snuggling up to me, Dec gives me a lascivious smile. “How about we test just how accurate my vulva depiction was?”
“You’re the nude model. Not me.”
“Oh, that can be arranged, too.” Wink.
Chapter 15
Declan
“You’re having too much sex,” Vince says to me as I walk into the gym and start racking weights.
All motion halts. Someone drops a bar. The whuff of a boxing glove on a bag is the last sound.
“What?” I ask, sure I didn’t hear that.
“You are having way too much sex. It’s depleting you.”
“Depleting me?”
“Your energy force. You’re letting all your power leak out of your dick.”
“Vince, I’ve heard some weird-ass shit come out of your mouth over the last few years,” Andrew interrupts, “but this is definitely the weirdest.” He turns to me. “Are you having lots of sex?”
I shrug. “Define lots.”
I just walked into that one, didn’t I? Before I can backpedal, my brother goes in for the kill.
“You define lots of sex,” Andrew replies, chin going up, arms crossing over his chest.
I remember Dave’s words when we were negotiating his salary: first person to mention a number loses.
But this is my brother.
I lie.
“Ten times a day.”
“Liar,” he says, shaking his head slowly.
“His wife’s pregnant. Second trimester. I believe it,” Vince says solemnly.
“How would you know? You don’t have a wife. Or do you?”
“No. But I’ve studied this. Guy knocks his woman up. Woman abandons him for the first trimester. Second trimester all the hormones kick in and she turns him into a human vibrator.”
“I assure you, I am way more than a–”
“She wants quickies suddenly?”
“Yeah.”
“She just uses your meat stick and walks away? No cuddling?”
“Uhh...”
“It’s all when she wants it, where she wants it?”
“Right.”
Vince snaps his fingers. “Comes like that?”
“I don’t want to talk about the specifics of my–”
“She’s sucking your soul out through your semen, dude. The woman has to grow a vampire inside her. So she’s got to get her energy from somewhere. Only so much ice cream and tiramisu a pregnant woman can eat. You become a source of power for her to suck off.”
“You get lots of blow jobs, too?” Andrew asks, incredulous.
“Actually, no...”
Vince shakes his head. “No, man, that’s not how this works. She uses Declan here like a flesh pogo stick.”
“I am way more than a–”
Vince grabs my arm and pulls me close to Andrew. “See the sunken eyes?”
“Huh. Yeah.”
“Dark circles?” Vince traces a line along my eye socket. I’m two seconds away from punching him.
Andrew nods.
“How he’s got the broad shoulders?”
Okay, maybe I won’t hit him.
“And the cocky, confident stance?”
I’m liking this more.
“But notice a slight change in his walk. Walk for us, Dec.”
“Hell no, I won’t walk for you.”
“When a guy’s balls get emptied out nine, ten times a day, it changes the tilt of the pelvis.”
“I thought you were joking about the ten times a day!” Andrew chokes. “Jesus! Seven’s my record.”
“This is how guys end up with saggy sacs. The hornier the pregnant wife, the more it ends up looking like a dropped sail by the time they’re fifty.”
Andrew does a double take and walks over to the juice bar to grab his drink.
“You are totally screwing with him again, aren’t you?” I hiss to Vince.
“With him? Yeah. How often are you really getting it?”
�
��Four, five times a day.”
“Good man, but make sure to up your protein intake.”
“Will do.”
Andrew comes back, looking at me with admiration I haven’t seen since we were nine and seven and I climbed on top of the roof of the house to rescue his remote-control helicopter. “You’re getting sex ten times a day?”
“Yes.”
“From Shannon?”
“Who else would I be sleeping with?”
“I really need to get Amanda pregnant.”
“Not having enough sex?”
“No, no, we get plenty. Plenty. But–ten times a day?”
“Every. Single. Day.”
“I’ve never had that much sex,” he admits. That makes two of us. “What’s it like to fill your cup?”
“I’m emptying myself. Not filling anything,” I remind him. “Basic biology. You can’t get Amanda pregnant if you don’t understand that.”
“No, Dec, I mean... that much sex? It’s like going to a buffet. All you can eat. At first, it’s amazing. After a while, you figure out your saturation point. But the only way to know is to gorge.”
“Huh. Never thought of it that way.”
“What’s your optimal amount?”
“Of what?”
“Of sex! How many times a day is perfect?”
“All of them.”
“You really would be happy having sex ten times a day? You’d need a penis transplant after awhile. Our circulatory systems aren’t designed for that,” Vince interrupts. “Plus, the average couple takes about twenty minutes to make love. Multiply that by ten and you’re losing more than three hours a day. Each time takes longer than the one before. Simple biology.”
“With the right time management skills and good organizational apps, that’s not an issue,” Andrew says wistfully. “Plus, some of those have to be quickies.” He gives me a hopeful look. “Right?”
“If you have sex ten times a day, by the time you’re fifty your balls will be so low, they can double as a Zamboni,” Vince tells him. I hold back a laugh.
“That’s what plastic surgery is for,” Andrew shoots back, smirking. Ah. He’s not buying any of this, is he? Vince isn’t as clever as he thinks.
“Evolutionarily, though, the second trimester horny period makes sense,” Vince declares.
“It does? Why?” I ask.
“She’s doing this to keep you home.” Vince shrugs.
“To keep me what?”
“To prevent you from looking for sex elsewhere.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You already got her pregnant. Basic instinct tells men to spread their seed far and wide. So the more she offers you sex, the more likely you are to stay with her and help raise the baby.”
“I’m not leaving my wife and child to go screw other women!”
“Of course not. But from a deep biological perspective, the function of a horny second trimester is to bond you to her.”
“I thought it was to make up for the lack of sex coming down the pike when she gets too big, and after the baby is born,” Andrew interrupts.
“That, too,” Vince agrees.
“You make this sound so sexy, guys.”
“I’m not trying to make it sound sexy. I’m giving you facts,” Vince says.
“Bullshit is not facts.”
“Look it up for yourself.”
Andrew grins. “So all this sex Declan is getting is Shannon’s way of making sure he doesn’t get it somewhere else?”
“You two are gross. Quit talking about my sex life.”
“It’s not a sex life when your pregnant woman is just using you for quickies to get off,” Vince announces.
“Then what is it?”
“You’re a dildo service. Nothing more.”
“I’m way more than that.”
“Are you?”
“This conversation is over.”
“Did someone’s feeeeewings get hurt?” Andrew mocks me.
“More like his meat stick got hurt. Bet you’re chafing.” Vince hands me a can of powder.
“WE ARE DONE!” I bellow, going for the squat cage, shoving earbuds in and turning on death metal.
Except Shannon borrowed my phone the other day, and when I turn on my music app, all I hear are mantras for giving birth under hypnosis. Being reminded to let the interconnected muscle fibers of my uterus pull like driftwood on the ocean is the last damn thing I need to hear now.
Switching over to sandbags and kettlebells, I lift until I can’t feel my balls.
And to my surprise, I don’t mind.
Not one bit.
* * *
Shannon’s on the couch, curled up with an eReader, methodically making her way through a bowl of salt’n’vinegar potato chips dipped in Nutella as I get home from the gym. If there’s any time to bring up a sensitive subject, it’s now, when she is in her comfortable habitat, surrounded by safety objects.
“Am I just a meat stick to you?” I ask. Better to be direct and get it over with.
“A what?”
“A meat stick.”
“Like, a Slim Jim?”
“No, no, better than that. Much thicker.”
“Dec, you aren’t making any sense.”
“Are you just using me for sex?”
“Yes.” Brushing her hands of crumbs, she grabs the Nutella jar lid and closes it. “But you said it was okay.”
“It was. I’m not sure it’s okay... now.”
“I thought you liked it!” A little dot of chocolate on the edge of her lips makes her look like she has a beauty mark.
“I do. I did. But maybe we should put the romance back in our love life.”
“Sex is romantic. It’s always romantic.”
“I was eating toast at the breakfast table this morning when you climbed on top of me, finished in under a minute, then told me to tell Dave to pick up my dry cleaning,” I remind her.
“I was thinking about you the entire time.”
“Pretty sure you were on your phone for the last orgasm there, Shannon.”
“Only to water my crops in Farmville! Just that once!”
“Maybe, um... we could take our time with sex?” I ask, ready to end this conversation via ice pick lobotomy.
“Declan! You used to complain I wasn’t into quickies.” She’s hurt. I can tell. I’m teetering on the edge of a really nasty argument here, the kind where she’ll cry and I’ll feel bad but shut down because I don’t know how to be wrong and stay connected to her emotionally.
“I... I love the quickies. But maybe... never mind.” Cut your losses, Dec.
“Say it.”
“I don’t...” I give up. “I don’t know.”
Shocked, she looks at me with concern. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never admit to ambiguity.”
“I am now. I feel like I wandered along a sturdy path and took one step off it into quicksand.”
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Admitting I’m a mess inside is romantic?”
“Hell, yes.”
She gives me a look that says my pogo stick is three seconds from being engaged.
“Look,” I try to explain. “I love all the sex. I do. Trust me–I do. But I’ve been thinking.”
Her eyes cast down to my crotch. “Thinking?”
“Are you so revved up because you’re worried I’ll stray?”
She’s drinking from a glass of water and starts coughing out of surprise. “WHAT?”
“Are you worried I’ll cheat on you?” There. Clarity engaged.
“SHOULD I BE WORRIED? Why would you bring this up?”
“Blame Vince. And Andrew,” I add quickly. Never miss out on a chance to throw my little brother under the bus.
“What are they saying to you now?”
“Vince says you’re horny all the time because evolutionarily, I’ve already impregnat
ed you and my seed wants to find other women to breed with. Genetic diversity.”
“Is that true?”
“No! But he says you’re horny all the time to keep me at home, screwing you and no one else.”
“Let me get this straight,” she says slowly. Here it comes. She is about to blast Andrew and Vince out of this world for their idiotic ideas.
“You talk about our sex life at the gym? With Vince and Andrew?”
Oh, shit.
“Not–no, not like that.”
“Then like what?”
“Vince saw me and said all this sex is sucking my energy out through my penis.”
“No one’s sucking anything out through your penis. Not lately, and for damn sure not in the near future!”
“I tried to explain that we’re just having intercourse, but–”
“DECLAN!” she screeches. “You talk about my being horny and our private sex acts with people at the gym?”
“Not people! Just my brother and his trainer.” I frown. “And Gerald.”
“Gerald? Our former chauffeur?”
“He wasn’t there today, though, so he didn’t hear the newest part.”
“The newest part?”
“Where Vince claims you’re using me as a flesh pogo stick.”
“I’m pretty close to ripping that flesh pogo stick off and beating you to death with it. I can’t believe what you’re saying!”
“And I can’t believe you’re joking about... that.”
“Parts of me are about to be ripped open by this baby. It’s not a joke. You’re standing here asking me if I’m eager to have so much sex because I’m afraid you’ll cheat on me otherwise. You’re also telling me you talk about our sex life with friends at the gym. I have every right to metaphorically–”
“Stop, Shannon. Just stop. We’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Arguing. I don’t want to argue. I want to talk. I want to reveal. I want to be close to you. I want you to want to be close to me. I want to open my mouth and know that whatever I say won’t be an emotional landmine. I love you. I need you. I want to be connected to you.”
“Quickies connect us,” she mutters.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”