The Fed Sex Man: Hot Contemporary Romance

by Scott Hildreth

  “Did it?”

  “Damned sure did. Making babies in the bedroom you grew up in as a kid ain’t an easy task to do, let me tell you. My father had been buried for near a decade by then, and every time we get to feeling a little hanky-panky was a good idea, I could hear him bitchin’ at me to keep ‘er quiet.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Wasn’t funny back then,” he said with a laugh. “Creepy is what it was.”

  I certainly didn’t have any qualms about making love to Jo in the home I grew up in, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d feel better living elsewhere. The thought of selling the home scared the hell out of me.

  If I did, I feared I’d come to regret it later.

  I picked up a football. “Do you ever regret making this place your home?”

  He gazed beyond the tire, toward the fields. For a moment, he seemed to get lost in thought. “Only home I’ve ever known. Personally, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  I threw the football, missing the tire entirely.

  “That little toss looked like a dying quail.” He faced me. “What’s on your mind, Son?”

  “I think I’m scared.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Of change?”

  “I don’t know that it’s fear of change, in general,” I said. “I think it’s a fear of certain changes. Specific things.”

  “Care to enlighten me a little more?”

  “I’m not sure I can bring myself to sell my house.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t.”

  “Jo loves her home. She goes on and on about how she saved money for her first two years of working so she could afford to remodel the kitchen.”

  He chuckled. “After she graduated college, she’d spend her Sundays here lookin’ at them damned architectural magazines, circling the pictures of the kitchens she liked. She modeled that kitchen after the ones in those books. Hell, them magazines are still back there, in that old room of hers.”

  I shook my head. “Asking her to walk away from that seems like a cruel thing to do.”

  “Her home’s too damned small to raise a family in,” he said.

  “It sure seems like it’s what she wants.”

  “Let me tell you something about women,” he said. “Women like a man to make decisions for ‘em as opposed to making them on their own. They’ll act like they know what they want, but half the time, if a man made a decision for ‘em, they’d be much happier. If I told Jackie we were goin’ out to eat at a place that fried up dog turds and served ‘em on a plate of beansprouts, the only thing she’d ask me is ‘what time are were leavin’?’ Jo might like that kitchen she has, and she might even have a little attachment to it, but if you told her you were goin’ to live in a big cardboard box on the side of seventy-five, right under the bypass, she’d ask you when the move in date was. Women are awfully strange creatures.”

  I laughed. “You’re not going to get any argument from me on that.”

  He took a seat on the edge of the trough and rested his hands against his knees “My only advice is to be sure and consider Jo’s feelings when you’re making decisions. No one likes havin’ a beansprout covered turd for dinner.”

  The sound of the dinner bell caused him to stand from his relaxed position.

  I turned toward the house, still uneasy regarding my decision, but knowing I needed to make one. John took his normal place at my side and draped his arm over my shoulder.

  “Chicken fried steak is back on the rotation tonight,” he said. “Man can’t complain about a meal like that, can he?”

  “No, Sir.”

  On our walk to the house, I did as John suggested on the first day I’d heard the dinner bell ring.

  I thanked the good Lord for what I had. In doing so, I came to realize just how fortunate of a man I was.

  By the time we reached the front porch, my decision was made.

  39

  Jo

  After alternating back and forth between homes for months, Tyson got sick. So sick that he had to take a week off work. His home was later found to have radon gas leaking into it, which was determined to be the cause of his sickness.

  He still couldn’t bring himself to sell the home. I feared his attachment to his father’s memories would cause us to live in limbo for a lifetime.

  My father speared a new potato half and pointed it at Tyson. “I drove by that SOB yesterday. They had it so wrapped up in plastic that you couldn’t see what the hell they were doin’. A big white air-up bubble surrounded it, like one of them bouncy houses they have at the fair. Damned thing was as big as a hay barn. Bet them fellas workin’ in there are wearing the same suits Neil Armstrong wore when he went to the moon.”

  I reserved hope that as soon as they declared the home worthy of being occupied that Tyson would clear out his things, bid farewell, and sell it.

  “That’s what scares me,” I said. “I bet they are wearing those suits. Radon is radioactive gas. That house could have been built over an old nuclear waste site or something. It makes me sick to think about it.”

  Tyson raised his fork in protest. “They said radon is emitted from the natural breakdown of uranium in soil, rocks, and ground water. I’m sure it’s just coincidental. They’ll get it fixed.”

  “The thought of you sleeping there makes me cringe,” I said.

  “Me?” His eyes narrowed. “After they get it resolved, we’ll both be staying there until we figure out what we’re doing on a permanent basis.”

  My heart sank into my bowels. I doubted I couldn’t bring myself to ever sleep there again. Making that declaration would crush Tyson, but at some point, I’d have to tell him.

  “Bad idea,” Jarod argued. “I Googled it. Radon’s a killer. I wouldn’t stay there no matter what they say. I’d sell it as soon as they wave the green flag.”

  My mother cleared her throat. “I’m thankful you’re doing well, Tyson. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision when the time presents itself.”

  “There’s only one decision that’s right,” I argued, nearly bringing myself to tears.

  We had made huge strides toward taking the next step in our relationship. At the time Tyson got sick, I was strongly considering selling my home and moving in with him. My house was now our only refuge from the cancer-causing gas that had hospitalized the man I loved.

  Tyson nonchalantly poked at his roast, and then lifted a chunk to his mouth. “We’ll just have to take a look at it when they’re done.” He glanced around the table. “We’ll make a decision at that time.”

  There was no value in arguing about it. I didn’t want to fight with Tyson, nor did I want to belittle his attachment to his father’s home. Recovering from the loss of both parents wasn’t something I could imagine. Clinging to the home, and to his father’s memories, had been the only resemblance of a family he’d had since his junior year in high school.

  Frustrated that I couldn’t fix matters, I poked at my food while everyone else ate. For some reason, the Andy Griffith episode Jenny had spoken of many weeks prior came to mind.

  Opie had killed the mother of three small birds with his slingshot. Despite the loss of their only caregiver, they survived. Their survival required the love and affection of an outsider, the little boy.

  I looked up from my meal. My family was before me, eating their meals, talking, and telling stories as if nothing mattered. Knowing that Tyson was loved by everyone at the table brought a smile to my face.

  Through his newfound family, he could survive the loss of his father’s home, no differently than the little birds survived the loss of theirs.

  The recovery from that loss would simply take time.

  Time that I was more than willing to give.

  40

  Tyson

  My home was still in repair. It had become a matter of contention between Jo and me, often bringing our discussions to near fights. Unwilling to fight with the woman I loved, but equally unwilling to walk away from the home
I was raised in, I decided Jo and I needed some time away.

  “I think a vacation is exactly what we needed,” Jo said.

  Standing at the edge of the condo’s balcony with the Gulf of Mexico as her backdrop, she looked remarkable.

  “Don’t move,” I said. “I want to take a picture.”

  “You know I don’t like having my—”

  “I know, but it’s one picture. Just one. Having the sun behind you makes your hair look darker. Just let me take it, and you can decide if you like it.”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  I retrieved my phone from the room, activated the camera, and positioned her in the center of the screen.

  While she wetted her full lips and tossed her hair, I snapped a dozen or so pictures.

  “Tell me when you’re ready,” she said.

  “I will,” I said as I snapped a dozen more. “Just trying to get you centered.”

  The bikini she wore was flattering, accentuating each and every curve of her amazing body. After taking a few more successive pictures, I told her to smile.

  I took a few while she posed for them, knowing I’d prefer the first photos to the latter.

  “Done?” she asked.

  I nodded, opening the photo gallery as she walked toward me. When she stepped to my side, I offered her the photo I’d selected.

  Her fingers were in her hair, her eyes were looking off in the distance, and the tip of her tongue was touching her upper lip. Her glasses, as always, were halfway down the bridge of her nose.

  Despite our position on the second floor of the beachfront tower, the only background that could be seen was the sunlit beach.

  The photo was worthy of publication.

  “Snapped that one by accident when you were getting ready.”

  She reached for the phone. “Oh, wow. I like that one.”

  After studying the picture for some time, she shot me a glare.

  “What?” I asked.

  She pointed the phone’s screen at me and thumbed through the three dozen or so photos I’d taken. “Snapped it by accident, huh?”

  “That one? Yeah. The others were on purpose.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Fucker.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She handed me the phone. “I like that one. You can delete the others.”

  I accepted the phone, knowing I wouldn’t delete any of them. I’d saved every photo of her that I’d taken. Each one marked a place in time during our relationship. In reviewing the photos, I recalled each event, scene, or occasion. With those recollections came memories of the progress we’d made as a couple.

  I gave a nod. “Okay.”

  “What are we going to do tonight?” she asked. “It’s our last night here.”

  We’d been to the aquarium, swam, sunbathed, parasailed, and gone on two deep sea fishing expeditions. Our days had been filled with so many activities that we hadn’t taken so much as one moment to relax.

  “We came here to unwind,” I said. “All we’ve done so far is run, run, run. I thought we’d get take-out food and just hang out.”

  “We should have sex,” she said with a smile. “Out here on the balcony.”

  It was exactly what I had hoped for. “You’ll get no argument from me on that offer.”

  I didn’t need to have sex with Jo. Each time we made love, however, I was reminded of the magic we created as a couple. In her absence, I was simplistic and satisfied with my existence. In her presence, I strived each and every day to become a better man.

  A better man for her.

  “It’s almost time to eat,” I said. “Decide what you want, and I’ll order it.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll order calamari. Hell, maybe one of the places will have fresh crayfish.”

  She reached for her mouth and feigned vomiting. “Tyson…”

  “Mexican?”

  Her nose twitched.

  “Mediterranean?”

  She swallowed heavily.

  “Chinese?”

  The corner of her mouth curled upward a little. “I really don’t care.”

  “Well, I’m thinking Chinese,” I said.

  She kissed me on the cheek. “That sounds good.”

  “Beef and broccoli with extra broccoli, and pot-stickers?”

  “Get that sauce for the dumplings,” she said with a nod.

  “I always do.”

  Half an hour later, we were sitting at the same balcony, eating Chinese food out of cardboard containers and drinking wine out of plastic Solo cups.

  She lifted her chopsticks to her mouth and bit a pot-sticker in two. With the other half suspended by the sticks, she let out a long breath. “Oh. My. God. This food is so good. I wish we didn’t have to drive six hours to get it.”

  With Jo, food tasted better. Wine was sweeter. Life’s darkest moments were more manageable. The sun was brighter. My future was clearer.

  I leaned over the side of my chair and kissed her. “I love you.”

  She poked the other half of the pot-sticker in her mouth and kissed me. “I wub ew too.”

  “Dork.”

  She swallowed the food. “Asshole.”

  “Geek.”

  She looked me over. “FedEx dude.”

  I laughed. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have many complaints.”

  “Dork and geek weren’t complaints,” I said. “They were compliments.”

  She smiled. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think I want to change the name of my book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one you asked me about on our first date. Remember? Erotica or Romance?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I chuckled at the thought of that conversation, and of my early desire to fuck her and walk away. “What are you going to call it now?”

  She picked up another wonton and paused. “The Geek, the Jock, and the Ten-Inch Cock.”

  I burst out laughing. “I like it. So, what’s the category, or whatever? Erotica?”

  She bit the wonton and shook her head. “Romance.”

  “You can’t name a book like that and put it in romance, can you?”

  “You can name it whatever you want. Content is what matters.”

  I grinned. “Our content is romance?”

  “Sex drives the story, or the story drives the sex? With us, our story is awesome, and it drives the sex.” She nibbled at the wonton, and then looked up. “We’ve got good character arc, too. Our progress. Look at how much you’ve blossomed. And, I went from being scared of you to being comfortable enough to fart.”

  I gestured toward her with the tip of my chopsticks. “Fart, then.”

  “Girls don’t fart,” she said flatly. “But, I could if I needed to.”

  “I like it that we’ve migrated from erotica to romance.”

  She lifted her chopsticks in agreement. “For me, that’s been a lifelong goal.”

  We finished our food, cleaned up the mess, and sat side by side with our cups of wine. Gazing at the western sky, I gave thanks for Jo, my adopted family, our progress as a couple, and for the ability to make, and to accept, change.

  Long before the sun set against the horizon, Jo gulped down what was left of her wine and stood.

  “Get me some more, if you don’t mind,” I said, handing her my empty glass.

  She straddled my thighs. “I wasn’t going for more wine.”

  “Oh.”

  She reached inside my swim trunks and pulled the string, untying it. “I was planning on something else.”

  “I see.”

  She stood.

  I hooked the sides of her bikini with my thumbs and pushed it down her thighs. As she kicked it to the side, I stood and removed my shorts. After taking my position in the chair, she sat on my lap, facing me.

  She pressed her full lips to mine.

  Kissing her took my
mind places I never knew existed. It seemed we were always kissing, but then again, we always started and stopped with a kiss. Given our love for one another – and our inability to squelch our sexual desires – kissing was always just around the corner.

  That night we made love in each other’s arms while seated on the balcony.

  It wasn’t a cliché moment of love-making while the sun set.

  There was no voyeurism.

  It was Jo and I expressing our love for one another. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. We didn’t need gimmicks, onlookers, or toys to make things exciting between us. All we needed was our love for one another.

  A love that was undeniably everlasting.

  41

  Jo

  I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a huff. “Why can’t we just follow you?” I pleaded. “You know I hate riding in this car. It reminds me of when I was a kid.”

  My father opened the driver’s door and paused. “We’re all going together. In one car. We can’t all ride in that damned race car of Tyson’s, so we’re going in this.”

  I opened the door and nearly barfed.

  “It smells funny,” I complained. “How about we just follow you?”

  “We’re all going together,” my father growled.

  “Since when do we go out to eat on Sunday?” Jarod asked. “We always eat here.”

  “Yeah,” I chimed. “And since when do we eat at four o’clock?”

  “Since right now.” He climbed inside. “Get in the damned car, Jo.”

  “I like this car,” Tyson said. “Is it a sixty-nine?”

  “Seventy,” Daddy shouted out the window. “Graduation gift. Never could bring myself to get rid of it.”

  I looked at Tyson and rolled my eyes. “One of the many reasons you remind me of him.”

  “In the car, Jo,” my father bellowed.

  “Josephine,” my mother said softly. “Get in, please.”

  “Fine,” I breathed.

  My bare skin skipped along the plastic seat covers until I took my position at the center of the rear seat. The covers had preserved the seats for forty-eight years, keeping them in likenew condition. The trade-off was a horrific smell and ridiculous hard plastic to sit on.