How the HELL did I get so far behind?

You KNOW your life has drama when you write 1,000 words a day about it, and you are STILL four weeks behind.

I'll do my best to get caught up, starting now.

Thursday, April 7, 2005
Steve's office

"Hello?"

"Steve! Brian!"

"Hey Brian. Almost ready for your wedding?"

"Can't wait, man."

"Really?"

Pause. "No, not really," he says, completely deadpan. I crack up.

"Hey man, are you and Steph free this weekend?"

"Sure, I guess. Why?"

"Why don't you come over Friday night? We'll make something on the grill."

**********

Friday, April 9, 2005, 7:30pm
Brian and Susan's house

Somehow, the guys and the girls wound up on opposite couches.

"Brian's ex is SUCH an airhead," Susan is saying.

She's one to talk. Last time we were together, the local ice cream shop had come out with a new flavor, and I thought she was gonna break out the pom poms.

"She wasn't that bad."

"OH my God. She's this total bimbo! Tell them about what happened at the family picnic!"

"NO!" Brian laughs.

"TELL them!"

Brian rolls his eyes. "She was driving her father's pickup. She wasn't used to it."

"She locked the keys in the car. With the car running!" Says Susan. We laugh.

"And then this other time, she went into the bathroom, and came out with her dress tucked into her underwear," says Brian.

"OUCH!" I say.

"And then one day she was driving you home, because you were too drunk..."

"She wasn't used to driving a stick shift, and she was trying to drive up this steep hill, and she hit the guy behind her. Three times!" Brian says.

We laugh harder.

"She still calls Brian," Susan says, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Steve's ex calls him," Steph says.

"Ooo, really?" Asks Brian, turning to me. "She hot, or what?"

"BRI-AN!" Susan says.

"She's cute," I say non-chalantly.

Yeah, "cute". That's kind of like saying that drinking 17 shots of Tequila will get you "a little tipsy". Or that Elton John is "a little gay". Or that Michael Jackson is "just slightly weird".

"How old?" he presses.

"Eighteen." Steph says.

"DAMN!" says Brian. "Even I don't like 'em THAT young."

"Maybe YOU should answer next time she calls," Susan says to Steph.

Steph laughs. "And say what?"

"Just tell that bitch to shut up and go pierce something."

The room fills with laughter.

9:30

Steph and Susan are gabbing away on the other couch.

"Steve, come here. I wanna show you something," Brian says, leading me to a hardwood-floored room between the den and kitchen.

"Be right back, ladies."

He opens a drawer of his computer table and pulls out a little camcorder, adjusting the viewscreen. "Check THIS out," he says, pressing a button, grinning his mischievous Kevin Bacon grin.

I look at the screen. "Holy SHIT!" I say.

"I hope you like your sauce burned to a crisp..."

Friday, April 1, 2005, 10:00am
Steve's office

"I know what I want to do tonight," Steph says.

"What?"

"I want to make you dinner."

"OK."

"I cleaned the house for you."

"So I guess that means I shouldn't open any closets."

She laughs. "Actually, yeah, opening a closet might be a bad idea right now."

**********

Stephanie's house, 6:00pm

I sniff the air. "Is that clam sauce?"

"Mmm-hmm!"

"You RULE, you know that?"

"As a matter of fact, I DO know that!"

Her eyes snap open wider. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"I was supposed to bring a brief to Noelle's house tonight. She needs it for her study group tomorrow!"

"Oh, ok. Well, let's go bring it to her," I shrug.

"No. You stay here and stir the sauce. I'll be right back."

"Fair enough."

Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings. It's Steph.

"Where are you?"

"I'm friggin' lost. I thought I remembered her house number and I don't. She left her address on my answering machine the other day; I think the message might still be there. Can you check it for me?"

"All right."

I cross the room to the answering machine. Suddenly it sounds like Steph is driving in a hurricane.

"Hello? Steph?"

"Steeeve?" says a tiny, faraway voice.

Click.

I figure I might as well get the address while I am waiting for her to call back. I press play.

"....have no idea what I'm going to do." It's Stephanie's voice. She's got one of these crappy answering machines that record your entire conversation if you don't pick up the phone in time.

"You ARE going to tell him, right," asks the woman on the other line.

"Of course I am, but I don't know how."

I don't like the way this conversation is going. Not at all.

"Stephanie, don't worry. You said he loves you, right?"

"Yes, he does love me, very much. But we just got through a really bad time, and we almost broke up. Now I have to tell him... this?"

"He'll be thrilled! He might be shocked at first, but I know he'll be thrilled."

For a minute, it sounded like she cheated. Now it's sounding a hell of a lot scarier.

"Are you planning on bringing him to the ultrasound?"

WHAT THE FUCK!

"I have to tell him first."

I'm not stupid. I know what day it is. It's April Fool's Day, and this is some type of elaborate prank. I pick up the receiver and scroll through the caller ID log. I read the entry from yesterday at 10:30am and my blood freezes.

CENTER FOR WOMEN, it says.

She's fucking pregnant. It's really true. My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry as I ponder all the monumental changes my life is about to undergo. My privacy? Gone. My free time? Nonexistant. And beginning in 5 years or so, some kid is gonna be coming to me with his hand out, looking for cash, every time the ice cream man rolls by.

"....don't even know what I'm supposed to say!" says Steph.

"Listen. Just invite him over, make him his favorite dinner, then sit down and tell him how much you love him, and then say....


....APRIL FOOL, STEVE!!!"

I hear the Weather Channel is really good this time of day..

Now the eyes are on Stephanie.

"I'm out of LINE?" Amanda says, her voice dripping with contempt. If her eyebrows were any higher, they'd be on her back.

"Yeah. You're out of line. Steve mentions the wife's wishes, and all you can say is that the husband has a girlfriend."

"Do you deny-"

"Let me ask you a question. Have you ever been in that situation? Ever had a family member on life support?"

"I'm not sure that matters."

"Well then let me tell you a story. My father was on a houseboat with a bunch of friends, late at night. They had all fallen asleep, and evidently my father got up for some reason and fell overboard."

The room falls completely silent. I've heard this story; no one else in the house has.

"Evidently, he hit his head while he was falling and he started to drown. One of his friends woke up and saw him doing a dead man's float."

Nancy and Janet gasp.

"They got him to the hospital, and the doctors said that his brain had been deprived of oxygen for too long and that he'd never wake up again. Machines were keeping him alive at that point."

"Stephanie, I'm so sorry-" Amanda says.

"We told them to turn the breathing machine off," Steph says, glaring unblinkingly at Amanda. "He didn't have a living will, never left any instructions on what to do in that situation. So tell me something. Did we murder my father?"

"That's not the same thi-"

"He was being kept alive by artificial means. So was Terri Schiavo. Without the machines, both are dead. So, according to your logic, I murdered my father."

"Terri Schiavo has a feeding tube. Your father had a- breathing- machine-"

"Why is that different?"

"It's basic... nutrition...." Amanda can barely look Steph in the eyes.

Getting cross-examined by Stephanie sucks, doesn't it? I'm so excited it's not me...

"We deprived my father of OXYGEN. What could be more basic than THAT?"

"But here's the thing. When you disconnect a breathing machine, the victim doesn't suffer for weeks. This is like slow... torture..."

"So it's not murder as long as it's quick? So you support ending someone's life, as long as it's done fast?"

"NO!" says Amanda.

"So DID I MURDER MY FATHER?!"

My cheeks start to flush. It's getting very uncomfortable in here. Chris has always been the family peacemaker. I wonder why he hasn't piped up yet.

Right on cue, Chris stands up. "Ladies!" he says, with a big smile. "It's a holiday today. I know this is an emotional issue, but we're probably not going to solve anything talking about it this way. OK?"

Steph and Amanda turn to the TV, avoiding each other's gazes.

Yep, it's a holiday all right....

Sunday, March 27, 2005, Easter Sunday
Frank's (Steve's dad's) house

Mom and dad were separated for well over 20 years, but never got divorced. I understood why mom never forced the issue: She was on dad's insurance, for one thing, and for another, she was way too lazy to pursue any project that took more than 3 1/2 minutes.

Over the course of the separation, they both dated other people and made no effort to hide it. When mom was in dating mode, it would be a different guy every month or so, and it was impossible to keep track of them. With dad, the girlfriends would stick around for a few months, a year in a couple of cases, and then one day he'd tell us that Nancy or Judy wouldn't be coming around anymore.

I always thought that dad hoped to reconcile with mom one day. I think that's why he never truly let another woman in. It will be interesting to test that theory now that mom is gone.

Dad has been seeing Anna for a about a month or so, and I can tell that he likes her very much: Every time I talk to him, he'll rush me off the phone because he's got to call Anna, or he'll tell me a 15-minute story involving Anna's problems at work, or he'll interrupt me in mid-sentence to inform me that Anna's daughter just got a new job.

According to my brother Chris, the daughter is gorgeous. She's a leggy blonde, which for Chris is Heaven. I don't usually go for that look, myself. Today, I'll be able to find out firsthand how attractive she is, because Anna is bringing her over for Easter dinner.

12:00pm

"Hello hello!" says a happy voice from the foyer. All heads turn to see her.

She's a short woman, maybe 5-foot-2, with glasses and auburn hair. She's wearing a bright smile to go with her smart flowered dress. I don't believe in auras, but if I did, I think I would like hers: She seems genuinely happy.

Her daughter follows her up the stairs, carrying a covered platter, and right away I can see what Chris was talking about: She is beautiful. She's about 5-foot-9, with shiny, shoulder-length blonde hair and big blue eyes.

"Hey ladies!" says Chris. He and the daughter lock eyes and smile slyly. If I didn't know better I'd think they were fucking, but Chris would never cheat in a million years.

He gets up and crosses the room. Anna is already kissing dad hello, and Chris heads straight for the daughter. "Happy Easter, Amanda!"

"Happy Easter, Chris." She puts her free hand on the back of his neck; they kiss squarely on the mouth. It's just a peck, really, but their body language gives them away: There's all kinds of incidental bumping and touching, and the back of the neck is a very intimate place to hold someone. They want each other badly.

I turn to look at Janet, Chris's wife. She's talking to Nancy, my other sister-in-law, and they seem not to notice.

I look to my right, where Steph is sitting. We exchange knowing glances. Yep, she sees it, too.

3:30pm

We've made it through Easter dinner, dessert, and coffee without any kind of disagreement whatsoever. This has to be some kind of record. Then again, mom is gone, and Aunt Shirley isn't here.

We're all sitting in the family room, watching TV. Dad's got the remote and he winds up on CNN, where they are discussing Terri Schiavo, the brain-damaged Florida woman who had been taken off her feeding tube. Her parents want the tube back in; her husband wants it out, and he claims that's what Terri wanted too.

"That's a damn shame," dad says.

"You're right it's a shame," Amanda says. "I can't believe they're letting them do that to her!"

All the heads in the room turn to look at her.

"Do WHAT to her," I say. "They're honoring her wishes."

"They are denying her basic nutrition. They're starving her to death. That's murder."

There are scoffs around the room. "Oh, Amanda, don't start," Anna says.

"I'm serious, mom, I can't believe there isn't more of an outcry about this! They're MURDERING a defenseless woman!"

"Amanda. Her husband says she wouldn't want to be kept alive this-"

"Her HUSBAND has fathered two children with another woman! He doesn't care about her anymore!"

"IRRELEVANT!" I say.

"No, it's EXTREMELY relevant!" Her pretty face is set in a hard scowl.

"Yes it IS irrelevant, and I'd say you're out of line," Steph says angrily to Amanda.

The heads turn back toward Steph.

Looks like it's on.

Six days, 16 hours, 15 minutes and counting...

March 31, 2005, 8:45pm
Steve's house

Celibacy is liberating and agonizing.

It's terrible and wonderful, intriguing and maddening, valuable and pointless.

If you deprive yourself of food long enough, your life will revolve around it. Don't eat for a week, then turn on a porn film, and you won't even see the couple fucking on the kitchen counter: You'll be too busy salivating over the bowl of apples and bananas behind them.

Since March 12, my already-perverted mind has moved to a whole new level of carnal preoccupation. I've avoided porn almost completely, and tried to keep my IM chats clean (with varying degrees of success). And yet, I'm thinking of it more than ever. I have a newfound appreciation of how truly erotic it is to watch a 19-year-old yawn and stretch as she waits in line in front of me at the bank, her zippered pullover riding up and exposing her bare midriff, her wind pants sagging just slighly, showing the black waistband of her thong. I notice every curve, every partially exposed breast, every jiggle and bounce of every girl I come in contact with.

Steph and I have been having a lot of fun together these past few weeks. We've tried new restaurants, gone on long drives, and even visited an art museum and went skiing. We've also walked. A lot.

I've found that I behave differently when I know I'm not getting laid that night: I listen better, and I'm... friendlier.

Every once in a while, Stephanie brings up her father. It's such a sad story, how he died. He was only in his mid-forties, not a hell of a lot older than I am now.

I always wonder how she can be so strong about it, how it doesn't seem to bother her at all. But the truth is that it does bother her, sometimes very much.

One moonless night, we were walking down my street and we stopped next to the pond. I stared at the water for a while; it was perfectly still, more like glass than water. "Isn't that something, how-" I began.

I turned to look at Steph. She was bawling.

Her dad died from drowning.

I have treasured our non-sexual time together and I feel like I know her better than before, and that we are closer than ever. But at the same time, I'm terribly frustrated, angry even, that we are two young, healthy adults with high libidos who are denying ourselves something that we both want desperately.

We're obviously over the trust issues that we had, or at least that's how I feel. The Tim incident doesn't come up anymore. But even with a little after-the-fact tweaking of the agreement, we still have a week to go with no sex and no masturbation. It doesn't sound like a long time, but for me, another week would be an eternity. It's gotten to the point where I actually ache for it.

Some people refer to a male orgasm as "emptying your balls". Physiologically, that is not what happens. We men aren't walking around with two turgid water baloons swinging between our legs that somehow drain themselves when we come. But my testicles do feel full right now, big and sore and sensitive to every shift of my lower body.

My phone rings. Steph.

"Hey."

"Heyyy."

"What are you doing?"

"Just sittin'."

"Not studying?"

"Mm-mm. I'm thinking about you."

"Oh REALLY."

"Mmmmm."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ummm..."

"Sweats?"

"No."

"Less than sweats?"

"Mm-hmmm."

"Are you wearing anything?"

"Uh-uh."

"You're naked?"

"Mmmm."

"And thinking about me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you in bed?"

"Uh-huh," She purrs, her voice soft and little girl-like.

"You gonna touch yourself for me?"

This will be cool. I'll tell her exactly what I want her to do, like when a passenger has to land a plane and the control tower talks him through it.

"No."

"No? Tease!"

"I wanna come see you."

"Naked?"

"I'll get dressed, silly."

"But we have a week left."

"Why are we doing this again?" she asks softly.

"I, um, don't remember."

"Sweetie, I really appeciate you doing that for me. I know it was hard for you. But everything is ok now..."

"So..."

"So..." she says.

"You gonna come see me?"

"Yeah."

9:05pm

Now that I know the drought is over (or about to be), I am so horny that I can't think of anything else. I walk aimlessly around the house, toting a huge boner like a cop's nightstick (ok, a little smaller than a nightstick). Suddenly, I get an idea and run up to my bedroom.

The door opens, then closes. "Steve?"

"Upstairs."

I'm laying in bed in my Perry Ellis boxers. She rushes into the room, her hair down, her hazel eyes smoldering. She's wearing a long wool winter coat and sneaker-clogs.

"What's with the coat?"

"It was the only long coat I had!"

"Why do you need a long-"

She drops it to the floor. She's completely nude.

I yank my boxers off. Tonight, there will be no foreplay, no preamble whatsoever. We're way too horny for that.

She climbs onto the bed and falls on top of me, her breasts pressing against my chest, her nipples rock-hard.

"I missed your cock."

"JUST my cock?"

"No, your balls too," she smiles.

I sit up on the bed. "Sit on my lap."

She straddles me. Our faces are almost touching.

"Turn around."

She looks over her shoulder. There's a full-length mirror 5 feet away from us, propped against my dresser.

"Is THAT why you have that mirror there?"

"Yeah."

She gets up and turns around, lowering herself onto me. I slip slowly into her.

I missed this, too. I missed feeling her wetness, her tightness, the way her pussy seems to... grip me as we fuck.

She leans back so our faces are next to each other, and drapes her right arm around my head. I watch in the mirror as her hips rise and fall and my cock disappears slowly into her, then slides smoothly out again.

"I LOVE your big hard fucking cock baby," she coos.

"I-" I breathe. I can hardly speak. I am totally consumed by pleasure, completely preoccupied with our sex.

"You like my nice wet pussy? Huh? You like fucking me?" She leans forward. Her grinding gets harder and more urgent.

"I TOTALLY like fucking you baby."

She stands up, then lays down on the bed next to me. "I want you to fuck me nice and hard."

I am on top of her in an instant, jamming my cock urgently into her waiting pussy, all the way up to my balls, then slowly, languidly, pulling it almost all the way out before I shove it into her again.

"Ohhhhh, yeah, do it to me hard. Fuck me HARD, Steve!"

She crosses her legs around my back. I pump away at her as hard as I can, the bed squeaking and groaning in protest, pushing her little hips deeply into the bed with each thrust.

I lose track of time as I pound away at her, but eventually I get tired. "You gonna get on top of me?"

I turn over and lay down, my cock standing straight up, shiny with her juices. She straddles me, grabbing my shaft and guiding it into her, slowly. "Lick my finger for me," she says, shoving her right index finger into my mouth.

She rides me hard, back and forth, her eyes closing, her head leaning back. She fingers her clit slowly. "Oh fucking shit I am gonna come!"

Her eyes flip open. She leans forward and grabs my forearm, squeezing hard, her nails digging into my flesh.

"Oh SHIT. Holy fucking shit!" she whispers. Her grip tightens; I watch intently as her body shudders and trembles with orgasm.

I am glad she came; holding back has been painful. The fastest way for me to get where I'm going is if I am on top of her, so...

I grab her around the waist and pick her up, all the while still inside her, then turn around and fall on top of her, pumping away.

The orgasm comes, and it's small. Or, at least, smaller than I thought. "What the-" I think, and then I realize what's happening.

The orgasm comes again, the real orgasm, big and intense. My arms and legs quake as I blast the inside of her pussy with wave after wave of cum.

She looks up at me again, silently, with her big eyes. "You're gonna drown me," she smiles.

He says, she says, volume V

Dear Steve and Ari:

My boyfriend and I (of almost two years) have a healthy sex life and all that good stuff, however there is a not-so-good thing going on.

I tend to have what is called swamp ass a lot (hate the term but that what it is so...). I don't know what to do about it. I shower, I don't have a huge ass, I am a petite girl of 26. I get it soon after showering. Just by sitting, not even excercising or anything. I don't know what to do, it makes me feel uncomfortable so I am not able to be carefree in the sexcapade of things. When he goes down, I love it but squirm at first until I know he has sniffed the rear out non-chillantly and continues giving that loving gift. When we are screwing and my legs go up, or doggy style when my ass is in his face, I freak out internally.

Sometimes he has a hard time cumming b/c the smell is overwhelming. I am disgusted, dismayed and ashamed of myself. He is kind about fortunately but I want it to end (not his niceness, the smell of course).

I have put is as blunt as possible. What is a girl to do?

-Feelin Icky in the Bum

======================

Ari says:

Dear Marsh-a;

First of all I want to start off by telling you something, I have a lot of guy friends and what I understand is this; they are so glad to be getting laid, they are certainly not going to let a little natural body scent get in the way.

That said, I'm assuming you have tried showering pre-sex and a dash of talcum powder. I also would not rule out using a fragrance free, sensitive skin deodorant/anti-perspirant. Yes, in your ass. But allowing for the fact that you've tried those, I'd suggest you buy yourself some baby wipes, stick them in a ziploc bag and go into the bathroom and wipe up a bit before you start fooling around.

As far as his inability to cum because of your odor... I gotta tell you, I can't picture that being the reason. If the scent was that much of a turn off he wouldn't be able to get turned on. Guys are, as a general rule, stinky creatures. I PROMISE you, they do not scare as easily as you think.

I hope this was helpful, let us know, please!

====================

Steve says:

Dear Icky:

First and foremost, we need to know if you are leaving Mr. Bunghole whistle-clean after each.... evacuation, or if your Hershey Highway is marred by skid marks.

Do you wipe with toilet paper only? Or do you use pre-moistened, flushable bathroom wipes? If you don't use them now, go out and buy some, and use them every single time you dump. Use warm, soapy water to clean back there in the shower, too (I reccommend changing washcloths before exfoliating your face, however). Toilet paper is NOT your friend; it's actually a terrible thing to wipe your ass with. Don't believe me? Next time you drop the kids off at the pool, wipe with toilet paper as best you can, then use a bathroom wipe and see how much residue (or should I say, "residoodie") was left behind.

The first few times you try this, squat over a large mirror and check out the whole area after you are done to make sure you, um, got everything. Next, monitor the smell (and your underwear) carefully. Does the swamp ass still come back? If so, I would recommend seeing your doctor about the.... ooze (or invest in a lot of corks). I do not believe it is normal to be giving off a smell like that after a thorough cleaning of your nether region.

I am tempted to come up with all sorts of clever ideas on how to minimize the smell while you are screwing, but I really believe this is a hygeine issue that can be solved, so I'd like you to try the above ideas first.

I am glad you are addressing your problem, and I am sure your boyfriend is too. Sex is almost never bad, but bathroom smells can be a definite distraction. A potty mouth is fine; a potty ASS isn't.

Please get back to us and let us know how you do.

Steve

Too bad they cancelled "Last Comic Standing"...

Dom flings the ballroom door open. I am close behind. Steph and Tim are near the escalator, walking slowly away from us.

Dom looks back at me, slowing down a bit so I can catch up to him. "What the hell's going on?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Stephanie stormed out, Tim's showing you her hand. What's up?"

Tim and Stephanie turn and look at us. They're.....laughing!

"Everything ok here?" Dom says.

"Did you think we were FIGHTING?" Says Tim.

"We didn't know WHAT you were doing," I say.

"We were just TALKING, Steve," Steph says. "Thank you, Tim."

"OK, you're welcome, Stephanie!" Tim says.

"Actually, we'll catch up with you ladies in a bit. I need Dom for a minute."

They walk silently back to the ballroom, side by side, glancing back at us several times before reaching the door.

"Dom, I-"

He looks at me with big, intense eyes.

Dom knows something went on. I might ruin his relationship with Tim if I tell him, but at this point, I've got to tell him something, which means I can either make up an elaborate lie, or just tell the truth. Something tells me he and Tim aren't talking engagement, anyway.

"I kissed Tim."

He squints. "Yeah?" he says, as if expecting more.

"No, I mean I KISSED her."

"What, you mean like you made out with her?"

"Yeah."

"And Stephanie found out?"

"Yeah. I told her."

"WHAT?!?!?"

"I had to. I couldn't deal."

"Steve, you are truly whipped."

"So you're telling me you're ok with this."

"You want me to be angry, Steve?" he laughs.

"She IS your girlfriend."

"NO. She is NOT my girlfriend. I don't have a girlfriend."

"Fine, you're seeing her then."

"I'm FUCKING her. Next week, I'll be fucking someone else."

"It does feel like I'm betraying you, though."

"Yeah, so what?" he says dismissively.

"So WHAT?!"

"Steve. Tim obviously likes you, and after... what happened, I just figured you were gonna have sex with her."

"So this was a pleasant surprise?"

He shrugs. "If you wanna fuck her, fuck her."

At first, I don't understand how Dom can be so easygoing about this. But after I think about it, it makes sense. How would it look if he got angry at me for kissing Tim, who he's not even truly dating, after he screwed Lila, someone I was with for a year?

Aside from that, I get the impression that Dom truly does not care for Tim as a person. That actually makes me sad, in a way. He seems lonely, if that makes sense.

**********

"So what was that about?" I ask Steph back at the table.

"Tim just wanted to... apologize," she says, pursing her lips.

"Did you accept her apology?"

"I accepted yours, why wouldn't I accept hers?"

"You don't know her, you don't trust her, you don't like her..."

"I trust YOU. As long as she's keeping her hands off you, she doesn't concern me."

"Did you tell her you didn't like her putting her hands on me?"

"I mentioned that."

"What were you guys laughing about?"

"Tim said that you were obviously head over heels in love with me. And I said, 'He must be, to take all the shit I put him through'."

"Hilarious."

...maybe I'll grab some Jell-O on my way out, just in case..

March 25, 9:00pm

Steph and I come back to the ballroom. She takes a seat at the table, and I walk to the front of the room, next to a small stage. Rod from marketing is there, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat.

Rod is a handsome black man of about 30. He stands six-foot-two or more, with a shiny bald head and blindingly white teeth. He wears expensive-looking suits to work every day, complete with tie bars and cuff links.

He grips the sides of the lectern firmly, seemingly engulfing it with his big hands. "May I have your attention please?" he says, in a smooth baritone voice, not unlike Billy Dee Williams.

The room falls silent. "Ruthann, before I start, I just want to say that, on a personal level, I appreciate all the guidance that you've given me in my career. Each time I've asked you for advice, you've taken the time to help me."

Ruthann is sitting at the first table near the stage. She's a thin, bespectacled woman in her late 60's. Her hair is short and brown, with flecks of grey. She smiles brightly as Rod speaks.

"You've been married for 40 years now, so I also ask you for relationship advice, but you always tell me I'm a lost cause," Rod says. There's a low rumble of laughter.

"My real reason for being here is to let you know that Steve has a few words for you, which I am sure is not a surprise, since, much like me, Steve always has something to say when there's an audience around. In fact, when he goes into Burger King, they hide the microphones!"

Laughter and applause.

"Steve?" Rod steps away from the lectern and motions to it with his hands, like a prize girl from The Price is Right.

I nod smilingly to him and take my place behind the microphone. I'm actually getting a loud ovation, and I wait patiently for the room to quiet.

"Thank you. By the way, Rod doesn't know it yet, but HIS retirement party is next week." More laughter. I damn well wasn't gonna let him get away with that Burger King comment, was I?

"Ruthann, I spent a lot of time earlier this week trying to figure out what I was going to say up here, and at one point while I was thinking about it, I got up from my desk and I walked down the hall to the cafeteria, and as I turned the corner into the main hallway, I saw you at your desk. It's the first desk you see when you turn that corner."

I pause. The room is completely silent.

"You were on the telephone, I think, and when I saw you there, I realized what I had to say tonight.

"You're always there, at your desk, working. We can count on it. We don't have to wonder if Ruthann is going to show up today, or if Ruthann is going to be late. We know you won't be. You haven't missed a day of work in the last TEN YEARS. That amazes me.

"An old boss of mine used to say, 'If you want a list of your most dedicated employees, take attendance the day of a snowstorm.' And I remember a blizzard we had a few years back where we got 28 inches of snow in 24 hours. I called Ruthann's extension at 7:00AM to leave her a voice mail about a report I needed later that day. She ANSWERED her phone."

A murmur fills the room.

"And not only that, but she knew what I was calling for! She said, 'Oh, you're probably calling about the report! It's already on your desk'.

"That's the level of work we've come to expect from you, Ruthann. And for someone in my position, that's very valuable. This transition hasn't always been an easy one for me, but one thing I've never had to worry about is the work being done in your department. I've never had to think about that twice. You've left some very big shoes to fill."

There's some applause. Ruthann is wiping her eyes with a cloth napkin. She's having trouble keeping it together.

"Dan Johnson is travelling on business tonight, and he's very sorry he couldn't be here. But he wants me to pass along his congratulations on a great career, and to thank you for all your years of service to the company. And he also gave me a personal message for you; I think I have it here somewhere." I pat the sides of my jacket, then reach into an inner pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper folded in half. "Ah! Here it is!"

I unfold the paper and read the words slowly, in my best Dan Johnson impersonation. "Ruthann. WHAT have you learned today?"

The room erupts with laughter.

As I'm closing out my remarks, I glance over at my table. Tim is leaning over Steph's shoulder and is saying something in her ear. Steph turns to face her for a second, then nods her head. They both stand up and head for the door.

What the fuck? Are they going outside to scrap?

"Speech! Speech!" The crowd is yelling. Ruthann stands sheepishly up and walks to the stage to a standing ovation.

She is bawling now, dabbing at one eye, then the other with her napkin. She hugs Rod, then me, so tightly that she might have been Luca Brasi from The Godfather instead of a 60-something grandmother.

Dom is glancing back and forth between the door and the stage. He's probably thinking the same thing I am: Those two girls could be ripping each other's hair out by the roots as we speak.

"I have no idea what to say," Ruthann says into the microphone, her voice small and shaky. "I feel like I don't deserve all this fuss. I just came to work every day and tried to do a good job.

"You people are like....family....to me......" she breaks down again. Rod steps up and pats her shoulder. He's at least a foot taller; the scene almost resembles a father comforting his young daughter.

She sniffles, adjusting her glasses. "You're just like family, and on Monday morning, I'm not going to have my family anymore."

"Awwww," say a few people.

"It's been wonderful...."

Dom is staring at the ballroom door now, no longer even trying to make it look like he's paying attention to Ruthann.

Does he know what happened between Tim and me? Is he angry? He would have to be, wouldn't he? But then again, would his anger be justified, after what happened with him and Lila, even though Lila is an ex, and Tim is not?

".... made me feel at home every single day. Being with the company for this long is really like a marriage......"

What the fuck could those two be talking about? Did Tim want to say she was sorry? If so, what's taking so long? How long does it take to apologize? Besides, Tim wasn't looking very repentant when I spoke to her earlier tonight. Does that mean she asked Steph outside so she could get in her grill, Jerry Springer-style? It's possible, but what beef would she have with Steph? Steph didn't do anything to her. Not that I know of, anyway.

Dom looks at the stage, then back at the door.

I look at Dom, then at Ruthann, then at the door.

"I'm gonna miss all of you so much. Thank you!," Ruthann says, and walks back to her seat.

Dom gets up and hurries to the door. I do too.

....Changing a tire might be a little cramped, though...

"You told her, didn't you?"

SURELY this bitch is not copping an attitude with me?

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I did, Tim."

She shakes her head. "Unbelievable! Now of course she's gonna hate my guts."

"Yeah, and you've NEVER been in that situation before, have you?"

"You know, I just really don't understand how you can do that! Nothing even happened!"

"Nothing?"

"Basically nothing. I don't understand why you had to run and tell your girlfriend. If you didn't want to be there, you could've just LEFT! No one was stopping you! But then you went and TOLD her!"

"I had to tell her. It was bothering me. For days."

She shakes her head, making a little "Pfft," noise. "I used to think you were such an interesting guy, Steve...."

"And then you found out I had a conscience?"

"UGGH!" She growls, holding a hand in front of her as if trying to stop traffic. I watch as she stomps off towards the bar.

"OH.........MY...........GOD!" Heidi gasps. Her mouth is hanging wide open. I mean literally wide open. It looks like I could park my car in there!

"You had SEX with her, didn't you? You had sex with Dom's girlfriend! And then you told Stephanie!"

"Heidi-"

"You have a LOT of sex, don't you? I wish I could have sex. I haven't had any in a LONG time. The last time I had any was that one guy from last year-"

"Heidi. I didn't sleep with Tim."

"You didn't SLEEP with her? No, I guess you didn't SLEEP!" she smiles slyly. "I bet you guys had FUN! Did you have fun? OH! But you cheated on Steph!" she says, as if realizing it for the first time.

"I didn't have sex with her, Heidi!"

"So what did you-"

"I gotta go talk to Stephanie. And Heidi, I would really appreciate it if I didn't hear anything about this at the office."

"Of course, Steve!"

I push open a ten-foot-tall, ornate wooden door at the back of the ballroom and walk out into a plushly-carpeted common area. Instrumental music wafts from invisible speakers.

There are a couple of couches and love seats near the middle of the room. Empty.

I take the escalator to the main lobby and check the registration area. Nothing.

I dial Steph's number.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Shit! She's not going to answer! Now what?

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hi," she says softly.

"Where are you?"

"Out front, by the fountain."

"Be right there," I say.

I push my way through the revolving door and cross to the fountain. It's actually quite impressive: About 20 feet across, and lit from underneath, with water pluming five feet in the air from a spout in the middle. It's even got ducks in it!

"I'm here; I don't see you!"

"Turn around."

She's standing there, shivering a little in the cold, her tiny phone pressed to her ear. We snap our phones closed.

She walks over and hugs me, putting her cheek to my chest. "I didn't mean to run off."

"It's ok."

"I get jealous."

"Jealous of what?"

"Come on, Steve! She's beautiful! She has a gorgeous body, gorgeous face, gorgeous boobs-"

I can arrange a hookup, if you want...

"She's not as gorgeous as you."

"Yeah, RIGHT! That's why you were gawking at her."

"Steph, even the gay waiters were staring!"

But, in fairness, they probably just wanted to know what designer she was wearing.

"I don't like how she had her hands all over you. And how she calls you 'handsome'. I FRIGGING don't like her," she says, through gritted teeth.

"I can see where that would bother you. We can leave if you want, right after I do my little speech."

"When do you have to speak?"

I glance at my watch. "Oh, shit! In two and a half minutes!"

"Not to change the subject, but how's your computer been running lately!?"

Friday, March 25, 2005, 7:30pm
Hyatt Hotel, 2nd floor ballroom
Ruthann's retirement party

We never have retirement parties, but Ruthann was with the company for over 35 years. She worked her way up from receptionist to VP of underwriting with no college education and no prior job experience. Still, she is one of the most competent and capable employees I've ever known, and I will really miss her.

Steph came with me tonight. It's strange not having to keep my love life secret. For most of my professional life, I was either screwing more than one girl, or someone I worked with, and was therefore very stingy with details. But now that I am with just one person, and since she has no connection to the company, I've made no efforts to hide the truth.

Steph has come to visit me at the office a few times. The first time she did, I took her around and introduced her to a few people, and heard about it for weeks afterwards. "How's your better half?" busybodies would ask, smiling slyly.

Now that we are coming up on six months together, the ballbreaking has shifted to an all-new level. "Uh-oh, six months!" my coworkers will say. "It's gettin' SERIOUUUUS!! Are we gonna be hearing bells soon?!"

"Please," I scoff, with a dismissive roll of the eyes.

She looks amazing tonight, in a tight black dress and her hair pulled back into a bun with one strand hanging lazily down in front of her face, just the way I like it. From the corner of my eye, I keep catching guys checking her out. Actually, I like the way that feels.

"Happy engagement, you two," says Tom from accounting, pausing for effect. "Oh, oh, sorry, never mind, I thought this was your engagement party for a minute!!" Three or four people have made references to us getting married, actually.

"Ha!" says Steph, sarcastically.

I almost asked Steph to skip the party, not because I didn't want her to come, but because I didn't want her to see Dom, or God forbid, Tim. But Dom does not go in for these types of functions, and though I know he'll probably show up, he'll definitely be alone, and he won't stay long. There are about 75 people here, and it's plenty crowded enough for us to avoid any awkward moments.

8:30pm

Steph and I are talking to Bonnie when I glance toward the front of the room.

Dom is walking in. With Tim.

This ought to be very fucking interesting.

They walk through the middle of the room to their table, Dom nodding politely to employees and their guests as he breezes by.

I haven't seen Tim since That Night. She looks gorgeous! her hair is in a French braid, and she's wearing a low-cut dress with a slit up to her thigh, and four-inch Fuck Me pumps. Every male head within 50 feet turns and stares.

I am shocked that Dom is bringing a date. He's much more private than me. As far as I know, he hasn't even told anyone except me about Tim.

".....vacation anywhere this summer?" Bonnie is saying. "Steve? STEVE!" she says.

"What about a vacation?"

"Are you gonna take your girlfriend on vacation this summer!" she repeats.

"We're going to Hawaii!" I say.

"UH-oh," Bonnie says, with a sidelong smile. Thankfully, she doesn't make another marriage comment, though I know she's thinking it. "Well, you two are a VERY nice couple."

8:50pm.

Steph and I are speaking to Heidi, who is also wearing a sexy black dress. I smell a wave of flowery perfume, and a second later, there are hands over my eyes from behind.

I reach up and touch them, and I can feel long fingernails. Ahh, shit. It's Tim, I think.

She pulls her hands back. I turn around and look at her, and my breath catches.

The dress is lower than it looked from across the room. Her neck and shoulders are completely bare, her collarbones standing out sharply beneath her flawless, tanned skin. Her huge breasts seem dangerously close to popping out. Her lips are thicker than I remember, and her teeth are whiter.

"HEY handsome! You look GORGEOUS tonight," she says. I am wearing a suit and tie; nothing out of the ordinary. And a ton of cologne. She grabs my shoulders tightly and kisses my cheek, barely touching it. Her smell, her look, and her lips against my skin all go to work on me. I am starting to get hard.

Everyone in our little circle stops talking. I look around. No Dom. Where the hell did he take off to?

I turn to Steph. She is studying Tim intently. She doesn't seem angry, just... serious.

"Stephanie, this is Tim, Tim, this my girlfriend Stephanie."

"Ohhh, so YOU'RE the girlfriend!" Tim says, smiling.

"Mmmm," Steph says. "Nice to meet you." She stares at Tim, unsmiling. Then she glances over at me, her lips pursed tightly. She doesn't offer a handshake.

There's an awkward silence. Tim and I look at each other. "So, how long have you guys been dating?" she asks.

"I'm going for a walk," Steph says, and storms off.

Tim glares at me for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. "You told her, didn't you?" she asks.

Bending the rules is fun!

"What do you mean, can you do something for me?"

She lifts her hips off the couch and unbuttons her jeans, sliding them down her hips. She's wearing skimpy black underwear.

She runs her fingers lightly over the front of her panties, stopping halfway up and tracing cursive letter "o's". "Well??" she asks, raising her eyebrows pleadingly.

"Huh? Oh!!" I unbutton my jeans and pull them down. I am already ramrod stiff, poking up under my boxers at full attention. It doesn't take much these days.

"You gonna jerk off for me?" she whispers, her mouth hanging open on the last syllable, her lower lip pouting succulently.

I pull my boxers down. She rubs a little faster, staring at my raging erection.

I hold my palm in front of her mouth. She sticks her tongue out and slides it slowly up my hand, coating it with gooey saliva. Then she does it again, slower.

I slide my suddenly warm, slick palm up and down my cock. I shudder with pleasure, and actually have to slow down to keep myself from coming.

She slips her panties down around her knees. Her hair has grown back a little, but I can still see her clit, pink and engorged, as she flicks and rubs it with her fingertips. Her hips undulate back and forth; her eyes slide shut. "Unnnnh," she moans, biting her lower lip. "I bet you wish your cock was inside me right now, don't you?"

I rub my cock a little faster. I can feel the climax welling up. "I am about to fucking EXPLODE, baby," I say, panting.

"You gonna lick my fingers for me," she says, sliding them into my mouth before I can answer.

I can taste her pussy, hot and creamy on her fingers. She pulls them back, wet and glistening, and rubs them smoothly over her clit, deeply into her pussy and then out again, her eyes closing gently.

I can't stand it any longer. I slide my hand slowly up my shaft, squeezing just a little at the top. I hear myself grunt softly as the contractions take over; I close my eyes and feel the hot goo shoot out of me.

She stares at me as I rub away the last of my orgasm, her middle finger tracing circles around her clit. "Ahhhhhh," she moans. "Ohhh, fucking shit-" Her breathing stops for a moment, then continues, frantically.

I've never really watched Stephanie come. It's...beautiful. Her abdominal muscles contract noticeably, then release, then contract again; her legs stiffen, then relax; her face shows utter joy and ecstasy, like something you would see in a painting.

"We're never gonna make it a month," she says.

A good way to get my attention

Saturday, March 19, 2005, 7:30pm
Steve's house

I am a sick man when it comes to lasagna. If Dunkin' Donuts came out with a breakfast lasagna, I'd be the first one in line every morning. In a perfect world, I'd eat lasagna ice cream and drink lasagna coffee, and hang lasagna air fresheners off my rear-view mirror.

"You are SUCH a good cook when you want to be. This is AWESOME!" Steph says.

"Thanks!"

"I'm eating too much lasagna. I'm gonna go right to sleep!"

"Nah, you won't."

"It's been really nice talking to you lately," she says. "And tonight."

"You too."

"I mean, I didn't really agree with your idea, but I think it was a pretty good idea after all."

"The abstinence thing?"

"Yeah. So it's, what, two more weeks?"

"We made the agreement on March 12th. Today is the 19th, which means we have 24 days left."

"Twenty-four days brings us to, what, April 12th?"

"Yeah, a month."

"Unless we say four weeks instead of a month, in which case it's 21 days."

"True. But you know what else we could do?"

"Hm?"

"The last time we actually did it was March 10th. So if we make the agreement retroactive to that day, AND use your four-week idea, it's down to 19 days."

"I think I could deal with that."

10:30pm

We're sitting on the sofa, watching the news. My right arm is around her shoulders, and she's running her fingers lightly over mine. "I love your hands," she says.

"I like yours too."

"So, have you been doing anything with your hands lately?" she purrs, her eyes rolling up to meet mine.

"You mean my once a week allowance?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Actually I haven't yet. I'm afraid that if I do it, it's gonna make it ten times worse."

"I KNOW! Me too! I'd just rather not do it at all."

"Has it been hard for you?"

"Oh my god," she says, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I've been getting a lot of chores done at 5 am."

"So I need to ask you something."

"Hm?"

"I can't do anything WITH you, right?" she asks.

"Mmmmm..."

"Can I do something FOR you?"

"What, no free porn tonight?"

Friday, March 18, 7:45
Memorial School gymnasium

I paid as little attention to the play as possible, making things-to-do lists in my head and wondering what is going to happen after the four of us go to dinner tonight.

"You guys wanna go to Captain's?!" Susan says, with a smile. It's an effusive, huge, toothy smile, like you see on a cheerleader. "I'm in the mood for seafood!"

"Sounds ok," I say.

"Steve and Steph, can I talk to you for a minute," Susan says, as Brian gets into their Nissan Pathfinder.

Steph and I stop, shoulder to shoulder, and look at her.

"You guys," she says, grimacing. "This is really hard for me to say." She breathes in deeply and exhales, her chest heaving. "I am SO sorry you heard us the other night. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm so embarrassed."

"It's all right," Steph says.

"I heard it wasn't your idea anyway," I smile.

"No, Brian and I are both at fault," Susan says. "Are we ok?"

"We're fine," I smile.

The cheerleader smile is back. "AWESOME! You guys ready to go eat!?"

8:00pm
Captain's Seafood and Spirits

There are fat people everywhere. As I have discussed previously, that is the mark of a good restaurant.

I order the scallops, and they are just average. Maybe below average. As I look around the table, everyone's got something left on their plate. As hungry as they all were, that's a very bad sign.

"This place sucks," Brian says, finally, throwing a napkin on his plate.

There are "yeah's" all around the table.

"I'm glad YOU said that," I say. "Being that we were your guests and all, I didn't want to be the first to say it."

"What do you mean?" asks Brian. "We're not each other's guests. We're friends! Say whatever you want!"

"WHATEVER you want," Susan says. "We love you guys! We want to hear what you have to say always!"

"You LOVE us?" I smile. "You guys are gettin' serious so fast!" I say.

"You know what I mean," she says. Her face goes serious again. She looks at Brian. "Should we tell 'em?"

"What?" I say. "You didn't see us screwing in the coat room, did you? You told me you closed the door, Steph!"

They laugh. Steph rolls her eyes.

"Guys, we can't invite you to the wedding," Susan says. "We were hoping we would get a cancellation so we could invite you. Well, I mean, we weren't HOPING to get one, but we were hoping that-"

"Don't worry about it. We understand we just met you. We appreciate you thinking of us!"

"But, maybe you could come to the church?"

I hate church. I look at Steph. She doesn't look thrilled either.

"What day is it again?"

"April 23rd."

"Ahh, April 23rd, ok. Hopefully we don't have anything going on."

10:00pm
Steve's house

After a very mediocre dinner we decide to head to my place for drinks and a movie. If you want to laugh, you can do a lot worse than Midnight Run.

Brian comes to the kitchen with me to make another round. "Sorry about dinner, man."

"Not your fault."

"Hey man, about the hotel-"

"It's forgotten."

"So does that mean no revenge?" He flashes a mischievous smile. The Kevin Bacon resemblance is uncanny.

"Don't count on it."

"Steph's pretty cute," he says, nodding and twisting his mouth, as if appreciating a fancy car. "You guys must have a lotta fun."

I laugh. I don't know whether to be pissed off about him prying, or proud that he's so impressed. "I'd ask you, but I already know," I say.

"Yeah, that's true. Hey, I thought all was forgotten!"

"Oh! Yeah! You got me there," I say.

"So is she, ah, pretty wild or what?"

"I have no complaints," I say, handing him a drink. "Are you always this curious?"

"Pretty much."

Part of me wants to be offended. But as perverted as I am, I shouldn't complain. Besides, he's just wondering the same things we all do; he's just doing it aloud.

Saturday, March 19
12:30am

The movie is over and we're watching TV. Brian and Susan are huddled tightly together on one couch, Steph and I on the other. I glance over and see her nestled under his right arm, whispering softly to him.

He whispers back. Something tells me they ain't discussing China patterns.

"....gonna make me dinner tomorrow night?" Steph is saying.

"Hm? Am I gonna make you dinner tomorrow?"

"Pleeease?" she whispers.

"Where did you get this idea?"

"I just want some one-on-one time."

"Did you not wanna go tonight?"

"No, tonight was ok, but-"

"You want me to yourself."

"No restaurants, no crowds, no friends, no-"

Brian's hand slips down Susan's back and under the waistline of her jeans. They kiss softly. She slips her hand under his shirt and rubs his chest.

"You guys, we should probably get going," Susan says, standing up and straightening her shirt.

The cheerleader smile is gone.

Doc Johnson delivers again

Check out the latest vibrator review, guys... my friend Betty tried it out while IM'ing with her man friend. This is HOT!


Doc Johnson's i-Vibe

Betty: baby

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Betty: :-P]

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Barney: [jeopardy theme playing]

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Barney: are you gonna come for me

Barney: nice and hard

Betty: right now

Betty: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Barney: i feel like i am gonna blow such a huge fucking load

Betty: there you feel that

Betty: omg

Barney: mmmmmmm

Betty: that was sick

Barney: VERY fucking sick

Betty: i can't move

Betty: my god man!

Barney: yaa that was nice

Barney: it makes me want you pretty fucking badly i have to say

Betty: right back atcha killer

Barney: mmmmm


OK, so we didn't learn too much about what this little toy can do. But it obviously works, doesn't it?

Do I take care of you guys, or not?

Being a smut-blogger definitely has its advantages. For example, the PR firm representing Doc Johnson hooked me up with some free sex toy samples a while back. And since I have very little use for vibrators shaped like dicks, I decided to pass them along to a few female friends of mine, on the condition that they fill me (and you) in on every last boner-inducing detail. Check out the first one!


Doc Johnson's Slim and Squirmy 


March 28, 2005
The very hot BLANKA

"When I get home after a long day at work, I don’t slip into something more comfortable. I slip onto my Doc Johnson. Its slim fit and multi-level vibration sends me to cloud-fucking-9-and-a-half. I love to press the Doc deep inside of me while working my clit slowly with my thumb – the sensation is incredible! For any girl whose pussy is as tight as mine, the Doc is a sexual masterpiece. The orgasm comes hard and lasts long."


Hey Blanka, I'm not believing that whole "tight pussy" bit. I'm definitely gonna need to see proof.....

Stay tuned for more reviews in the weeks to come! Who knows? There might even be another one this weekend.....

Settling some old business

"Does that do anything for you?"

"Does WHAT do anything for me?"

"Hearing other people go at it."

Silence. She plays with my iPod, jumping from one song to another as we drive.

"Steph!"

"What!"

"DOES it?"

"DON'T, Steve."

"Don't what? Was that getting you off?"

"Yeah!"

"And you were trying to stick to our agreement?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Man, when I heard them going at it-"

"Stop talking, Steve."

**********

Monday, March 14, 10:15am
Steve's office

If there is a hard phone call I have to make, or a difficult conversation I need to have, I get it out of the way early. There's no sense in putting it off.

"Bonnie, get Denise in here please."

A minute passes.

Bonnie buzzes me. "She wants to know what it's in reference to."

"Excuse me?"

"She just wants to know if she needs to bring anything."

"Just herself."

Denise knocks on my door frame. “Hello,” she says sheepishly.

“Come on in, Denise. Can you close that,” I say, pointing my chin to the door.

“Denise, I have to apologize about the other day. I was completely-”

“It’s ok, Steve.”

“No, I was very inappropriate. I don’t make excuses; to me, an excuse ends in, ‘it wasn’t my fault’. And I certainly won’t say that. I was going through some personal issues-”

“Your girlfriend broke up with you?”

“Kinda, yeah. I understand that I have a job where I can’t let something like that affect me, and I did, and that was a mistake.”

She nods and smiles tightly.

“You’re a good employee, Denise. The customers like you, and your employees learn a lot from you, and you’re very valuable to this company. I hope that you’re with us for a long time to come,” I say, smiling.

Her eyes are tearing up.

I know I’m good, but I’m not THAT good, am I?

“You ok?”

She sniffles. “I was very… emotional that day. I- I- almost didn’t even come to work, and when you yelled at me, I almost broke down…”

“I was really harsh, I know.”

“It’s not that. Remember how I missed a few days the week before last?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I- I had a miscarriage.”

Hello, God? Steve here. Could you please send an errant steel rod from the nearest construction site directly through my forehead and out the other side of my skull, please? Thanks.

“Oh, God.”

She weeps softly. I hand her a tissue.

“Denise, I had no idea. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

I just want to die. I want to make myself screwdriver-thin and shear my head off in the pencil sharpener. I know there is a downside to being such a hard-ass, but I’ve never run into anything like this.

**********

Tuesday, March 15, 2005, 11:30am
Steve’s office

“This is Steve.”

“Steve! Brian here!”

“Hey there, Brian! How goes it?”

“Very well, thanks, you?”

“Great. So what’s on your mind?”

“Well, Susan’s school is putting on a play this Friday night. Just a little thing the kids are doing for Easter. We were wondering if you and Steph wanted to come, and then we could do dinner afterwards.”

“Brian, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“OK. THAT sounds serious.”

“Steph and I heard you guys….boinking.”

Long pause. “Ahh, shit.” He says softly. “She’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“She’s gonna kill you?”

“Susan told me you guys were gonna wake up. I told her we’d be quiet. And I was, but…”

“I appreciate you offering to let us stay, but it was pretty awkward hearing that.”

I don’t actually give a shit about hearing them screw. I didn’t really mind; if anything, it got me off. The thing is, they didn’t KNOW that when they did it. It wasn’t respectful of them, and to let it pass without saying anything would set the tone for the rest of our friendship.

“Steve, I am so sorry. I apologize. I would understand if you guys didn’t want to see us anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just remember, the next time we’re asleep in the same room, we WILL take revenge.”

“Ha ha ha! I’ll remember to have my video camera handy.”

Our new couple coupling friends

I lived in a dorm for two years in college. I also lived in a one-bedroom apartment, and in a fraternity house. With the exception of the latter, sleeping quarters were extremely cramped, and I spent more than a few awkward, sleepless hours trying not to make too much noise as a roommate pounded away at some writhing, moaning teenage co-ed.

I'm not going to lie to you: It was very hard knowing that I couldn't get laid, and hearing my roommate stick it to someone 10 feet away. It just reminded me how pathetic my situation truly was at the time.

Nowadays, when I'm in the same room with a couple who is fucking, I almost always end up following suit with whomever happens to be next to me. I love the idea of two couples going at it at the same time; call it "sin synergy".

It feels very awkward listening to Brian and Susan having sex. On the one hand, this is their room and it's certainly within their rights to pork each other's brains out. On the other, why offer to let us stay? I was all set to get a room for Steph and me, and they insisted that we stay with them. And now this? I'm actually kind of angry.

"Don't stop," Susan says, in a barely-audible whisper. I don't look directly, but I can see movement to my left, and I hear the soft whisper of bodies against sheets.

Maybe this was intentional. Maybe they WANTED us to come up here, wanted us to hear them fucking, wanted us to get off on it, and maybe even join them.

Doubt it. If they were true swingers, they probably would have propositioned us a lot earlier than this, instead of waiting for us to go to sleep. It seems to me that they just got horny, and they're hoping that we won't hear.

"Ughhh..." Susan moans, gutturally. The activity becomes more feverish. I can't NOT look anymore; I turn my head just slightly to the left and focus on them as my eyes adjust to the dark.

Her knees are in the air, poking up from under the white sheets like two snow-capped mountains. Brian's ass rises and falls rhythmically atop her. His movements are big and exaggerated, as if he's fucking her with a baseball bat-sized dick. He must be hung pretty well.

"Ah, shit-" Brian moans. I hear the slapping of flesh against flesh and the frantic rustling of sheets as their sex builds to a crescendo.

I reach down and grab my cock. It's hard and throbbing. I actually consider waking Steph up and letting her hear them. I wouldn't even ask her to have sex; I would just let her hear them, then let nature take its course. But a deal is a deal, and I really think abstinence will help us. Maybe I'll be able to just go to sleep.

"Don't stop! That feels SO good!" Susan moans under her breath. The bed springs squeak subtlely in rhythm with Brian's thrusts.

He stops. "Ugh. UGGGGGHHHHHH!" He moans, collapsing onto her. I can see her legs crossed around his back under the sheets.

**********

Sunday, March 13, 8:30am

My eyes open. I turn to my left. Brian and Susan are wide awake, beaming as they flip through TV channels.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" Susan says. "You guys LOVE to sleep, don't you?"

Yeah, and you guys love to FUCK. With an audience!

"How long have you been up?" I ask.

She looks at Brian. "Hour and a half?" He nods. "We went down and worked out already. Is Steph awake?"

"Mmmmmmm," says Steph. We all laugh.

"You guys want breakfast? We're gonna do room service! It's my treat!"

"No way, man. You let us use your room. I'm not letting you treat us."

"Steve, I saw the tab for the drinks that you paid for. We're TREATING you!"

Why not? It was over $100, after all. "Steph, you hear that?" I say.

This hotel definitely gets breakfast right. My eggs are light and fluffy; the bacon lean and crispy, and the OJ smooth and tart.

From the corner of my eye, I see Brian and Susan whispering to each other and looking uneasily up at us. I wonder if they figured out that I was awake, and are going to apologize.

"Would you guys like to go out this weekend?" Susan says.

"Sure," says Steph, looking at me. I lock eyes with her, flashing a little grimace. "I mean, if you're free, Steve."

"I might have something going on."

"Gimme a call in a couple of days," Brian says, handing me a business card. I give him mine.

10:20am. The parking lot is finally clear, and Steph and I are on our way home.

"Do you know what I heard last night?" I say.

"I know. I heard it too," she says.

"Maybe she's just got gas....."

Saturday, March 12, 2005, 1:30pm
Steph's house

"So, where are you taking me on our first date?" Steph says, coming up behind me as I sit at her kitchen table and draping her arms over my shoulders.

"Our first no-sex date?"

"Mm-hm."

"What haven't we done yet?"

"Hmmm."

"I know!" I say. "Skiing!"

"Ahh, good call, Steve! I haven't been in years!"

"Me neither!"

**********

3:00pm
White Cliffs Ski Area, intermediate slope

"How the hell do you stop on these things?" Steph says through chattering teeth, sliding uneasily past me on her skis. It's surprisingly cold and snowy up here, much worse than it was at home.

"I'll tell you as soon as I find out."

She falls. A kid helps her get up. He can't be any more than nine or ten.

"You gotta bend your knees," he says, helpfully. "Bend 'em like this!" He squats so that his butt is almost touching the snowy ground, then straightens up a bit and zooms past us.

I don't like falling while I ski, so I'm very cautious the whole time and don't try anything risky, like exceeding 5 miles per hour.

The only thing that gets me is the chair lift. It's actually tough for me to get up out of it with my skis on, and time after time I fall while doing it. And of course, the chair lift operator has to stop the whole thing while I clambor back to my feet, Bambi-style.

We are getting on the chair lift for the 8th or 9th time when Steph turns to the people in line behind us. "Hope you're not in a hurry," she says.

We ski down the slope again. "Let's go inside," Steph says at the bottom.

Her eyes squint against the fierce winds; her lips are pale and quivering.

We pull off our ski gear and find a loveseat next to a roaring fire. She brings her knees to her chest and presses tightly against me. "I'm so cold," she says.

I rub my right hand against her shins.

"Thank you for treating today," she says.

"Don't worry about it! I just want you to have a good time."

"I like this part better than the skiing part," she says, smiling up at me.

She gets up. "I'm gonna go to the ladies' room. Do you need anything?"

"Yeah. Couple rolls of toilet paper."

She smirks. "Just for that, I'm not getting you any coffee!"

"Cream and sugar!" I call out to her as she walks off.

"Nasty out there, isn't it?" A voice says to my right.

There's a guy sitting on the couch to my right, about six feet tall and thin, with spiky brown hair. He reminds me of Kevin Bacon. He's wearing flannel and jeans and looks very... comfortable.

"Yeah, cold," I say.

"Much better in here," he says, admiring the large brown beams in the ceiling. "I love this place."

"It's nice to come in to from out there, that's for sure," I say, gesturing with my head toward a picture window.

"That your girlfriend?" he says, nodding towards the ladies room.

"Yeah."

"Mine's in there too," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Girlfriend or wife?"

"Fiancee."

"Oh, cool. When's the wedding?"

"Next month. We're just trying to get away for a couple of days."

"That's good."

A tall brunette walks over to him and plops down on the couch. "Hey babe. This is... I didn't get your name."

"Steve." I shake his hand.

"I'm Brian, and this is Susan."

Steph comes back with two coffees and sits next to me. I introduce her.

We talk for hours. It turns out Brian is an engineer and Susan teaches first grade. They have been dating for almost five years.

I look down at my watch and it's almost 8:30.

"We have a hot tub back at the hotel. You guys wanna come join us?"

"We don't have bathing suits," says Steph.

Besides, Steph and I go in my hot tub all the time, and we ALWAYS end up fucking afterwards. It's a guaranteed way to get each other horny, and of course, our new agreement is less than a day old.

"I guess we don't know each other well enough for skinny dipping yet, huh?" Brian laughs.

"How about if we just have a few drinks in the bar?"

"OK!"

We follow them to the hotel and park in an underground lot. The lot is a mess, with slushy, sloppy snow everywhere.

We talk until midnight. I'm starting to get tired. I haven't had much to drink because my stomach is still bothering me, but Steph is pretty loaded. Brian and Susan are, too.

"We probably ought to go," I say.

I look out a window to the parking lot. "Damn! It's still a mess out there."

"They didn't plow yet?"

"Nope. Looks like it's starting to freeze now, too. Why don't we get a room?" I say to Steph.

"No way!" Brian says. "Stay with us! We have an extra bed!"

"Forget it!" Steph says. "This is supposed to be a romantic getaway for you two! Before your wedding! I already feel like we're interfering!"

"Steph, you guys are so awesome," Susan says. "We have loved talking to you all night long! It's fine!"

Steph looks at me. I nod.

**********

Sunday, March 13, 2:00am
Marriott Hotel, room 1233

A funny thing about me when I sleep: If you jostle me, or if there's a loud noise, I might wake up, but if I do, I won't remember the elbow in my ribs or the sound of the glass breaking.

My eyes open. I look around briefly and remember that I am in a hotel room with our new friends. What woke me up?

My eyes slide slowly to the bed next to us.

"Mmmmmmmmmmm," I hear Susan say.

Be careful what you wish for

Saturday, March 12, 2005, 12:00pm
Steph's house

"You want to WHAT?"

"Go without sex for a month."

"Why?"

"You're not emotionally ready, right?"

"Umm, not completely."

"So there you go."

"No way, Steve."

"So you don't want to do it, and you don't want to go without."

"Where did you get this idea?"

"I had a psych professor in school, Dr. Madison. He was a therapist for a while. And he had this married couple as patients, where the guy didn't want to have sex. And they were working on their problems with him, and when they started getting better, he said, 'You two are not allowed to have sex until I say so'."

"Reverse psychology."

"Kind of. Telling them they couldn't do it made them want to do it more. But also it took the pressure off."

"How so?"

"The wife didn't have to worry about whether or not she was gonna get any; she wasn't. And the husband didn't have to worry about whether he was going to have to do it, becuase he wasn't."

"So that gave them time to work on their issues."

"Right."

"I don't like this idea."

"Why?"

"You won't be able to do it."

"Thanks, Steph."

"Seriously! It's gonna make you very angry, and you're gonna resent me. I've already put you through hell."

"How am I gonna resent YOU when it was my idea?"

"You're gonna resent me for not being ready."

"Would you let me worry about that, please?"

She sighs. "Well, I mean, you can still masturbate, right?"

"When Dr. Madison did this he told them they could masturbate once per week each."

"That's IT?"

"Otherwise, they'd just whack off constantly and defeat the purpose. Oh, and kissing is ok, but no touching of genitals."

She stares at me, her eyes narrowed. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"The ONLY reason I am considering this is because I could use the time to build up trust with you again. It would be nice to.... go out on dates with you without that hanging over us."

"So let's do it then."

"You're not lasting a month," she says.

"I'll last longer than you."

"..and thus, the fat jokester gets his comeuppance..."

April 1, 1985, 9:20am
Our Lady of Mercy Junior High School, room 203
Mr. Bellhorn's English class

"Hey! Let's turn our desks around!" I say to a few of my fellow students. "So we're facing the back of the room! For an April Fool's joke!"

"OK!" says my friend Sean. "Hey guys!" he says, "We're gonna turn our desks around. Hurry up, before Mr. Bellhorn gets here!"

A rumble of activity fills the classroom as kids hurriedly turn their desks 180 degrees and sit hastily in their chairs.

The door opens, then silently closes. He's here.

My heart races. I wonder what he's going to say!

"WHAT is going on here?" Mr. Bellhorn shouts. He's actually got a pretty bad temper, when provoked.

The room is eerily silent. I can actually hear the clock on the wall ticking.

"I MEAN it! What the heck are you people doing?!"

"Ah, we, ah, wanted to play a little ..... joke on you," says my friend Eddie, who sits in the front row, in the seat closest to the door.

"A JOKE? Is defacing school property a JOKE to you?"

I know, I know. No one defaced anything. It didn't matter. None of us had anything remotely close to the balls required to argue with a teacher. Especially a pissed-off one.

"I-I-It was just a joke," he says meekly.

"I DON'T FIND IT FUNNY!" he screams. A couple of us jump in our seats. I turn around and look at Mr. Bellhorn over my shoulder. His face is red, his eyes wild with anger.

"You all have demerits. Now TURN your desks around and let's get to work!" Metal desk-legs creak and scrape loudly against the tiled floor.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, a demerit is technically a form of punishment, but our school used it as a sort of Scarlet Letter. It was a mark of Cain, something that you didn't live down for months afterwards.

Demerits brought great shame to all who received them. Once you received one, you became That Kid Who Got the Demerits. Urban legends were handed down from upperclassmen about students who had been caught smoking, or breaking in to the school after hours, and who had received FIVE demerits on the SAME DAY! We all listened silently, touching our chins, and wondered how ANYone could be so misguided as to behave so deviantly.

And now all of us are going to get one. Mr. Bellhorn is pretty liberal with his demerits, but I don't think he's ever done anything like this before. It crosses my mind that he could be joking, but I saw his face, and he truly was angry. When I see him reach for that terrifying little pink pad and start writing, my heart sinks. He's not kidding. We're all getting demerits.

I am done now, socially. I'm an adolescent outcast, a playground pariah. No one will speak to me anymore. Parents will tell their children to avoid me. Teachers will tell future underclassmen about that wayward boy who managed to blacken the reputation of an entire class singlehandedly.

I feel bad for my classmates, too, especially the dorky, bespectacled ones who do nothing but study and work hard. Sure, they turned their desks, too, but peer pressure can be a tough thing at this age. They are treated like shit by the other students; at least they know that they are academically successful, and that they never get into trouble. Now, they'll be bringing a little two-inch by two-inch slip of pink paper home for their parents to sign. And their mothers will probably die of heart attacks.

"M-Mr. Bellhorn?" Says Ralph, one of the brainy front-row dorks (I was a fat, back-row dork). "I've never been in trouble before. I was just doing it because everyone else did it-"

That poor bastard. He's terrified. He's actually worked up the balls to plead his case in front of everyone, because he's that scared of getting in trouble.

"If everyone else was jumping off a bridge, would you do that TOO?" Shouts Bellhorn.

That's a cliche now, a bad joke that we've all used a thousand times. But back then, none of us had heard it before, and it struck terror into our hearts, because in an instant, it made us realize that we had no excuse. It was wrong to do what we did, and the mere fact that everyone else had done it did not help us at all.

We take turns reading aloud, as we always do in class, but our minds are elsewhere. Each student's voice is weak and shaky, as if reading scripture at a funeral. It's the longest 50 minutes of my life.

10:10am. The bell rings.

"Leave the classroom row by row," says Mr. Bellhorn. "I'll hand you your demerit on the way out."

I'm one of the last kids out the door. I make eye contact with Mr. Bellhorn briefly. "See you tomorrow, Steven."

"Bye," I manage.

I have never seen a demerit up close before. I glance down at it.

DEMERIT STUB, it says at the top, in cold, black letters. My name and Mr. Bellhorn's name are written in the appropriate places. At the bottom, it says "REASON", followed by three black lines.

Two kids laugh out loud somewhere to my right. I wish I had something to laugh about. But my life as a junior high schooler is over.

I don't want to read the reason. It's going to be a stark reminder that this was MY fault. It's going to confirm my total lack of decorum and common sense. I should have KNOWN that Bellhorn would blow up at us! I'm an idiot!

I finally work up the courage to read the reason. I look down at the demerit stub.

"Happy April Fool's Day, Steven" it says.