Comfort Zone

by Missy Johnson

  “Becca! There you are. How cool is this place?” She giggles. “It’s huge. Not like the pokey little back-room sex shops I’m used to. Then again, the last time I was in one was when your father and I got one of those—”

  “Really not something I want to hear,” I growl, cutting her off.

  She looks hurt. “But I thought we were friends.”

  “Nope. We can never be the kind of friends who talk about this shit, because you’re my mother,” I reply. I sigh, knowing that I sound harsh, but I’ve put up with this kind of shit too many times. “You’re wonderful and you know I love you, but I’m sorry. I draw the line at anything that is going to scar me for life. Which, coincidentally, is pretty much everything that comes out of your mouth.”

  She sniffs and lifts her head, like I’ve offended her. Probably because I have.

  “You’re as bad as Midge,” she finally huffs. Midge being her ninety-three-year-old friend from church. “You’d should’ve heard her react when I suggested a swingers—”

  “Mother! I’ll leave you here,” I threaten, glaring at her. “And what kind of church are you going to, anyway?”

  “Being left here wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing…” She giggles and glances around. “Can I be honest with you about something?”

  Oh God, she’s whispering. This can’t be good. I’m terrified as to what is coming next.

  “Uh—”

  “The ceremony we’re having next weekend?” She cuts me off.

  “The recommitment ceremony for your wedding anniversary?” I clarify.

  She nods. “It’s not the marriage that we’re celebrating…” Her green eyes dance as they stare into mine. “Your father and I have finally…reconnected, after years of having to satisfy myself.” She sighs and stares off into the distance, a dreamy smile on her face. “I wanted to celebrate it and our anniversary was the perfect cover. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed that thick, stiff—”

  “Mother!” I gasp, a little part of me dying inside with every word she utters. “Are you kidding me? You’ve invited fifty relatives to help you celebrate the fact that you and your husband are fuck—”

  “Watch your language, Rebecca,” Mom warns me.

  Ha. My language is the least of my worries. I feel sick. And betrayed. How am I supposed to sit through this, knowing what I do? I offered to read a poem for this thing, for God’s sake. That’s why she kept pushing me to read a poem entitled “The Seed That Lasts Forever.” I cover my mouth with my hand.

  Oh God, I’m going to be sick.

  “I can’t…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  I stalk back over to my dildos. I’m doing my best to push my mother’s words from my mind, but they refuse to leave. My parents are having a sex ceremony. That’s what it comes down to. Let’s just hope they don’t decide to do an interpretive dance.

  Just forget about it and choose a damn dildo.

  I need to get out of here before she does something to really embarrass—I wince when I hear a loud crash.

  Too late.

  I turn around, my eyes widening at the sight of Mom sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by hundreds of tiny little motorized Pac-Man-style penises. I watch as these tiny little erect penises snap their oversized mouths at her legs, like blood-thirsty piranhas, and I can’t help myself—I lose it. Gasping, I clutch my stomach as tears stream down my cheeks.

  Mom glares at me. “Becca, stop laughing and help me.”

  I step forward to help her up—but not before I drag my phone out of my jacket pocket and take a photo. If all else fails for finding an appropriate poem for the ceremony, I’ll be able to create an awesome photo montage.

  We work quickly to shove the tiny little critters back in their box. I smirk. How cute. Their own little box to play in. I grin and tuck one in behind my dildo. I’ll keep it as a souvenir for whenever I need cheering up. I wipe the smile off my face and turn back to Mom.

  “We’re going. Now.”

  I take her by the arm and lead her to the checkout, placing my purchases down on the counter. I give my mother a stern look.

  “You can explain to Mandi what you did to her display,” I add, reading the shop assistant’s name tag.

  “I took one off the shelf.” Her cheeks flush bright red. “It’s not my fault they all fell off.”

  “It only takes one mistake to ruin everything.” I smirk, echoing the words I used to hear from her all the time when I was growing up.

  “A piece of advice that you never listened to,” she grumbles.

  “Well, it was hard to take you seriously. You didn’t exactly set a fine example for me, did you?”

  I thank the cashier and take the bag in one hand and Mom in the other, dragging her out to the car. She climbs in and crosses her arms, glaring at the floor of the car.

  “Quit pouting like a sulky teenager or I’ll take you home,” I warn. “You need to own up to your mistakes, Mother.” Okay, so I may be enjoying this a little too much.

  “That wasn’t my fault,” she insists.

  “Oh? The tiny penises just jumped off the shelf to attack you, did they?” I rub my temples, mainly to try and hide my smirk. “God knows what you’ll do next to embarrass me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.

  “It means I’m capping you at two drinks. And no lap dances, no stripping, and no hitting on Jake’s friends,” I warn her. “No hitting on the strippers, either.”

  “Rebecca, I’m your sixty-seven-year-old mother—”

  “Who gets a few drinks into her and suddenly thinks she’s a twenty-year-old hornbag,” I retort. “You were escorted out of Aunt Minnie’s wake, Mom. Remember that?”

  “Oh, Minnie was the biggest minx of them all,” Mom protests. “She would’ve been dancing right there with me, if she could.”

  “I don’t think it was the dancing they had a problem with,” I remind her gently. Watching Mom trying to wrestle that coffin open while screaming “Free Minnie” was both hysterical and horrifying. “Just tone it down. Please?” I beg her.

  She’s about to reply when her phone rings. I pull into the parking lot while she answers the call. I’m only half paying attention as I reverse into a spot near the door, but when I hear the word hospital, she has my full attention.

  “Why? What happened? Are you okay?” She pauses while I study her face and try and figure out what’s going on. “No, we haven’t gone in yet. It’s fine.”

  Mom glances at me and rolls her eyes, which only slightly eases my anxieties. Mom has been known for playing down the seriousness of medical emergencies, on occasion. I have vague memories of age five, when she insisted on waiting until after her show finished before taking my grandad to the hospital. It turned out he had suffered a pretty serious heart attack.

  Luckily, he was okay—well, until he died six weeks later after choking on a twinkie.

  “Oh shut up, Peter. Of course I’m going to come to the hospital. I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t.”

  She turns to me and shakes her head. I smirk, feeling sorry for Dad, because somehow, I feel like he’s the one who’s not going to hear the end of it.

  “What’s going on?” I ask her when she finally hangs up.

  “Oh, it’s fine.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Your father insisted on trying to change the brake pads instead of calling the mechanic, like I told him to. Of course he ran over his foot and it’s broken in two places.”

  I start the car up.

  Mom looks at me in alarm. “What are you doing?”

  “Driving you to the hospital, what does it look like?” I frown.

  “No, you’re going in there.” She points to the club. “You can’t miss this. Jake would be crushed. It’s bad enough that I’m missing it. We can’t both not be there.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her Jake probably won’t care if she’s there or not.

  “What ab
out Dad—”

  “He’s fine,” she says, waving her hand. “If he wasn’t so stupid and had just listened to me in the first place, then I wouldn’t be missing this, too, would I?”

  “I guess not. Okay, so how are you going to get there?” I ask.

  “I’ll catch a cab.”

  “No way.” What kind of daughter would I be if I let my mother drive herself to the hospital, after my father broke his foot? “At least let me drive you over there.”

  “Tell you what: you get out and I’ll give you the money to catch a cab home and I’ll take your car,” Mom suggests.

  I hesitate.

  “Go on, Becca,” she coaxes, knowing she almost has me. “It’s fine, I promise. It’s not going to kill you to have a few drinks and loosen up a little.”

  I stifle a laugh. Only to Mom do I appear uptight.

  “Fine,” I say. “But if you have any trouble at all, just call me and I’ll be right over there.”

  “Okay, but I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Two

  Becca

  My heart flutters with anxiety as I march up the steps of Stripteeze and push through the heavy glass doors. After such a shitty day that has really affected my mood, I’m hoping for a fun night where I can just forget everything else.

  The moment I spot Jake, my mood lifts a few notches. He’s surrounded by a group of his friends, who are chanting his name. I laugh when he turns to face me, because the hot pink wings and matching sash he’s wearing, that’s been embroidered with Pussy-Whipped, really suits him. Especially with the way he’s now waving at me like a maniac. All he’s missing is the wand and some fairy dust to really complete his look.

  “Hey,” I say, when I reach him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. “That shade of pink really suits you.”

  “You’re late.”

  Jake narrows his eyes. I hand him the bag I’m holding, knowing that gifts make everything all right. How can you be angry at your best friend when she comes bearing a giant fist-shaped dildo?

  “I know, I’m sorry, but I have a good reason.” I nod at the bag. “I had to stop for this. The fact that I went into a sex shop with my mother to get you that should be enough reason to forgive me,” I add in a hopeful voice.

  “Speaking of, where is your mom?” he asks, looking around. “Didn’t she invite herself along?”

  “No, she misunderstood your question and then you invited her,” I remind him. “But lucky for us, just as we got here, Dad called. From the hospital.”

  “Holy shit, what happened?”

  “He rolled the jeep onto his foot and Mom had to go pick him up.” I smile gleefully.

  “And you look really fucking happy about that.” He chuckles.

  “I’m not happy about the bit where Dad got hurt,” I say defensively. “Just the part where Mom isn’t going to be here to discover I hired a chick to shoot ping-pong balls out of her cooch and into your face.”

  I cringe, because Mom, ping-pong balls, and cooch are words that never belong in the same sentence.

  “Please tell me you’re joking about the ping-pong girl,” he groans.

  I motion for him to open his gift. He opens the bag and peers inside, then starts to laugh as he pulls out the oversized, fist-shaped dildo. He holds it up, a concerned expression on his face, then he glances at me. I sigh and snatch it from him and shake it. He groans when it lights up and starts singing “Macho Man.”

  “What is that?” He laughs.

  “Something you can use to hit away the balls.” I wink at him.

  “Brooke is going to kill me,” he groans.

  “No. She’ll kill me,” I say with a laugh. “And that’s okay, because she wants me dead anyway. I might as well give her a real reason.”

  “You enjoy riling her up, don’t you? Even though I have to live with it.”

  “You’re not even married and you’re already referring to her as ‘it’?” I tease, nudging him with the fist. “And let’s be honest. I could wear my hair the wrong way and she’d be pissed at me.”

  “Did you say something?” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m still stuck on the part where you’re glad your dad is hurt.”

  “Stop twisting my words around,” I retort. I scowl at him as he laughs, and I place my hand on my hip. “You know what Mom is like. She’d have one drink and she’d be critiquing Ms. Venezuela over there on her motorboating technique—”

  I glance over at her and stop midsentence. My eyes widen.

  No way.

  “Professor Sullivan?” I hiss.

  His head snaps around so fast I’m afraid I’ve caused him whiplash, but he recovers quickly, calmly pushing the stripper off his lap and then getting to his feet. He saunters over to me, smiling at me like we’ve run into each other in Walmart.

  “Becca. Call me Liam. Please.” He smiles at me with admiration. “Wow, when you play a game, you really commit,” he murmurs, those damn sexy eyes penetrating me. “Coming to a strip club to masturbate in public is genius, because you know the majority will be doing it too.” He pauses for a second. “But I have to admit, I’m now a little worried about the other thing…”

  “About what?” Jake laughs. “And how do you two even know each other?” he adds.

  Liam glances at Jake, like he’d forgotten he was there.

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” Liam comments.

  “Jake and I are old friends,” I cut in, hoping it’s not obvious that I’m hijacking the conversation to avoid Jake finding out about what happened. “So sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not here to strip or do anything else involving…anything.” I shudder. I link my arm through Jake’s, who still looks very confused as he glances back and forth between us. “I’m the one who planned this whole shindig.”

  “Really?” Liam murmurs.

  His eyes fall on the dildo that I’m clutching in my hand, which I suddenly have the urge to shake. His mouth twitches into a smile when it starts to sing.

  “And you’re having fun, I see.”

  “Not as much fun as you’re obviously having,” I say, winking at him. “Am I right?” I say, nodding back at Ms. Venezuela. The words start to spill out of me, like they do when I’m nervous. “When I first walked into your class, I thought to myself, ‘that guy is a natural motorboater.’”

  What I wouldn’t give to bury that face between my breas—

  I hunch forward, still turned on by the thought of him doing anything to me.

  “Is that so?” He smirks at me. “The way I remember it, you were too busy lusting after my pussy-saving hands to focus on anything else.” He stops and pretends to think for a moment. “Those were your words, right?”

  I glare at him. How long is he going to hold this over me? Am I going to relive every single thing I said about him over the past six months? Because if I am, then we’ll be here forever, and I’ll be very, very embarrassed.

  “They weren’t directed at you,” I snap.

  “Hold up, hold up.” Jake puts his hands out interrupting the conversation. “I feel like I’ve missed a vital part of this whole thing.” He glances at me. “You’re Liam’s student?” He splutters the words out between fits of laughter. “And you actually used the term ‘pussy-saving hands’? This is too much. Please tell me you didn’t say that.”

  “Oh, she said it,” Liam assures him. “More precisely, that she wanted to slither under them. But trust me, it gets better.”

  “He was resuscitating a freaking cat,” I cut in, defending myself. “How was I supposed to react when he was standing there, pumping his fingers down furiously on some little old lady’s pussy?”

  “Andrew is actually my grandma’s cat,” he cuts in.

  “That makes it even worse,” I roar.

  Andrew? Who calls a cat Andrew?

  “What happened to Andrew?” Jake frowns.

  What? He doesn’t even know Andrew. I step back and close my eyes. I’m not even listening as t
hey talk, because I’m too busy wishing I were anywhere but here.

  Jake shakes his head. “Actually, hold that thought. I need a drink before continuing this conversation. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He winks at me and then walks off, leaving the two of us alone to endure the rest of this awkward moment alone. Well, at least it’s awkward for me, because I swear from the way Liam’s smirking at me, he’s enjoying this.

  “So,” he says. He glances down at my hand and I realize I’m still holding that damn dildo. “Nice fist. Is it yours?”

  “Oh shut up and stop pretending you’re surprised to see me here,” I growl.

  He opens his mouth to argue, but then grins.

  “You need to start thinking about what you say, Becca. You mentioned Jake and a bachelor party this morning. I knew it was unlikely to be a coincidence, especially when Jake told me his best friend is a woman.”

  “You could’ve warned me,” I mutter. “How do you even know Jake, anyway?”

  “He’s my cousin.” He grins. “And you’re right, I could have warned you, but it’s so much more fun watching you squirm. Besides, you like the idea of me watching you…right, Becca?”

  I glower at him, but before I can respond, Jake is back. I’m impressed, and a little relieved—until he turns to Liam.

  “So, first off. Explain to me why you were resuscitating Andrew and why I never heard about it?”

  “Right, so this is your gran too?” I’m still trying to place exactly where the cousin thing fits in. “How could you never bring up that your gran has a cat named Andrew?”

  “Because it’s not that big a deal,” Jake says, frowning at me. “It’s a common name for a cat.”

  “Andrew?” I say with a laugh. “You consider that common? Next you’ll tell me she has a dog named Paul and a parrot named Sergio.”

  “No, that’s uncle Phil. How do you know about Paul, anyway?” Liam replies. The twitch of his lips has me trying to work out if he’s being serious or not. “Really, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a middle-aged, overweight, and balding man frantically scouring the local park, searching for Paul, his ninety-pound bull mastiff.”