the story again, and against my will, I got hot and bothered and I just wanted to go to my room with Mr. Buzzy and relive the experience alone.
“Wow,” Sloane and Chloe said at the same time as I finished my second retelling.
“Yeah,” I said as I sipped my second glass of wine and grabbed another chip from the bowl and dipped it in hummus. Yes, we were classy bitches. We also had salsa, animal crackers a jar of frosting, and carrots and celery with ranch dressing. It was unofficial dip night.
“I’m jealous and I don’t even like penises. You know, the plural should really be peni,” Chloe said, grabbing another chip and popping it into her mouth.
“It should,” I agreed.
“So are you going to make it a regular thing?” Lucas (I’d given up on calling him Mr. Blaine. Once a man’s penis has been inside you twice, you can’t call him that without feeling weird), had asked me the same thing and I really didn’t know the answer. The stakes were pretty damn high, and I wasn’t about to throw my career away on a fuck buddy.
“I don’t know. I should say that I’m going to end it, but I seriously don’t want to. And then I feel horrible for even considering it. I love my job and I would never do anything to put it in jeopardy and oh GOD, if my dad ever found out, I can’t imagine what he’d say.” I shuddered just thinking about it. That would be so much worse than the time I’d gone to an unsupervised party in my teens and gotten drunk and passed out on the front lawn, only to be discovered when the party holder’s parents had come back from Martha’s Vineyard a day early.
“I shouldn’t even be considering if it’s going to happen again. I’m a terrible person,” I said, shoving my face into the couch.
“No, you’re not. You just haven’t gotten laid in a while and you need someone to clean out your pipes,” Sloane said and Chloe and I made identical sounds of disgust.
“It’s times like these that make me glad I’m a lesbian.” We all drank to that.
“I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know what to do, it’s the doing that’s the problem.”
“Actually, it’s the not doing, in this case,” Chloe pointed out.
“Yes, that’s so helpful. Okay, we did it once. It was great and I got it out of my system. But it’s not going to happen anymore. I’m putting my foot down. No more.”
“Hear, hear!” Sloane said. We all toasted again and pretty soon the food trays were empty and so was the second bottle of wine.
“Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy? Why does he have to be my secretary?” I said, peering into my empty wineglass.
“Don’t you mean sexcretary?” Sloane said with a giggle. Two seconds later I joined her and we all giggled helplessly.
“You should make him take a memo,” Chloe added, and even though it wasn’t that funny, we burst further into hysterics over it and then we started with an endless string of dirty office jokes.
“You should ask him if he’ll put his file in your credenza!”
“Defrag your lady system!”
“Put his spam in your inbox!”
After a while we were all laughing so hard that there were tears and we were all gasping and rolling on the floor and I knew that my stomach, in addition to my back (from the vigorous table sex) was going to be sore tomorrow.
“Ass-istant!”
And we were off again.
Chloe had decided to crash on our couch, and getting her up was a chore, even when I wasn’t a little hung over. Stupid wine.
“Get up!” I had resorted to smashing her in the face with pillows. That girl slept like the dead. Seriously, sometimes I had to check her breathing to make sure she was still alive.
She made a groaning sound and rolled off the couch. Well, that was a start.
Sloane was hunched over the coffeepot like Golem over the Ring and she growled at me when I asked her for a cup. I was running late, but I didn’t care as much as I normally would have. There was that “almost late” period
“Wow,” Sloane and Chloe said at the same time as I finished my second retelling.
“Yeah,” I said as I sipped my second glass of wine and grabbed another chip from the bowl and dipped it in hummus. Yes, we were classy bitches. We also had salsa, animal crackers a jar of frosting, and carrots and celery with ranch dressing. It was unofficial dip night.
“I’m jealous and I don’t even like penises. You know, the plural should really be peni,” Chloe said, grabbing another chip and popping it into her mouth.
“It should,” I agreed.
“So are you going to make it a regular thing?” Lucas (I’d given up on calling him Mr. Blaine. Once a man’s penis has been inside you twice, you can’t call him that without feeling weird), had asked me the same thing and I really didn’t know the answer. The stakes were pretty damn high, and I wasn’t about to throw my career away on a fuck buddy.
“I don’t know. I should say that I’m going to end it, but I seriously don’t want to. And then I feel horrible for even considering it. I love my job and I would never do anything to put it in jeopardy and oh GOD, if my dad ever found out, I can’t imagine what he’d say.” I shuddered just thinking about it. That would be so much worse than the time I’d gone to an unsupervised party in my teens and gotten drunk and passed out on the front lawn, only to be discovered when the party holder’s parents had come back from Martha’s Vineyard a day early.
“I shouldn’t even be considering if it’s going to happen again. I’m a terrible person,” I said, shoving my face into the couch.
“No, you’re not. You just haven’t gotten laid in a while and you need someone to clean out your pipes,” Sloane said and Chloe and I made identical sounds of disgust.
“It’s times like these that make me glad I’m a lesbian.” We all drank to that.
“I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know what to do, it’s the doing that’s the problem.”
“Actually, it’s the not doing, in this case,” Chloe pointed out.
“Yes, that’s so helpful. Okay, we did it once. It was great and I got it out of my system. But it’s not going to happen anymore. I’m putting my foot down. No more.”
“Hear, hear!” Sloane said. We all toasted again and pretty soon the food trays were empty and so was the second bottle of wine.
“Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy? Why does he have to be my secretary?” I said, peering into my empty wineglass.
“Don’t you mean sexcretary?” Sloane said with a giggle. Two seconds later I joined her and we all giggled helplessly.
“You should make him take a memo,” Chloe added, and even though it wasn’t that funny, we burst further into hysterics over it and then we started with an endless string of dirty office jokes.
“You should ask him if he’ll put his file in your credenza!”
“Defrag your lady system!”
“Put his spam in your inbox!”
After a while we were all laughing so hard that there were tears and we were all gasping and rolling on the floor and I knew that my stomach, in addition to my back (from the vigorous table sex) was going to be sore tomorrow.
“Ass-istant!”
And we were off again.
Chloe had decided to crash on our couch, and getting her up was a chore, even when I wasn’t a little hung over. Stupid wine.
“Get up!” I had resorted to smashing her in the face with pillows. That girl slept like the dead. Seriously, sometimes I had to check her breathing to make sure she was still alive.
She made a groaning sound and rolled off the couch. Well, that was a start.
Sloane was hunched over the coffeepot like Golem over the Ring and she growled at me when I asked her for a cup. I was running late, but I didn’t care as much as I normally would have. There was that “almost late” period
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