Can't Text This (Texting, #3)

by Teagan Hunter

“Is Uncle Zach dying?” Xavie calls out from the living room. “We hope so! I think I’m in his will.” “Yay, money!”

“Oh! Finger-banging, huh? That makes more sense than fisting on the first date.” “Or fisting ever.”

“Who you texting, Dad?” “Business.” “Business?” “Yeah, none of yours.”

“Be good. Be smart. Be kind.” “Be good. Be smart. Be kind,” he repeats.

“Hey!” she calls when I step out. “I heard you finger-banged some girl in the bathroom of a bar.” “I fucking hate your boyfriend.”

Python: Fine, I’ll say it: I touched your pussy, Monty. I led you into the bathroom, kissed you senseless, and rubbed your clit until you were panting in my ear, and you liked every damn second of it. You came undone from my touch alone. Your hair was wild and your eyes full of satisfaction. Your cheeks burned a scarlet red and I can’t fucking stop thinking about it. Python: I want to see you come again. BAD. Python: I know I said I’d stop but I couldn’t help it, not when you keep talking around it like you didn’t enjoy it just as much as I did.

Monty: Hi Robert Cross. I’m Montana Andrews. Even though you’ve already had your tongue down my throat and your hand up my skirt, it’s nice to officially meet you.

Me: Is it possible to die from rolling your eyes so hard? Python: You texted back, so apparently not.

Python: I miss naps so much. I regret not taking every single nap I was told to when I was a kid. If I could turn back time…

Python: You kidding me? I’d never judge. That woman has to be a goddamn vampire or some shit though. Doesn’t look like she’s aged a day. Me: I’ve thought that myself a time or two. Python: I knew I liked you for a reason.

Python: A bunny. Me: No way! Bunnies are SO cute! DO IT! Python: But they poop. Me: Everybody poops. Except girls. We don’t do that. Python: Riiiiight.

Python: My, Monty, did you just ask me to have ANAL sex with you? We haven’t even had REGULAR sex yet. You dirty little thing you. Me: And we never will if you keep this up. Python: Okay, I’m done.

Python: I’ll trade you my pudding for your cookie. Python: Oh man. If you’re sick and twisted that could be a really gross joke. Python: I’m sick and twisted enough as it is. Me: EW! ROBBIE! Python: Did you get it? Pudding = love juice and cookie = love canal. Me: Did you just call my vagina a love canal? Python: Um, possibly. Me: Remind me why I still talk to you?

Python: Excuse me, Queen is CLASSIC, and the music I like, which I know you enjoyed too, is based on TALENT. Freddie Mercury is the epitome of talent. Queen is lucky to have had him.

Me: Thumbelina Bruce Wayne Cross Python: You’re kidding. Me: … Python: Oh wow. You’re NOT kidding. Python: No. HELL NO. Python: Also, what in the actual fuck kind of name is that? Me: I don’t know. Thumbelina is cute and Bruce Wayne is Batman. Why wouldn’t you want to name your pet after Batman? He’s Batman! Me: Come on, Robbie. Just do it. Python: No! Me: What were you going to name her? Python: Sure as hell not Thumbelina Bruce Wayne!

Python: I think it’s my turn to hate you. Me: You named her Thumbelina Bruce Wayne, didn’t you? Python: Yes. Python: It just fits her so well.

“I mean, you’re obsessed with it. You take it to the bathroom with you, and that’s super gross because there are floating poop particles in there.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “If girls pooped, that is.”

“Checking out my fridge too? Damn.” “I had to check for severed heads.” “I keep those in the basement.” I tap the side of my head. “Smart thinking.”

Me: I have two things to say to you, Monts. You ready? Me: #1, it didn’t work. Whatever we did last night, it didn’t fucking work. I’m still thinking about you, and I’m gonna need more—a whole hell of a lot more. Me: #2, you can run, but we’re not done. THIS isn’t done. We clear?

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t stop thinking about you, or your ass, your tits…your kissable-as-fuck mouth.” I chuckle at how far off this conversation just went, in typical Robbie fashion. “Or your off-the-wall personality and stupid sexy grandma outfits, which is kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

“I know this was supposed to be light and fluffy and fun or whatever, but it’s evolved. I want more than that. I want stability. I want real. I want you.”

Python: I’m gonna pencil into you. Python: Wait. No. Python: I think I just compared my dick to a pencil, and we both know it’s more like a Pringles can.

Me: P.S. You’re my favorite flavor of Pringles. 5535756841 Python: Wow. You suck too. Me: I do, but you know that. Python: OH FUCK. Montana Andrews, did you just make a BLOWJOB joke? You little

“I could always eat your taco.” He winks and takes another bite of his food. I stare up at him in disbelief. “I meant your puss—”

“I’m saying you’re sexy as fuck, Monts, and I don’t ever want you to feel like you aren’t. I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t want you because of your self-designated flaws. I love you just the way you are.”

“Monty, put your hand in your goddamn pants or I will rip these sexy-as-sin jeans from your body, turn you around, and fuck you loud and hard in this goddamn photo booth. We’re bound to make a scene. Your choice.”

“For the billionth time, liking hairless cats does not make me weird.”