by Julia Kent
I wriggled away. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Joyce.”
Her face fell.
“That’s the whole fucking, point, Joe! I have changed. You can literally see how much I’ve changed.” She smelled like sour pineapple and rum. Her hand was sticky as she pulled it out of my pants. My loose foreskin attached itself to my underwear and tried to tie itself into a knot to hunker down and ride out another grab like that.
“Oh. Yeah.” I threw her a pity comment. “Your new face looks great. Not that there was anything wrong with the old one,” I added.
She lit up like a Christmas tree. “Seriously?” She leaned in and gave me a lovely kiss on the mouth. It made me feel like I was being kissed by a nun. “That means a lot coming from the guy who gave me the nickname ‘Horseface’ in sixth grade.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
Her face turned mean. Instamean. Women who are well-educated, entitled and scorned are so much worse than any other women. How do I know this?
I seem to have turned pissing off a great number of well-educated, entitled women into an art form.
Darla just rips into me when I piss her off.
Rips?
Ripped. Past tense. Ripped.
I gave Joyce another once over. That’s right. I wasn’t with Darla any more. I was a free agent. I could fuck anything I wanted, including Sam and Liam over there.
Not that I wanted to. But I could.
I slipped my arm around Joyce’s waist and cozied up. “I was a real asshole in sixth grade,” I murmured in her ear as I copped a feel of her breast. Under the thin cotton shirt she wore, there appeared to be a long wall of elastic doubling as armor. What the hell was underneath her clothes? My palm could squeeze her like she was a giant doll made of Silly Putty.
“Hey,” she whispered, her speech a little slurred. “Leave the Spanx alone.”
She wanted to be spanked? That was a new one. I perked up and slid my hand down, giving her a little smack on the ass.
Joyce glared at me. “What the hell was that for, Christian Grey?”
“You said you wanted a spank!”
“I’m, wearing Spanx, Joe. Spanx.”
“What are Spanx?”
“You’ve never been with a woman who wears figure-shaping undergarments?”
I thought about Darla and all the chicks I dated or fucked before her. None of those women wore this crap. At least, not around me. And the idea of Darla squeezing herself into a giant piece of elastic made me snort.
“No. Not in a long time,”
Joyce’s turn to snort. “Then you’ve really dropped your standards, Joe. Everyone wears Spanx. It’s the only way to make sure you look good and can wear the right clothes.”
Darla pretty much wore jeans, t-shirts, flannel shirts and sneakers all the time. Leather casual shoes and sweaters for work.
“The right clothes,” I repeated.
“The right woman,” she said, nodding sagely. Joyce went slowly limp against my side, pressing more and more of her turgid flesh against me. I was the one who was supposed to be turgid. Touching her back and belly and ass was like caressing a mannequin.
If I were into necrophilia it might have been hotter.
And then, seriously, necrophilia came into play, because Joyce slithered down the side of my body and passed out at my feet, her body contorted like a little wiener dog’s, her mid section unbending and unyielding.
Like my mom’s forehead after Botox.
Joyce didn’t wrinkle. Didn’t fold. Didn’t bend. I picked her up like a tootsie roll and kicked two people off the couch. She snored peacefully and I just looked at her, new nose and Spanx and all.
Trevor walked by, completely naked, followed by three nude women. They formed a drunk conga line. Someone shouted, “Human Centipede!” and Trevor broke away, while the three women took the suggestion quite literally and bent down, mouths headed toward—
“I’m out of here,” Sam barked in my ear, storming down the hallway to his room. Even Liam looked appalled. I couldn’t stop watching, though. It was like—
“Bronze it, babes!” someone shouted.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked Liam, who turned a furious red so fast it was like someone filled his capillaries with red dye.
“Bronzing your asshole,” Liam said slowly.
“That’s a thing?” I asked, incredulous. “you mean, making a mold and—”
“Yep.”
I snorted. “Who in their right mind would want to do that?”
He turned redder.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“You? You did that? You went to some professional asshole bronzer and got a cast made of your butthole?”
He said nothing. Just clenched his jaw tighter.
“And what did you do with the, er, result?”
Liam ignored my question and walked away as my laughter followed him. People can be so fucking bizarre. I tilted my head and watched as the three women descended into a pile of legs and tits, ass cheeks and moan, and two very lucky guys joined the pile.
But not me.
All I could think about was Darla.
Darla
It turns out warm wax from them homemade kits feels like taking Trevor and Joe’s jizz, putting it into an eight ounce container, adding Elmer’s Glue and smearing it all over my butthole.
Which, for the record, was not one of the kinky things we ever did in bed. We had plenty of those stories between the three of us, but not this one.
Also—for the record—I appear to have the butthole of Sasquatch. I need to check with my mama some day and see if she cheated on my daddy and my real papa is Bigfoot, because I have more hair on my butthole than Eugene Levy has in his eyebrows.
Now, I knew this from getting all my nibbly bits waxed when the band went to the Island of Eden and I got everything stripped right off by Simone, the esthetician at Eden’s spa. But I hadn’t done it myself, see? Simone was discreet and, um, tactful. I now wondered what she thought when I spread my ass cheeks for her and a giant Brillo pad greeted her.
A blonde one, but still.
That waxing session had hurt like a motherfucker, and I suspected this one would, too. But considering my skin hovered about nineteen inches away from my muscle and bone, and the wax was being applied by ghost fingers I couldn’t actually see, I figured the pain would just kind of hang out and hit me in a few days. Like novocaine. You get the shots, you go numb, you get the dental work and then you feel fine. Seriously, fine.
Novocaine wears off and you want to die a thousand times over.
We didn’t have novocaine for my anus, so Amy was assigned to be Aloe Girl. She took this job very seriously, having cut all seventeen leaves off Alex’s aloe plant and taped them neatly to her nipples.
“Nurse Amy is ready!” she shouted.
“You need a superhero cape,” Maggie cracked, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing her arms.
“I DO!” Amy said, breathless.
Maggie looked amused.
I was standing in the bathtub by now, no pants on, reaching behind me with fingers full of hot sticky glue jizz...er, wax. I didn’t much care that these three people—my best friends in the entire world—saw my va-jay-jay, but I could have done without the running commentary.
“Oooo, the carpet matches the drapes!” Charlotte said in this purring, lounge-singer voice that made me get all twitchy. I’ve never been into girl-on-girl action but there was something about that voice that made me wanna—
Well. Anyhow. We didn’t.
But I did say, “Will you help me spread my ass cheeks? They’re kinda big and short of a crane, your hands will have to do.”
Charlotte nodded eagerly. “When Liam did this he whimpered. So don’t whimper.”
“Why would I whimper?” My butthole tightened protectively.
Charlotte pondered that for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know.” Like a prison matron, she gave me a very domineering look at
said, “Spread ‘em.”
I was already naked from the waist down and everyone in the room was floating on a green cloud of cotton candy, so of course it seemed perfectly natural to step out of the bathtub, center myself at the counter, bend over and have Charlotte grab an ass cheek while I had a hand full of goo.
Maggie got out her cell phone.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I said in a choked voice. You try bending over, period, when you’re as big as me. All sorts of stuff gets bunched up, including vocal cords. Hell, my boobs get pushed up into my throat like a second thyroid gland when I pick up a stray coin.
“What?” Maggie said innocently.
“Amy!” I shouted. “Grab Maggie’s cell phone and shove it in your vagina!”
“But I already did that once,” Amy whined.
Maggie set the cell phone down on the counter slowly. Very slowly, like a suspect being ordered to put down a gun while nineteen SWAT members point rifles at them. “Okay! Okay! Not recording. No pictures. I promise.”
“Besides,” Amy said dreamily, “real vibrators are so much better than phones.”
“But they can’t film your pink cave,” I added. It turns out when Amy got her phone stuck in her hoohaw a while ago, she turned on the video recording app. How that happened is a complete mystery. You know how some women have teeth in their vagina? I think Amy has gnomes.
Gnomes.
I looked at her crotch and oh, my GOD they were crawling out right now! And they were carrying...spatulas? Tiny little spatulas that looked like—
Oh, wow.
Amy grabbed my other ass cheek. I was bent over the bathroom counter, hands on either side of the sink, and Amy had one side of me while Charlotte had the other. Maggie’s phone was on the counter and the garden gnomes took their little spatulas and spread the warm wax all over my butthole. It felt fucking weird.
Then again, if anything in the world should feel weird, it was this. Right?
“AUGH!” I cried out as the gnomes took the wax spreading to new heights. Felt like Christian Grey with a waxing flogger. And a belt.
“Darla, you’re the only one touching yourself, um, there,” Charlotte said. “And you don’t have to be quite so...thorough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think she’s in to the second knuckle,” Maggie muttered.
I pulled my hand away from my butthole with the startling realization that I AM A GNOME. Holy shit. Who knew?
“Wash your hands,” Maggie said in her best pre-school teacher voice.
I complied. Magically, the gnomes kept spreading the wax even while my hands were busy washing themselves. They had detached and were scrubbing in midair. Kinda like how my hands detached when I flew on that place to the island of Eden with Joe and Trevor. You know—when my body grew and my hands turned into snakes on a motherfucking plane.
“SNAKES!” I screamed.
Amy dropped my ass cheek and skittered across the bathroom into the corner, looking around madly. “Where?”
“ON A MOTHERFUCKING PLANE!” I hollered.
Charlotte and Maggie found this terribly funny, and Charlotte bent in half, releasing my ass cheek. As the two halves of my butt were reunited, the honey-sticky wax made a most unpleasant sensation, like toothpaste being squeezed between size G breasts.
“Oh, gross,” I declared. “You two need to spread me again. The wax is getting cold and I need to get this hair off’n me if I’m gonna get my butthole immortalized in chocolate.”
“Chocolate spiders,” Amy muttered, standing up and looking at the counter. Her expression perked up as she spied Maggie’s phone. “Hey! Does that have a vibrator app on it?”
“Yes,” I said, sounding a bit evil to my own ears. Being abandoned by your ass-cheek spreading best friends in a moment of breakup depression while waxing butt hair longer than Jared Leto’s kinda makes you mean.
Well, it makes me mean.
Maggie snatched her phone off the counter and shoved it in her back pocket. Amy reached for it and Maggie smacked the back of her hand.
“Bad girl,” she said.
Amy barked. No, really. Like a chihuahua.
A gnome chihuahua. I suddenly had a craving for Taco Bell. A Christmas taco. Meanwhile, wax was creeping its way to my own vertical taco.
Charlotte reached for my ass and the little section of waxing cloth. “Amy!” she ordered, “Get her other cheek.”
Charlotte spread one, and Amy the other, but getting my skin separated was quite an ordeal, like getting John Travolta to announce an Oscar winner’s name right.
“Can you see the center?” I asked Charlotte as she tugged hard on one side. Amy had to brace her foot on the toilet and pull. “If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right.”
“Define ‘center,’” Charlotte said, closing one eye and looking at my brown starfish. “It looks like you took Spongebob, put him in a blender with some straw and honey, and smeared it all over your anus.”
“It does not!” I argued.
Maggie whipped out her camera and held it up. “I can take a picture and you can see for yourself.”
“Okay,” I said, suddenly agreeable. Recording my waxing session? No. Taking a pic so I could disprove Charlotte’s outrageous claim? Sure.
Maggie snapped and tapped and shoved her phone in front of my face.
“Huh,” I said. “You’re right, Charlotte. In fact, I think I see his eyeballs and belt buckle in there.”
“Is that a Crabby Patty?” Amy asked, her stomach gurgling.
Ah, hell no.
“Let’s get this cloth on you and wax this sucker,” Charlotte declared. “Put poor Spongebob out of his misery.”
“Sucker pucker,” I said.
“Pucker fucker,” Amy muttered. “I wish Sam were into fucking my pucker,” she sighed.
Wow. I just learned way more than I wanted to know about their sex life.
“You have the most artistic anus,” Charlotte said, craning her neck to catch a very thorough look. “See the flowers, Amy?”
“Flowers...” Amy muttered. She looked up at her bangs and tried to eat them. I watched all this in the mirror until the clown appeared in the far right corner.
“They’re blooming in these beautiful little sequences. Just pouring out of you in little flower clouds,” Charlotte crooned.
“I think that was a fart,” Maggie added.
Enough of this. Time was a’wastin’. I had ex-boyfriends to get back at with chocolate anuses. Plus, the clown in the mirror just smiled and he had fangs.
“Now, PULL!” I shouted, grabbing the waxing cloth to lay on the wet wax. But, as I reached for it, I lost my handle on the bathroom counter and stumbled backward, Charlotte and Amy gamely holding on to my ass globes. We tipped backward as one big group of female flesh and slammed into the back wall. I slumped against it and heard Amy’s head whack hard.
“Ow!” Charlotte shouted, going down, her knee hitting the floor. She and Amy let go. Slithering to the ground like that looked quite comfortable, even as Amy held her head and moaned in pain, and Charlotte struggled to stand on an injured knee. I stayed in place, pressed against the wall.
Maggie helped her up while I turned to see if Amy needed help.
“Here, Amy. Let me—” I stopped in mid sentence, trying to bend down and offer her a hand.
But I couldn’t bend down. I tried again. Nope.
Meanwhile, the gnomes were screaming, some of them choking to death. They sounded like they were under giant pillows and being smothered. Poor gnomes. I wished they’d shut up.
“Darla,” Maggie said in a slow voice, the kind you use to cover up deep panic. “Can you come over here? Walk to me, honey.” She stretched her arms out like I was a baby learning to walk, her finger tips just inches from my body.
I took one step toward her because of course I could walk to her—what was she talking about? My muscles did their thing where my brain said ‘go’ and they said, ‘how far’?
Now, Josie’s bathroom has one long wall that is covered by that crazy ’70s foil wallpaper. It appeared that the entire innards of my ass cheek to the very teeny, weeniest folds of my anus, were stuck tight to the wallpaper via rapidly-cooling wax.
Damn. Those gnomes really spread that shit everywhere, huh? Fucking efficient, thorough gnomes. They deserved to choke to death on Spongebob’s blended remains and all that wax.
“I can’t move,” I told Maggie. “I’m, uh, killing gnomes.”
“Are you,” she asked in a fake calm voice, “stuck to the wall?”
Amy and Charlotte stopped their bitching and caterwauling and looked at me, eyes wide and mouths open.
“No.”
“Yes, you are,” Maggie insisted.
“I am not.”
“Darla, you can’t deny reality.”
I looked at Maggie like she was a stupidhead. “Of course I can. Half of all human beings do. It’s how most of them function.”
“But—”
“If there’s ever a time to deny reality, it’s now. And no, I am not stuck to the wall. My anus opening is, technically, stuck to the wallpaper.”
“Oh, God,” Charlotte moaned.
Amy stood and looked at me, grinning. She looked like the clown with fangs. With a trembling arm, she pointed at me and said, “We are now so even.”
“What does that mean?” Charlotte and Maggie said in unison.
“Nothin’,” I muttered. When I had fallen backwards, my knees had been bent slightly, and so now my thighs started to ache. Maybe those trainers on that Biggest Loser show should just wax up the contestants’ assholes and shove them against a wall with their knees bent. Like forced squats.
“Hey—that’s a good idea,” said the evil clown in the mirror. “You should patent that.”
I closed my eyes and he stopped talking.
The gnomes finally quit their wailing and died in my ass.
I stretched my arms up and tried to square my shoulders, but you only have so much range of motion when you’re adhered to a wall by your ass skin. My head couldn’t stretch properly and my thighs started to cry a little. If I stood up, the pain in my butthole was too much. If I tried to drop closer to the floor, my ass screamed.