by Tara Sivec
The bar patrons cheer again and I refrain from punching Alex in the arm when I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I stare in confusion at the text I just got.
I wasn’t really in the mood for a bachelor party, but Alex would have slit my throat if I denied him the chance to take me out for one last night of debauchery before my wedding. Even though he couldn’t decide on any place to go tonight and we’ve all been paying for his drinks instead of the other way around, it was still nice to get out and not have to think about everything that’s been bothering me.
And then I had a few beers, got a little buzzed, and turned into a giant pussy who couldn’t have fun at his own bachelor party and just kept thinking about how I should have done whatever I could to make time to talk with Noel this past week. I can blame it on working overtime, I can blame it on Reggie not getting me home from illegal firework trunk shopping until three in the morning, I can blame it on not wanting to say anything that will upset Noel when she’s already stressed, I can blame it on having nightmares about Turd Ferguson every night, and I can blame it on always having to keep a constant vigil whenever I get out of my car to protect my legs from further attack. I can blame it on a whole shitload of things, but it all boils down to me being a chicken shit.
Under normal circumstances, the text I just received would have made me laugh, but right now, it just sobers me up, confuses me, and makes me wish I would have stayed home tonight, sucked it up, and talked to Noel.
Aunt Bobbie leans over my shoulder and reads the text, laughing as she reaches behind me and pats Alex on the back.
“Sorry, sweet cheeks, looks like Scheva wants to chew on Sam’s dick instead,” she tells him.
Reggie moves Aunt Bobbie aside and looks at my phone as well, lifting his head to glare at me while he drinks his beer.
“I swear to God, I have no idea why Scheva sent this to me,” I plead with him, as Alex too moves in close and reads the text out loud.
“Hey. It’s me. Not her. Do you like Amish people? Circle yes or no. I want to eat your dick like a stick of butter. I have to pee. Come help me hold up my dress. You can watch me pee and we can talk. We’ll call it Tinkle Talk. Love, Me. Not her. Definitely not her.”
No one says a word until Reggie polishes off his glass of beer, slams it down on the bar behind us, and flicks my ear with his finger.
“OW! What was that for?” I complain, rubbing my stinging earlobe.
“What have I told you about eating butter or any other dairy product all over God’s creation before you’re married?” he asks.
“Um, that you’ll cut off my dick and beat me with the bloody stump?” I ask tentatively.
“Exactly,” Reggie nods. “Do you want me to cut off your dick and beat you with the bloody stump?”
I shake my head. “No, sir. I do not want you to cut off my dick and beat me with the bloody stump.”
“Reggie, darling, you do realize that Sam and Noel live together, right? They’ve been cohabitating since February. I’m pretty sure there’s been so much dairy consumption in that house, that we’re now on a nationwide shortage because all the cows in the world have died from being milked dry,” Aunt Bobbie tells him with a laugh.
“They live in separate bedrooms, at opposite ends of the house, and Noel puts a padlock on her door every night before she goes to bed like a good daughter. Isn’t that right, Sam?” Reggie asks with a threatening raise of one eyebrow as he stares me down.
“Yep, you are absolutely correct. I even went out and bought her two more padlocks just to be safe,” I add.
“And this is why I’m able to sleep at night and why you’ll be able to walk down the aisle and marry my daughter without being dickless. Nobody likes a dickless groom, Sam. Nobody.”
Reggie turns away from me, pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket, and tosses it on top of the bar.
“Drinks are on me since dumbass over there conveniently forgot his wallet,” he announces, nodding his head in Alex’s direction. “I’m getting a cab home before this Viagra wears off. Bobbie, you’re in charge of these two shit-for-brains. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
With those parting words, Reggie pushes his way through the crowd and heads outside to hail a cab.
“So, are you going to answer that text? Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I totally know it wasn’t from Scheva,” Alex reassures me, tossing back the shot of whiskey the bartender just placed in front of him.
“Of course he’s going to answer the text. And how do you know it wasn’t from Scheva?” Aunt Bobbie asks him.
“Because Scheva isn’t in to the whole Golden Shower thing, that’s how I know. We tried it once, it didn’t end well.”
“You snuck into her bedroom window in the middle of the night when you were hammered, pissed on her while she was sleeping because you thought her bed was the bathroom, and she punched you in the jaw,” I remind him.
“Exactly! She totally wasn’t into it. Case dismissed.”
Aunt Bobbie grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around to face her on my barstool.
“Even though that message was the definition of a drunk text, you can still read between the lines,” she says. “Noel wants to talk and I can tell by the Debbie Downer face you’ve had all night that you want to talk to her too.”
Reaching back, I set my full glass of beer on the bar that is now piss warm after I’ve sat here for so long holding it.
“We’ve been avoiding a few things we need to talk about and I know I can’t do that anymore. It’s not healthy,” I admit.
“At least you learned something from all those girly romance books you read,” Alex laughs.
“Hey! They aren’t girly. They are very informative about what goes on in the minds of women. And none of those books are anything like what’s going on with me and Noel.”
Yes, I have an addiction to reading romance novels. Yes, Reggie found my stash of books back in February, assumed I was gay, and announced it to the family by dumping the bag of paperbacks all over his living room floor. Sure, Noel didn’t mind one bit and even bought me a Kindle for Valentine’s Day so I wouldn’t have to lug a bunch of books around, but like I said, nothing in those romance novels compare to our current issue.
Fine, so in pretty much all of those books, there’s some sort of communication breakdown. Secrets are withheld for whatever reason, the couple gets into a huge fight when they misconstrue something, they break up, someone almost dies or someone else starts slutting themselves all over the world to make the other person jealous, etcetera, etcetera, everyone finally finds out the truth, they get back together and live happily ever after.
See? Nothing like me and Noel.
Sure, I haven’t told her the reason why my dick stopped working because until I got my prescription changed, I wasn’t sure it would ever work again and I didn’t want to worry her. And yeah, maybe now that I’m on the new pills and am pretty confident my dick can finish the job going forward, I’m still freaked out that the damage has already been done. Noel is sufficiently losing her mind about it, and she’s too afraid to tell me she doesn’t want to marry me.
No one cheated on anyone with half the town, no one had a secret love child, and no one killed anyone and went to prison, only to find out it was all a mistake and they were framed. Okay, so I sort of killed Turd Ferguson, but he’s alive now, isn’t he? A little brain-damaged and a whole lot psychotic-as-fuck, but he’s alive. And sure, I kind of feel like I live in a prison since I’m always running in fear and have to carry a shiv to pry his mangy body away from trying to chew off my leg, but it’s not like actual prison.
“Shit. I need to go talk to Noel,” I mutter, all of my thoughts melting together in my brain until all I can think about is how stupid I am and how I need to fix things before Noel cheats on me, gets pregnant with my best friend’s child, and I shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
Jumping off my stool, I don’t even bother saying good-bye
to Alex and Aunt Bobbie. I jog through the crowd of people, burst through the front door, and hail a cab.
* * *
Closing Reggie and Bev’s front door behind me as softly as I can, I tiptoe slowly down the hall, thankful that someone left the light on in the kitchen so I can see where I’m going.
“WHERE’S MY BUTTER, MOTHERFUCKER?!”
“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I shout at the top of my lungs when Scheva jumps out from behind the living room wall, holding her hands up like she’s going to karate chop me.
“Oh, sorry, Sam. I thought you were Mr. Yoder. Did he come with you? Did he bring our butter?” she asks, looking around me and toward the front door.
“Where’s Noel?” I ask, not even wanting to get into a butter discussion with her since I’m still confused by the text Noel sent from Scheva’s phone earlier.
“She’s really upset. I think she’s in the bathroom crying,” Scheva tells me distractedly, still looking behind me at the front door.
“Shit! She’s crying? Is it because of me? Where is she?” I ask in a panic.
Scheva laughs, finally looking away from the door to smack me in the chest with a limp, drunken hand.
“No, silly! She’s crying because I may or may not have burned her cell phone. Or she might be crying because she really has to pee and can’t figure out how to do it. Now that I think of it, she might not be crying at all. I think that was me who was crying, actually. I’m gonna go throw up now.”
She turns and runs down the hall and up the stairs, and I wait until I hear the upstairs bathroom door close before I go in search of Noel.
I get to the kitchen when I hear a muffled voice coming from behind the closed bathroom door right across from it. I press my ear to the wood and smile when I hear Noel’s soft voice.
“Since when do women get stage fright? The fuck, urethra? Why have you forsaken me?”
I knock softly, keeping my voice down when I call Noel’s name, even though there’s probably no point since Scheva’s butter war cry and my scream probably woke up the entire neighborhood.
“Sam? Is that you? I need assistance,” Noel speaks from the other side of the door.
Turning the handle, I push it open and stop in the doorway at the sight in front of me.
“Can you close the door, please? This is probably something my parents don’t need to witness.”
Moving further into the bathroom, I gently close and lock the door behind me, wondering what the hell I’m looking at and why I’m so turned on.
Noel is standing up in front of the toilet, wearing nothing but a hot pink pair of lacy boy shorts with a mouth-watering amount of ass cheek showing and a matching hot pink lace bra. She twists her body at the waist to face me and my eyes immediately drop to her nipples that I can see through the lace. My eyes then trail down the front of her body to stare in confusion and whatever it is she’s holding in front of her crotch.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she tells me.
“It looks like you’ve pulled aside the crotch to your underwear and you’re holding a rubber funnel that sort of looks like a dick against your pussy.”
She nods, turning her body back to face the toilet.
“Okay, so it’s exactly what it looks like. It’s called a SheWee and Scheva ordered it for me online. It’s a funnel for women so we can pee standing up like men, but I think it’s broken,” she explains, shaking her ass and bouncing up and down on her feet.
“I have no idea what is happening right now, but my dick is hard,” I whisper.
“Quick, say something wet and watery. I have to pee so bad I think I’m going to die,” she whines, staring down at the SheWee in her hands.
Doing what every man was taught to do at an early age, I lean over to the sink and turn the dial for the cold water. As soon as it starts rushing out of the faucet, Noel moans loudly, her eyes close and her head drops back.
I stare in awe, wondering why witnessing this isn’t weird, as Noel holds the narrow end of the funnel that looks like a dick, pee flying out of it and into the toilet. She swirls her hips and shakes the end of the dick funnel when she’s finished, exactly like a dude with a penis.
She lets out another contented sigh, opens her eyes, and leans forward to flush the toilet.
“Look at that? I did it with my eyes closed and didn’t get one drop on the seat. Now you tell me, how do men who have penises all their lives, manage to piss all over the seat, the walls and the floor, with their eyes open?” she asks.
“I have no idea,” I tell her. “But I really want to fuck you right now. Is that weird? I think it should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird.”
Noel pulls the funnel away from her and tosses it into the sink, leaning around me to turn off the faucet.
“I don’t know. I’ve never peed standing up in front of a guy before. Maybe you should pee in front of me so I can see if I get turned on,” she suggests.
“Okay, now that sounds weird.”
“Fine, let’s just have sex then. I threw up all the vodka already so I’m good to go. And don’t worry if you can’t finish. I don’t care if your penis doesn’t find me attractive anymore, I still want to marry you. Just don’t die, okay? And don’t hate my family and haunt us forever if you do die and you’re all pissed off at us when you go to heaven.”
She takes a step toward me and even though my dick is still hard from whatever the fuck I just saw, I gently wrap my hands around her upper arms and stop her from pressing her body against mine.
“I really hope you meant it when you said you threw up all the vodka, because we need to talk and I don’t want you to be too drunk and out of it for this,” I tell her softly.
“Right. Talk. I forgot we needed to do that,” she mumbles. “Quick, ask me a question I’d know if I was sober”
“What’s thirty-five times seven?” I ask.
“Oh, my God! I said a question I’d know if I was sober. Two plus two is potato and math is stupid,” she complains.
“Fine, do you still love me and want to marry me?” I question in a low voice.
“Absolutely, without a doubt, one-hundred percent,” she immediately answers.
“Excellent, let’s go to the living room and talk.”
I kiss her forehead and grab her hand, lacing my fingers through hers as I open the bathroom door and pull her out into the hallway.
“Just don’t let me forget about the SheWee in the sink. I don’t want mom thinking it’s a kitchen funnel and use it for the sugar for lemonade.”
Chapter 11
Country Crock
Noel
Thankfully, all the vodka I puked up earlier and the hours of pee I’d been holding that I finally got rid of helped a whole hell of a lot toward getting me sober. I’m still a little buzzed, but the room isn’t spinning, I can understand the things coming out of my mouth and they actually make sense.
My only problem at the moment is that I am now at the stage of all-night vodka consumption called “Drunk Crying.” Now that Sam and I are sitting on the couch in my parents’ living room, I’m facing him with my legs crisscrossed on the cushions and Sam’s arm is draped next to me over the back of the couch, I want to bawl like a baby. He smiles at me and I want to cry. His thumb brushes back and forth against the back of my shoulder and I want to cry. He smiles at me and the dimples in his cheeks make me want to cry.
Vodka is evil, and I’m never drinking it again.
“So, what should we talk about?” I ask with a forced smile, feeling like an idiot as soon as the words leave my mouth.
His arm moves from the back of the couch and he cups my cheek in his hands.
Yep, you guessed it, I want to cry. My eyes immediately fill with tears and Sam quickly leans forward and presses his lips to mine, pulling back to rest his forehead against mine.
“Please tell me this is the alcohol making you cry and not me,” Sam mutters.
“It’s definitely the alcohol. Vodka and I are br
eaking up and it’s been rough.”
He chuckles, pulling his head back to look into my eyes.
“Twice now, you’ve made a comment about me dying. What is that all about?” he asks, jumping right into things without giving me any more time to prepare myself or think about what I want to say so it doesn’t come out sounding completely stupid.
I close my eyes for a few seconds and take a deep breath for courage. Acting like an adult for once, I open my eyes back up to look at Sam instead of keeping them squeezed shut and pretending like if I can’t see him, none of this will be awkward.
“I found your prescription in the medicine cabinet a few weeks ago,” I admit. “I’m sorry, I should have told you but it freaked me out.”
He nods and lets out the breath he was holding, waiting for me to answer him.
“You have nothing to apologize for. That prescription wasn’t a secret or anything, and I should have told you about it a long time ago. I’m glad you were just freaked out by reading the side effects and you didn’t think my dick just stopped working for no reason.”
My eyes widen and he quickly keeps talking before I can say anything.
“It’s fine, it’s totally fine, Noel. You don’t have to feel bad for worrying about something like that. I’m sorry reading those side effects upset you, and I’m sorry for ever making you think I had this problem because I didn’t want you,” he explains. “I always want you. Every minute of every day. I get it though. I get why you freaked out and you’ve been acting weird. You want kids. I want to give you kids. It’s understandable that you had second thoughts about marrying a guy who you thought might not be able to give them to you.”
When he stops talking, it takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he just said.
“Wait a minute, you’ve been thinking this whole time that just because of one little issue, I wouldn’t want to marry you?” I ask him in shock.
“Well, when you don’t have all the details, it’s kind of a big issue. And you didn’t have all the details and I was too much of a pussy to give them to you because I was afraid it would give you the opportunity you’d been waiting for to call everything off,” he rambles nervously.
