by Julia Kent
“Yes. Rimming is when you eat someone’s ass.”
“So I go to the anus stamper dude and tell him I want him to make it so I can rim someone?”
Charlotte bent in half with laughter. “You’re not waxing so you can rim someone. They’d be rimming you in that case. You wax so you can have a more accurate mold of your anus.”
I paused for a moment to contemplate this. Trevor and Joe’s tongue had gone within inches of that puckered starfish, right? If everything’s clean and tidy, why not?
Wait.
We’d broken up.
Those two fuckers were never getting their mouths anywhere near my nether regions again. Never. Ever. I started to cry.
“Why are you crying?” Amy asked.
“Because they’ll never get the chance to lick my butthole,” I wailed. “And now I have this new sexual information I can’t use, because they were ashamed of me and I decided I couldn’t take it any more. But this means I can’t just go to them and say I want to try this new thing.”
I sat on the couch and looked up at Amy, Maggie and Charlotte. “It’s not fair.”
“Not fair...honey, what’s not fair?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s not fair that the closest I’ll ever come to getting rimmed by Trevor and Joe is to send them a chocolate mold of my anus.”
We all thought about that one for a minute. I could tell by the stunned look on all their faces that they, too, found this to be a serious predicament.
Charlotte gave Amy a long look and then glanced at the empty pie tin. She wavered a bit. “Amy, what was in that ice cream pie?”
“Ice cream and Kahlúa.”
“That’s it?”
Amy’s face brightened. “I think so. Maybe Irish cream? I’m not sure. That’s what Joe said. He said it’s home made and organic!”
“You brought something edible that Joe made?” I barked. “Oh, Lordy, we’re all gonna end up naked in the middle of a cornfield proposing to chickens. Joe likes to slip all kinds of psychedelics into food.”
Maggie looked at Charlotte with an expression of complete alarm and whispered, “I didn’t eat any, so I’ll babysit.”
Charlotte conferred with her, their heads huddled together. “Good, because Darla has a small garden gnome on her shoulder who is the one actually speaking right now. Darla’s just its ventriloquist dummy.”
Maggie rubbed her shoulder and said nothing.
“Let’s all get our buttholes immortalized,” Amy declared. “After we pluck the lollipops off the ceiling.”
“Don’t ever take any food Joe makes again, Amy. It’s like men in white vans without windows asking little girls to help them find their lost kitty.” I reached down and touched my crotch. “Whew! Haven’t lost mine yet.”
“Your what?” Charlotte asked, looking around the room.
“My pussy. I got scared I lost it.”
“It can come off?” She sounded utterly astounded by this sage fact.
“Yep. Like a shoe. You slide it on and off at will. Just don’t fuck it.”
“Fuck what?”
“The shoe.”
“Why would I fuck a shoe?”
“Hell if I know. ’Cause it feels good? Ask old Doc Oglethorpe.”
Charlotte’s hand flew to her groin and slid lower. “My pussy is right here!” she declared nice and loud.
“Oh, God,” Maggie muttered.
Amy found the television remote and was trying to eat it. “This does not taste like Irish cream or Kahlúa,” she announced.
“I’ll get everyone some big glasses of water,” Maggie said, going into the kitchen.
“WAXING!” Amy screamed like it was the second coming of Christ. “We have to wax Darla’s butthole.”
I stopped. A warm fuzzy feeling, like mold was growing on me, made me just sway in the breeze in Josie’s living room. There was no actual breeze and I was not a nine-day-old piece of leftover bread, but the feeling persisted.
“Why am I waxing again?” I asked.
“To preserve your butthole.”
“You mean I have to wax it to make sure it stays in place?”
Amy looked at me with eyes like kittens in those paintings where the eyes are nine times bigger than normal. A woman could go swimming in those eyes. I tried, but she just squirmed away from me and began pulling on my pants.
“I like you a lot, Amy, but I am not into girls,” I said as diplomatically as possible. In sign language. She managed to get me down to my thong when Maggie walked back in carrying three waters.
Her dark eyebrows shot up to match her purple hair. She looked like a distorted version of a My Little Pony cosplay brony.
“I see we’ve taken a sexual turn,” Maggie said without judgment, through her mouth was pressed in a thin line.
Amy kissed my shoulder. “I love Darla.” Her hand went to her own crotch and I got real worried. “Oh,” she added. “My pussy is still there. No man in a white van is coming to take it away.”
Charlotte touched hers. “Mine’s here, too. If I lose mine, I’ll just call Liam. He’ll find it for me. He loves it more than I do, I think.”
Amy started laughing so hard her head turned into a church bell. And then she screamed, “WAXING!”
“What are we waxing?” Maggie asked, pushing large glasses of water on us. I poured the entire cup down my front because my pussy was suddenly on fire. A garden gnome had torched it.
“Because Darla needs to have no hair on her butthole if she’s going to have it immortalized in chocolate for Joe and Trevor.”
“WHO DO NOT DESERVE THIS BUT I WANT THEM TO KNOW HOW MUCH THEY’RE MISSING OUT NOT EATING MY AMAZING ANUS!” I screamed.
“They smear chocolate on your butthole to make the candies?” Amy asked. “That’s the only way I’d lick Sam’s butthole. You smear enough Nutella on it and I’m there.”
All four of us just nodded.
“Especially during my period,” she added.
No one nodded.
“I want to get my butthole immortalized and send a bronzed copy to Trev and Joe. Can you turn an anus into a guitar pick?
“I, um...” Maggie said.
“Because that would be amazing,” Charlotte said, staring at her own pinkie finger like it was Liam’s dick and she wanted to suck it.
And then she did.
Wow. Nice technique. Except it turned out to be Maggie’s finger.
“So,” Maggie said, pulling her fellated pinkie finger out of Charlotte’s mouth, “how about we all drink our waters and just watch something nice on Netflix?”
Amy jumped up and skittered off toward the bathroom.
“Spongebob or Archer?” Maggie asked, grabbing the remote. She dropped it instantly. “Who’s been sliming the remote?” she barked.
“Amy was eating it earlier.”
“And Darla had it down her pants,” Charlotte added.
Maggie just stared at her hand as she stood and walked to the kitchen. I watched her wash her hands and mutter to herself. The sound of running water made me need to pee.
“I need to pee!” I declared.
“So go pee!” Maggie said. Then, seconds later, she added, “In the toilet! In the toilet!”
Thank God she reminded me, because I was about to—
“Look! Look!” Amy called out as she raced back from the bathroom, long brown hair flying behind her like a cape. Maybe it really was a cape. Amy might be hiding her true identity from me.
“Amy, are you a superhero?” I asked.
“SUPERPUSSY!” she screamed.
“Damn straight,” I said.
“And Ms. Superpussy found the waxing kit,” she said smugly.
“I don’t have no waxing kit here,” I said, puzzled. I looked down at my soaking wet front. “Did I pee myself?” I asked Maggie, who had come back in the room and was looking at us like a preschool teacher presiding over a bunch of two year olds who had just been fed espressos.
“You poured your glass
of water down your front.”
“Why in the hell would I do that?”
Maggie shrugged. “I wondered the same thing.”
Amy held up the waxing kit. That must be Josie’s. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we used it. “You have to trim the area first.”
“Trim what?”
“Your butthole.”
“I have to cut down the size of my butthole? No fucking way!”
“No—just the hair.”
I waved my hand. “Nah. Just wax it. It’s like ripping off a Band-aid, right?”
I looked to Charlotte for confirmation but she was humping an air purifier.
“Right!” Amy insisted. Her eyes were big and shining again and I think she was just a little too into this whole “wax Darla’s butt” thing. But who am I to judge fetishes?
“What do I do?” I asked.
“We go in the bathroom and you thoroughly clean the area.”
“I ain’t cleaning the bathroom!”
“No. Your ass. You need to clean your ass.”
All four of us migrated into Josie and Alex’s tiny bathroom. As bathrooms go, it was fine. Old tile from the 1950s lined the shower and floor. There was this crazy shimmery foil wallpaper all over the walls, and old light sconces that seemed permanently faded. The room carried the light scent of bleach and shaving cream. Alex used a regular razor and wet shaved, which I thought was kind of cool. Trevor and Joe used electric shavers and—
No.
Not thinking about domestic life and my guys.
My ex-guys.
Joe
I drove home to grab a change of clothes, because once Trevor ate that entire baggie and sent that text out, I knew it was on. And by on, I meant we were going to be so fucked up for so long that I’d need a clean change of clothes, an industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen, and money.
All of which I could find at my mom and dad’s house.
I pulled in to the driveway. It looked like Mom was home, but Dad’s car was gone. I walked in the front door quietly. Maybe Mom was asleep already? I started up the stairs and then suddenly heard hushed voices.
“Shhh! Is that Herb or Joey?”
Mom.
“Has to be Herb. Joe’s in the city.”
Gene.
And then the unmistakable sound of a moan.
Oh, God.
OH, GOD.
Against my better judgment, I backed slowly down the stairs, my stomach dragging on the floor and my mouth dry with white rage. I ninja-walked into the living room and came to a dead halt.
Mom and Gene were kissing. His arms were wrapped around her and she fingered his hair, her mouth moving across his lips like she was eating a vegan chocolate lollipop.
My stomach descended into the fifth circle of hell.
I made a funny, gurgling sound in the back of my throat and she froze. I darted backwards, stumbling just enough to make noise. I turned away so they wouldn’t see my face.
“Helloooooo?” Mom called out.
“Hey,” I rasped, unable to find my voice. Mom and Gene? MOM AND GENE? My poor dad. The poor cuckolded bastard. That’s why Gene’s lived here all these years? So Mom could cheat on Dad right under his nose?
Gross. Fucking disgusting traitor gross.
“Joey!” Mom’s voice sounded like she was in the process of swallowing a live cockroach. “You’re home! How unexpected!”
I’ll bet.
I had to grab the wall for a second. The room started to spin, and not in a good way, like I was high on some killer acid. This was like the dimension I lived in rippled before my face, revealing a sinister underworld. Everything I knew just cracked in half and unleashed demons into my mind.
And they all bore the face of my mother.
I’m all for people having sex and getting their jollies off, but you don’t cheat. You just don’t. My personal sexual moral code is very basic: break up with other people before you fuck new people.
And speaking of fucking new people, I came home to get a few things so I could go back to the brewing party at Trevor’s place and do just that. If I couldn’t be at my place in Philly and finally bang my next door neighbor, Marley the super-hot model, I could at least dip my wick in whatever walked through the door at the hottest party in years.
Mom walked around the corner as Gene went to the fridge and opened it, staring at the shelves as if he would be divinely inspired. Maybe he needed the cold air to make his hard on chill out.
Hard on. My mother. Gene.
The world spun again.
“Joey! Are you sick? You don’t look so well.”
“I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“A friend discovered his girlfriend was fucking another guy. Cheating on him. Isn’t that disgusting, Mom? People who cheat are the lowest of the low.”
She was so fucking cold, because the next words out of her mouth were: “I agree completely! Infidelity is a sign of moral weakness.”
My jaw hit the one hundred percent sustainable LEED-certified organic bamboo floor.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Very much. I’m sorry your ‘friend’ experienced that.” She even used finger quotes.
“I’m not talking about me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Someday, when you’re ready, you can tell me all about it,” she said with a knowing smile. The look on her face said she was eating this shit up. Mom loves to think she’s the cool parent I can turn to in an emotional crisis and she’ll mentor me through it.
Turns out she’s like Hester Prynne for the twenty-first century, only she’s the married one, fucking Gene.
Gene!
I stormed back up the stairs to my room and grabbed an outfit. Stomped back down to the main door.
“Hey, Joe!” Gene called out.
“Joey, I need to remind you to—” I slammed the door in Mom’s face and trotted to my car, gunning it out the driveway and racing on pure adrenaline.
I needed to fuck someone.
Now.
Someone with no strings attached.
And definitely someone who had never set foot in the state of Ohio.
* * *
By the time I got back to Trevor’s block there was nowhere to park. People were parked fucking nose-in on the street. The fire hydrants were blocked. If drivers could have stacked cars, they would.
Were those topless girls hanging out of Trevor’s bedroom window?
I started drooling.
Half an hour later and nine blocks of walking under my belt, I finally got to the actual party. Two cops were standing inside the crammed living room.
Wait. Those weren’t cops.
“Liam? Sam?” I asked.
They turned, cups of beer in their hands. I gave them an obvious once-over as I grabbed the beer from Liam’s hand and chugged it. “You guys back to stripping?” I asked.
“Trevor told us to put on the uniforms.”
“You still have them?”
Both got really uncomfortable looks on their faces.
“What?”
“Charlotte likes it when I—“
“Amy wanted me to—“
They said those words in unison and turned bright red, avoiding eye contact.
“Role play. I get it. Dressing up like a cop is fucking stupid, and your girlfriends suck and there are no fun sex games, but I get it.”
“Thanks for the words of joy, Joe,” Sam muttered as Joyce tripped and crashed into Sam, beer pouring all over her hair. She’d been our honorary guy with breasts and ovaries through much of high school, the girl who hung out with the band. Most of us had slept with her at least once. She’d been there the night Trevor had disappeared two years ago, right as we were graduating college.
“Oh my GOD! It’s JOE!” she screamed. I hadn’t seen Joyce in over a year. She’d changed. Morphed. It wasn’t the auburn highlights in her dark, glossy hair. Or the adding of ten pounds or so that went straight to her hips and tits. It
was—
“I got a nose job!” she announced, shoving her schnozz right in my face. My lips brushed against it and I could have bitten her if I wanted to. Her hands went right for my ass.
That was one way to get my attention.
“Nice nose,” I said politely. I’d already dipped my cock in Joyce once, back in our senior year of high school. It was like fucking a sister I never had. And while I liked to read my share of stepsister porn, I didn’t want to recreate it right now.
I was decidedly in the market for something new. Novel.
Not Darla.
Three completely naked women wedged their way between Liam, Sam and me, peeling Joyce off me neatly like a piece of fruit leather.
“Oh, holy God,” Sam muttered.
“Amy and Charlotte don’t need to know,” I said. “Cone of silence.”
Liam and Sam looked at me like I was a piece of shit.
“We don’t cheat,” Sam said, speaking for Liam.
I stole Sam’s beer and guzzled it. “Good men. Good men.”
Even these two had better morals than my own mother.
“Where’s Trevor?” I asked.
“In his bedroom getting as many blow jobs as there are chicks here,” Liam explained.
I looked around. There had to be fifty women in the living room alone.
“Seriously?”
“No,” Sam said, laughing. “He’s playing naked Cards Against Humanity with the building superintendent and a bunch of drag queens who worship Random Acts of Crazy.” Sam thumbed toward the bedrooms.
“We have drag queen fans?” The naked part of that comment didn’t sink in until later.
“Guess so. They’re here and raving about Mavis and Trevor.”
“Drag queen chicken lovers. Who knew?” I made my way to the kitchen and found a fifth of vodka, half empty. Dumped the other half in a red plastic cup and filled the rest with orange juice.
I thought about that ice cream pie I’d made and given to Amy. I got an evil grin. It was going to take them at least twenty-four hours to come back down to earth.
“I really missed you,” Joyce said suddenly, her tongue in my ear and her hand sliding down the front of my pants.
Joyce wasn’t shy.
The feel of her hand on my cock was so...dry. Like parchment paper wrapping itself around a flagpole. What should have been an instant erection turned, instead, into a sad sort of noodle flogging.