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The fair. I hadn’t been to a fair in years. Aside from the funnel cakes there was little reason for my attendance. I hated long lines and didn’t care too much for heights so it was pretty much pointless.
“I’ll probably just hang at the house,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he called out. “You’re goin’ and I’m bringing my buddy Braden.”
“Braden?”
I hadn’t heard of this buddy. I knew all of his friends. Most were either burnout surfers or brain-dead players. He’d hooked me up with a friend once. The guy’s name was Phil. He’s the reason I made the rule that I’d no longer date guys whose names were four-letter words.
He was a wimp in the sheets, a lousy lay. When we broke up I told him he should join the Amish. He’d already grown the funky beard and was as boring as could be. I bought him the hat for Valentine’s Day. He didn’t appreciate the joke. It wasn’t one. So we stopped seeing each other.
“I told you, no more Phils,” I warned.
The sun was starting to beat down and I knew if I was going to finish my jog I’d need to get going.
“No, this guy’s different,” he said as I stood and did one final stretch of my calves.
“Different how?”
“Different as in he actually has a decent job, has a nice car, and is from out of town.”
“Oh great. You mean he’s perfect for a long distance relationship?”
“Are you looking for a relationship, because…no offense Mandy but you were just staring at my Johnson.”
I gasped and put a hand to my chest. I had been staring, and I knew he’d seen me, but that’s one of those things that should never be said out loud. Isn’t there an unwritten rule about that or something? No? Cause there should be.
“I know you don’t want me,” he said with a laugh.
He stood and mimicked me stretching. He reached down and grabbed his dick again, adjusting it.
Oh my God, I looked at it again.
And he knew it.
“But you clearly need to get laid.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Nothing to be ashamed about,” he said. “Everyone needs to get laid from time to time. I mean, hell, if I don’t get it once every couple of days I have to go rub one off.”
“Oh please,” I said.
Telling me about his masturbation habits was finally going a bit too far. He just shrugged and laughed.
“Braden will pick you up at eight.”
“Vince, if this guy shows up at my house at eight, I’m gonna flip.”
Vince walked away singing like a ridiculous schoolboy. “Mandy’s got a date. Mandy’s got a date.”
And there I was lying on my bed in a towel, fresh out of the shower, looking at my closet and trying to imagine what I might possibly wear to go to the book store, because we all know how fashionable one needs to be when surrounded by paperbacks and dust jackets. My eyes were bouncing back and forth between a black top with spaghetti straps and a cute pink sweater—will it be smoldering or freezing in the bestseller aisles—when I heard the first traces of their whoopee next door.
It wouldn’t last long, usually no longer than twenty minutes or so, but Susie always seemed really satisfied.
“No, here, the clasp is in the front,” I heard Susie say with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
Ha, been there!
