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Great. “What if I put a poultice on it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dorothy says.
“What if I feel just fine today?” And I realize that I do. Completely fine. I can’t believe that wasn’t the first thing that I thought of this morning.
“Then maybe it wasn’t a bad sunburn,” Dorothy says. “Still, keep an eye on your moles.”
“Eye on moles, check,” I say. “Anything else?”
“Don’t encourage her,” Jolene says to me sternly. “I know you came last night, so spill.”
Is she like Eleven from Stranger Things, but a pervert—able to remotely smell some sort of post-orgasm funk from a thousand miles away?
“There is nothing to say.” Should I pretend the connection’s cut off?
“I see,” Jolene says. “You met a guy, but you didn’t hook up with him. You checked your own undercarriage instead.”
WTF. Jolene is in real danger of getting experimented on by those creepy scientists from Hawkins Lab. “How could you know that?”
“And why do I have to know it?” Dorothy demands. “What a woman does below the belt is?—”
“Shut up,” Jolene cuts in. Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “You have ten seconds to describe the guy, or I start detailing my Pornhub searches to Dorothy. One.”
Seriously?
“Two. You know she might be scarred for the rest of her prudish life. Three.”
Even though I’m morbidly curious about Jolene’s scandalous searching, I take pity on Dorothy and tell them about meeting Evan and everything that followed—skipping only the part about the manual release when I got to my rental. Throughout, they both squeal—which is normal for Jolene but is as unnatural for Dorothy as ballet is for a hippopotamus.
“So let me get this straight,” Jolene says. “He saved your life and made you a gourmet dinner, yet you still didn’t give him any?”
Dorothy’s eyebrows go high up on her forehead. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but she’s right. If any situation calls for lewd rewards, it’s this one.”
These two agree on something, again? Maybe pigs can fly—assuming their friend also goes on vacation and doesn’t sleep with the first boar she meets.
Jolene chuckles. “Lewd? You make it sound like Brooklyn should have her surfer come into a cup for a year before bukkakeing herself.”
Hmm. That’s awfully specific.
“Bu-what?” Dorothy demands. “Wouldn’t she get sick from drinking something with protein after collecting it for that long?”
Jolene purses her lips. “Not if she freezes it every time to avoid spoilage, obviously. Then, on B-day, she could defrost it all and gulp it down while he watches. Still more hygienic than a gangbang.”
“Gulp?” Dorothy’s forehead seems to permanently develop a wrinkle. “As in?—”
“Even if I were to offer, Evan would refuse any lewd rewards,” I interject. “He said he doesn’t do anything with tourists, and that’s what I am.”
I don’t mention the practicalities of being on my period, as that would sound like I’ve seriously considered doing things with Evan, which I totally haven’t.
Having said that, my period does seem to be over today—a bit early too, probably because my uterus likes Evan so much it’s decided not to stand in the way of any lewd rewards.
“Show me a guy not into bukkake, and I’ll show you an asexual,” Jolene says. “Guys love to get cum into and onto their sexual interests as often as possible.” She locks eyes with me. “Are you sure he didn’t put some into that poultice?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I would’ve noticed.” And maybe not minded.
“I think I’m going to have nightmares.” Dorothy finally moves the phone a bit lower, so you can see the fear in her eyes. “If this was you filtering yourself, how bad are your Pornhub searches?”
Great question. Before I can also ask, a cat jumps onto my chaise, scaring the bejesus out of me—and I don’t even know what a bejesus is.
