by K. S. Adkins
As the pit fills in, bodies began pressing into ours, and knowing what to expect, I guard our spaces by any means necessary.
Do you know what gets Taylor hot?
Her husband stepping into a mosh pit.
Do you know what gets her husband hot?
Knowing his wife is watching.
It’s nearly eleven-thirty when Rob Zombie brought the show to a close. Pushing through the crowd with her hand in mine, we make it to the car when she says, “Not too shabby for a school night, huh?”
BT (Before Taylor) I wouldn’t have been out, let alone on a school night.
AT (After Taylor) I give zero fucks about dragging ass at work. I’m the boss, she often reminds me.
Being the boss came with perks, so I enjoyed them.
“Not too shabby at all,” I smile down at her. ”So what’s next?”
Biting her lip she says, “Actually, do you mind if we go home?”
“Of course not,” I say opening her door. “What’s wrong?”
“Cramps,” she winces.
“Do they always hit you this fast?”
“No,” she says easing into her seat. “I’m guessing the pit sped things up a bit.”
On the drive back she was quiet. Obviously in pain and trying to hide it.
After getting her settled in bed, I hand her a glass of water and drop the pills she asked for into her hand.
Crawling in beside her, she curls into me and whispers, “I don’t want to put you through this again, Van.”
“You,” I say fiercely. “Aren’t putting me through anything. If you hurt, then I stay right here doing everything I can to make you not hurt. Even if that means being the recipient of your right hook and screaming.”
“What about when the feelings come?”
“Oh those?” I wave off. “I’m not worried. In fact, I look forward to the sex you’ll give me after the guilt kicks in.”
When she started shaking, I felt like a dick for making her cry and was about to beg for forgiveness. But when she looked up at me and roared loud in laughter, I put both hands on her stomach and promised her, “Just say the word and I’ll sedate you.”
“You really do love me!” she cries out in mock joy.
And so she knew that no man would ever love her more, I reminded her that, “When you’re bloated, I’m bloated.”
When tears filled her eyes, I gently wiped them away and watched her fall asleep on my chest.
After arriving in Punta Cana, we waste no time kicking off our fortieth birthdays bonanza.
Day one, we all share dinner and a few cocktails before finding our respective rooms to pass out. Yesterday, we day drank and lounged by the water watching Pop parasail. You see, when he’s not stoned, he’s tough to keep still. So, after parasailing, he’s rented all of us jet skis, snorkel equipment, and insisted we zip-lined.
We’ve done all of this drunk.
And it was epic.
Last night, we met up again for dinner and drinks, but made it clear our feet would stay on the ground the rest of the trip.
Pop pouted for a bit, but after several rum runners he’s decided to dance himself back to happy. Of course, I joined him. So, brunch today is pretty low-key being all of us are hungover. Because this trip isn’t just a celebration for The Shit hitting a milestone (or brick wall, depending on how you looked at it), it’s also a celebration of family.
I used to think as long as I had my girls, I had everything I needed.
I was wrong.
Turns out, my heart has room for more than just The Shit.
And I realize I had closed myself off to the idea of more.
I think on some level my girls had, too.
We’ve accepted things as they were and almost missed out because we’ve feared change. We’ve feared losing us.
While I couldn’t speak for them, I know I never considered a future having additions in it.
And that right there is the zinger about wishes.
You make them never knowing which will be granted and which won’t.
You simply trust that if it’s meant to be, it will be.
At forty years old, I don’t just have kick ass girlfriends, my love match, and crazy in-laws.
Sugar has Mo, Hillary has Ethan (and his boys), India and Scott have Carly (my perfect niece currently hanging with Scott’s parents) which equated to one hell of a family tree. Feeling the kind of contentment Van’s waited his whole life for, I am a couple of mimosas deep when I ease back in my seat and ask, “Where’s Pop?”
“Oh,” Mom says casually. “He went for a walk.”
“Why?” India asks.
“To find pot,” she shrugs.
“That’s awesome,” Scott chuckles.
“Is that safe?” Mo asks.
“Totally,” I assure her.
“Dad can sniff it out at fifty paces,” Van agrees.
“Pot?” Ethan asks.
Shaking his head, Van explains, “Law enforcement.”
“I hope he gets enough for the group,” Hillary adds.
Glancing to my right, I can see Sugar waiting for her chance to jump rope and with a long exhale, she took it.
“Fine,” Sugar says, throwing her hands up. “I’ll be the one to say what we’re all thinking.”
“Oh, dear,” India mumbles and I bite my lip.
“Let me start by saying we’re all adults here,” Sugar forges forth. “Some of us are even advanced in age.”
“I prefer pensionable or wizened, sweetheart, but keep going,” Mom encourages.
Facing her, Sugar closes her eyes and says, “You’re too loud.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I see I have to spell it out for you,” she sighs. “You and Pop are too loud.”
“When we’re talking?” Mom asks, lighting one of her infamous Capris.
“Really, Carol?” Sugar huffs. “Mo and I have the room next to yours, so you know full well what I mean.”
“Perhaps we aren’t too loud, but you’re too quiet?”
“How can old people fuck so much!” Sugar squeals slapping her palm on the table. “It’s shouldn’t be possible!”
“How much detail can you handle?” Mom fires back.
“Carol,” Mo tries while fighting not to laugh.
“Mo,” Carol counters. “If you will, I like to be addressed as Mom.”
“And I have no issue with that when we aren’t discussing your sex life,” Mo grins. “Being that we are, I don’t want to use the word orgasm, blow job, flexibility, or sixty-nine in the same sentence I put mom in.”
“Understandable,” Mom nods in respect.
“While my Sugar found your hours of play difficult to swallow,” Mo begins.
“She said swallow,” Hillary snorts.
“I found myself intrigued,” she finishes.
“You have questions,” Mom points out.
“Lord knows I do,” Sugar pouts. “Seven orgasms, Carol. Really? Seven? That’s six more than most people!”
“I do have questions,” Mo admits freely, and I love that about her. “When you have time, of course.”
“Then let us girls take a walk,” Mom says standing up. Doing the same, Mo takes her hand to start their stroll.
“Mo,” Sugar wheezes. “Are you serious?”
With the sweetest look of love on her face, Mo whispers to her, “You deserve seven, my Sugar.”
“Why put a limit on it?” Sugar beams. “Let’s shoot for double digits.”
“For you,” she says, leaning in for a kiss. “Anything.”
“Carol does seem to know her shit,” Sugar says dreamily. “Maybe I should come.”
“You’ll come, baby,” Mo vows. “Later.”
Walking off with Carol, Sugar looks at the group and announces, “I love her.”
“You better,” Hillary beams. “Your woman just left on a walkabout with Mom to learn how best to get you off.”
“Isn’t she sweet?” Sug
ar coos.
“We’re happy for you,” Van says, placing a kiss to her forehead. “And in case it matters, my mom does know her shit.”
“CliffsNotes,” India calls out. “Text us all a copy.”
“This is the best vacation I have ever had,” Ethan joins in.
“They’ve been behaving,” Scott points out. “So far.”
“Jet lag,” Van explains. “Once that passes, have your phone ready.”
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes. “We have spa appointments. That’s as safe as it gets.”
I am also full of shit.
“—best idea ever,” Hillary moans as the masseuse works her kinks out. “Who knew an elbow in your ass could be so life changing?”
“Thanks for treating us, Mom,” Sugar says on a yawn.
“Enjoy, girls,” she says in a relaxed voice. “And don’t forget, I have a surprise for you after this.”
“I love surprises,” Mo says stretching.
And before I can agree, my masseuse raises my heel, bends me at the knee and pushes in toward my chest.
Without warning or the chance to shift or clench, it happens. And when it does, the woman who pulled that trigger jumped back a solid five feet.
“Was that—“ Hillary sputters. “I mean, did you –”
“You blew ass on your masseuse!” Sugar erupts in laughter.
Mortified and still fighting off aftershocks, I hide my face and mumble, “I was relaxed.”
“Your asshole sounded like a machine gun!” Hillary coughs out.
“What did you eat?” Sugar gags.
“It’s perfectly natural,” Mom weighs in while plugging her nose.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper.
“—yet, it’s also making my eyes water.”
“Being outside isn’t helping much,” Mo says jumping from the table.
“Babe,” Sugar calls. “Where are you going?”
“To find a fan,” she announces. “It’s…lingering.”
“You know what,” I snap. “You all fart, too.”
“True,” Hillary agrees.
“But not on people,” Sugar adds.
“Uh, Sugar,” Hillary giggles. “It was pretty much in her mouth.”
“I didn’t know she was going to apply pressure!”
“—bet she’ll think twice before doing that again,” Hillary quips.
“I’ve never heard it so loud, like it had bass,” Mom chimes in. “And I live with Evander.”
“I hate you all,” I say with bright red cheeks and a clenched ass.
“You saw me lose my bowels on the birthing table,” India reminds me. “That was pretty embarrassing.”
“You had a baby inside of you,” Hillary adds. “She has no excuse.”
“No fan,” Mo says while rejoining us. “But I might have helpfully suggested they invest in one.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I hedge.
“The fartee never gets grossed out by their own fart,” Hillary informs me. “It’s one of the few favors Mother Nature bestowed upon us. Otherwise, we’d hate ourselves.”
“Is our hour up?” Sugar asks, scanning the room.
Each of us does the same, finding it empty. It’s good to know that even on vacation, we still cleared a room. Or rather, I did.
Wrapped in deluxe bath robes, the six of us wait in the lobby for Mom’s surprise.
Sipping on a mimosa, I watch as two women dressed in scrubs walk in and assess the group. For what, I don’t know, but when one zeroed in on me I feel my stomach bottom out. They look far too clinical for my peace of mind.
“Taylor Church,” she says, glancing at her clipboard.
“That’s me,” I say raising my hand slowly. You know, like I’m about to get detention.
“If you would follow me.”
“Follow you where, exactly?”
“To your room,” she says brightly.
“What kind of room,” I press.
“A private room?” she asks confused.
“Let’s try this,” I offer. “What’s going to take place in this room?”
“Your vaginal steaming,” she says straight-faced.
“Surprise!” Mom calls out.
Whipping around to face her, I tighten the grip on my robe. “You couldn’t have sprung for pedicures or facials? You thought steaming our vaginas was the way to go?”
“I’m not averse to this,” Sugar says evenly.
“I’ll try anything once,” Mo adds, and the two shared a fist bump.
“Mom,” I try. “I take really good care of my vagina, ask Van.”
“So is it like a facial for your puss?” Hillary asks, looking on the bright side.
“That’s a really positive way to look at this, Hillary,” Mom praises her.
“Thanks!” she beams.
“You are not writing about this, Hillary,” I threaten.
“Wanna bet?”
“Mom,” I say getting desperate. “My vagina doesn’t need a detox. It’s a self-cleaning oven.”
“I’m in,” Hillary cuts me off. “Gwyneth Paltrow does it.”
“She also made consciously uncoupling a thing as well, Hill. That doesn’t mean she can be trusted.”
“Do we get to choose flavors?” Hillary asks the woman waiting on me.
“Herbs, yes,” she nods. “Such as rosemary, rose petals, lavender, peppermint, basil, and oregano.”
“My puss would smell Italian?” Hillary pipes up. “Ethan loves Italian.”
“See what you started,” I groan at Mom while wishing Hillary would go back to being miserable.
“Taylor,” the woman beckons. “We’ll begin with you.”
Looking around the room, I blurt, “Why am I going first?”
“You lead, I follow,” India explains. “I’m not a risk taker. I’m all about letting someone else shit the bed so to speak.”
Then Carol, sensing my apprehension, pulls some mom shit and manages to get us all in at the same time.
Now, I will say this, in my life I’ve agreed to far worse and came out fine, so I pay attention.
When explained that the treatment helps with stress, regulating your cycle, bladder infections, cramps, etc…
Saying no seems the neglectful thing to do. I mean, I can’t speak for all vags but I know mine takes some serious abuse.
Hell, in the last two days alone, sitting down without wincing has been a struggle.
Though perching over a pot of tea doesn’t sound glamorous, my vag totally deserves to be pampered.
So, looking down at her, I explain, “You’re getting a spa day.”
After being seated and going over the next steps, I settle in and feel really good about it. Especially since I don’t, in fact, have to squat. Instead, the chair has a cute little hole in it where the steam would rise up and bless my bestie.
Well into the treatment and slowly drifting off, I am brought back to the present when Hillary started yelling, “Am I the only one who has to poop?”
“Totally normal,” Mom yells back. “The pamphlet says so.”
“Can’t speak for anyone else,” Sugar calls out. “But I’m horny right now.”
“Sext me,” Mo encourages.
“My vag is sweating like a whore in church,” India chimes in.
“How are you sweetheart?” Mom calls over to me.
Thinking on it a moment, I answer, “I really needed this quality time with my vagina.”
“Are you one with her now?” she asks back.
“I really think this brought us closer,” I offer truthfully. “And I’m writing Gwyneth a thank you note.”
“If anyone cares, I really have to poop!” Hillary reminds us.
As for me and my lady parts, life is good.
I won’t be able to look her in the eyes when I tell her.
Maybe, I should hit the bar and have a few drinks first, loosen me up.
Dad, Scott, and Ethan are still out horseback riding and I regret not jo
ining them.
Seriously regret it.
Slamming my drink back, I mentally plan how to break the news to my wife.
Yes, she is easy going and found the humor in most things, but this might cross the line.
I love her juggernaut. The chaos and joy it brought me. But I do not want that energy turned against me over this.
Several minutes later, I hear the girls before I saw them. I polish off my drink and prepare to face the music.
“How was your spa day?” I ask kissing her cheek.
“Taylor crop dusted her masseuse,” Hillary blurts helpfully.
“And cleared the room,” Sugar adds.
“I didn’t know gas could be categorized as a thick smell,” Mo adds. “But it can.”
“Thanks, dicks,” Taylor snarls.
“We had a lovely time, flatulence aside,” Mom says, hugging Taylor in support.
“We did,” Taylor agrees. “Mom surprised us with vag steaming.”
“Come again?”
“I’ll explain later,” she smiles up at me. “How was your spa day?”
Luckily the others are too busy ordering drinks to give a shit about my day, so I take her aside.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“Okay,” she says easily. “Let’s walk.”
Escorting her down to the beach, I place two chairs next to each other, yet out of ear shot from any guests. Joining me, she nudges my knee with hers. “Are you okay, Van Wilder?”
“No,” I groan. “I’m really not.”
“Talk to me.”
Here’s hoping she’s in a forgiving mood. “During my massage, I got an erection.”
“And?”
“What do you mean, and?”
“You got hard and then what happened?”
“I stayed that way, Taylor.”
Blinking once, twice, her mouth forms an ‘o’ and she says, “And you’re embarrassed?”
“Little bit,” I squeak out.
“Why?”
Jesus, she is really going to make me say it. Leaning in and checking my surroundings, I confess, “My masseuse was… male.”
Studying me for a moment, I feel the sweat gathering on my neck and lower back while awaiting her judgement. With her, you never know what would set her off or make her laugh. Granted, she doesn’t get mad often, but if this sent her over, I wouldn’t blame her. Letting out a breath, she sighs and says, “What is it with men?”
