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February 9 - February 11, 2025
It started as a small test. Something to see if I could function as everyone else did, with props, and unholy amounts of alcohol, and...
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Since dogs, unlike humans, were good by nature, they did not question the stranger in their house and reacted with the enthusiasm of a diehard Swiftie.
“We sound feral.” “I prefer the term madly in love.”
trying to feed an apple to Al Capony, who wielded a deep distrust of strangers. He’s still mad you neutered him,
Sweetheart, your house is a glorified porta potty with a curtain of beads partitioning your toilet and kitchen. Another thing her house was? Nonexistent.
“I have a dark side.” “Is this about the butt plugs I saw in the car? Because if so, I’m totally not judging.” “I said I have a dark side, not an awesome side. Pay attention.”
“I’m, um, a…” Serial killer? Art thief? The grim reaper? “…hoarder.”
“It’s madness over there. I’m talking mountains of reuseable bags, empty Costco cardboards, newspapers from the sixties, my used toilet paper collection…” She angled her head sideways. “You have a used toilet paper collection?” “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.”
“Uh-huh. What did you do?” “Why do you assume I did something?” “Because I would never risk our relationship. I’m too crazy about you.”
She was so going to kill me when she got her memory back. Slowly. And painfully. I would probably get turned on by it, but still.
I didn’t buy the hoarder excuse. Oliver had exited the womb a minimalist. Well, as minimalist as a nepo-billionaire could be.
“Compliments to the chef, who managed to make my fiancée sick before she even took a bite.”
“Baby, this cow was grass-fed $500 organic bouquets. Let me assure you, this is the best steak you’ll ever eat.”
“You never seemed to have a problem with my meat.”
“I know. My future wife. Not enough D. The irony is grotesque. But God has a way of making the cruelest jokes.”
“Sweetheart, it is one of the least shocking things I’ve done in the last week,” he muttered. “But I agree. I apologize.”
“Do I have a criminal history?” He choked on his wine. “Only for being criminally hot.”
“You have one tattoo. Hipbone. Fight like a girl. Lobster font. You like it when I trace the letters with my fingertips, one at a time, while I eat you out. You like when I kiss it when I wake you up in the morning and lick you head to toe. You inked it the day you turned eighteen and realized your relationship with your parents was officially over. It was a reminder you don’t need them. That you have yourself.”
She’d become a vegetarian. News to me.
“A man’s shadow is designed to hide a woman’s light. It seeks to contain what it cannot control.”
Her brain turned me on. I wanted to fuck her mouth, knowing all the smart things that came out of it.
“Did you know I can do that?” she murmured around the toothbrush. “Make me cream my pants by simply existing? Sure.”
“What other hobbies do I have?” “Blue-balling me.”
That if she had her full faculties about her, she’d castrate me right now, using a nail clipper to draw out the pain as much as possible.
“However, in the spirit of full transparency, I was not abstinent in the time period we were broken up.” And that time period was fifteen years.
“No sex until you remember.” “Fine…but the second I do, you have to eat me out for forty minutes.”
Calling the last couple days a shit show would offend shit shows all over the world.
“Well, Cuddlebug, I think it’s high time for dinner.” I clapped once, flashing her my winning smile. “Who’s with me?” “Hmm. Toddlers, pensioners, and people who don’t own a watch?”
“Baby, I love you more than porn, pizza, and cold Belgian beer on an August afternoon, but if you don’t pad your stomach with carbs, you’re going to spend the night at the hospital for alcohol poisoning, and that is a lame way to celebrate eighteen years on this planet.”
“I want ravioli. You’re right. I need some carbs in me.” You need some me in you.
I was fine being a nineteen-year-old virgin, but twenty-year-old virgin was stretching it.
“I think we should have sex.” “I think you should eat, drink a gallon of water, and take an eight-hour nap,”
Not sure what difference the presence a nineteen-year-old college kid would make in the hostile takeover of a failing Savannah hotel. They’d survive without me.
Shitfuckdamn.
“You have to release me, or I’ll come all over the ceiling.”
While I didn’t enjoy sleeping around, I did spend a decent amount of time acquainting my dick with my fist.
The second she freed me, I moved her over to her side and erected a Great Wall of Pillows between us to save, well, my erection.
How can exercise be prescribed? It’s not even a drug. In fact, I’ll NEED drugs after this. My ass is on fire.
Where’s Oliver? That was his cue to dump a mediocre anal joke into the chat. Pun intended.
“What are sweans?” “Half sweats, half jeans, and one hundred percent crime against humanity.”
“Babies are surprisingly wrinkly. Speaking of, when are you putting one in me?”
He looped an arm around the back of his wife’s chair, the poster child for Xanax.
“I’m not going to drown if you leave a two-foot radius.”
“Can you guys describe what it was like to meet me for the first time?” “Sure,” Romeo drawled, surprising me. I didn’t expect him to volunteer first. “I remember it like it was today.”
“You’ve known of his existence for point two seconds.” “And what a glorious point two seconds it has been.”
“Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for a living?” “I’m a stay-at-home mom.” “And before?” “A stay-at-home hostage.”
“If you’re ever in the market for an M67 grenade, you know where to find me.”
“I dabble in investments.” “Any companies I know?” “Dot Cum.” “Dot Come?”
What a shit show. It dawned on me that my friends were as reliable as one-ply toilet paper.
Sure, I trusted them to get me to the hospital during a heart attack. Or bulk up my investment portfolio enough to make the IRS weep.
