Troubles and Treats (7 page)

“Holy fucking Wheat Thins. What did you feed this kid?” Jim asks as he brings Billy
over to me, holding him at arm’s length with a look of disgust on his face.  “It smells
like he ate a dead dog covered in vomit and yogurt and then shit it out.”

He puts Billy in my lap and as soon as I get a whiff, I throw up in my mouth a little
and have to hold my breath.

“Jenny stopped breast feeding last week and put him on formula and cereal.  Maybe
that’s it.”

Carter shakes his head.  “That is not what formula and cereal smell like.  That smells
like ball sweat covered in Swiss cheese.”

I place Billy on the floor at my feet and step away from him so I can take a breath.

“Jesus, that is really bad.  How is he smiling?  Can’t he smell himself?  If I took
a dump that smelled that bad I wouldn’t be smiling,” I say.

“Well, at least whatever that was isn’t inside of him anymore.  Imagine the havoc
it was wreaking on his stomach.  He’s probably like, ‘Thank fucking God that shit
is out of me.'  Literally,” Jim says as he plugs his nose and takes a few giant steps
backwards.

All of a sudden, the sound of five little girls screaming bloody murder comes from
the toy room at the back of the house, and ten-year-old Gavin comes running into the
living room with a grin on his face.

“What did you do?” Carter asks him as I dig through the diaper bag for a gas mask
and latex gloves.

“Nothing,” Gavin replies as he flops down on the couch.  “Who farted?  It stinks in
here.”

We all point to the baby.  There is still screaming and crying coming from the toy
room, but at this point we’re all more concerned with the fact that the smell coming
from my son might start peeling the paint off of the walls.

Veronica comes charging into the living room holding a headless, naked Barbie in her
hand.  Behind her is Carter’s six-year-old
Sophia
and Jim’s three daughters, Charlotte who is also six, Ava who is five, and Molly
who is three.  All have tear-stained cheeks and a multitude of naked, headless Barbies
in their hands.

“GAVIN TOOK THE CLOTHES OFF OF ALL OF OUR DOLLS AND POPPED THEIR HEADS OFF!” Charlotte
screeches.

“My dolly has no head!” Ava wails.

“He dr
ew boobies on my Barbie!”
Sophia
cries as she waves the torso of her inked Barbie in front of our faces.

“Hey, those look pretty good.  Nice nipple placement,” I tell him.

“Why does this one have a big red dot in the middle of its chest and a shaved head,”
Jim asks as he grabs the only one with its head still intact that three-year-old Molly
is cradling to her.

“She’s got a third nipple because she was abducted by aliens and they experimented
on her.  The other Barbies shunned her and cut off all of her hair when she went to
sleep,” Gavin explains.

The wails from the five girls grow louder, and we all wince at the sounds they are
producing.

“Oh my God, make it stop!” Carter complains.

“GIRLS!  Calm down!” Jim yells in an effort to be heard.  Living in a house with three
girls and a wife, he is quite the expert at the trials and tribulations of females. 
But even he looks shocked at the amount of noise that is coming out of them.

They begin crying even harder because they think Jim is yelling at them, which in
turn produces snot, dry heaves, and honest to God foot stomping.

“No, no, no!  Please stop crying!” Carter pleads with them, getting down on his knees
so he is eye level with them.

“I WANT MY MOMMY!” Veronica shouts.

And thus begins a half hour chant of “I WANT MY MOMMY” from five little girls.

Instead of calling the wives and admitting to them that we have no idea how to control
the situation, Carter calls his own mother.  She tells him to bribe them with candy. 
Exactly six seconds after he hangs up the phone, each girl has a sucker in her hand
and a smile on her face as they walk back to the toy room to play “Headless Barbie
Princess Parade”.

The peace and quiet lasts exactly fifteen minutes.

I manage to get Billy changed with only a little bit of puke coming up my throat but
then I actually throw up in the kitchen sink when I look down and realize I have some
poop on my finger.  Carter takes over at that point and gives Billy a bottle and rocks
him to sleep.  Gavin is sitting next to Carter on the couch playing his Nintendo DS
when all of a sudden, more blood curdling screams start coming from the toy room.

“You have got to be kidding me with this shit!” Jim complains.

We start to get up to see what the problem is now when all five girls shuffle out
into the living room in a giant clump.  Upon closer inspection, once we are able to
get them to finally stop screaming and ask them why they are walking around with their
heads all touching in the middle and refusing to separate, we find out that unsupervised
suckers with little girls is a no-no.

“Oh sweet Mary.  What happened?” Jim asks them.

They all start talking at once, each one with a different version of the story and
who is to blame.  One says it had something to do with a giraffe and a cell phone,
another says it was because there were birds flying around and the princess fell out
of her tower, and yet another says the crayons were talking and told her to do it.

I am beginning to wonder if the girls are dropping acid in the toy room instead of
playing nicely while enjoying suckers.

I guess the giraffe on the phone talking to the birds who buzz Cinderella’s tower
while the red crayon stabs people is the reason there are currently five suckers stuck
in five long piles of hair which in turn are all stuck together in one big ball of
hairy stickiness.  They look like a set of sextuplets joined at the head.  It’s funny
for a few minutes until we realize the only way to get the suckers out is to cut their
hair.  And there is no way you can cut a little girl’s hair without their mother noticing.

The three of us stand there staring at the girls in horror, wondering what to do.

“Claire is going to kill me.  She’s been growing Sophia’s hair out since she was born. 
She only gets trims,” Carter says nervously as he walks up behind us with Billy still
asleep on his shoulder.  “Maybe I should call my mom again.”

“NO!  We are not calling your mother.  We are grown ass men and we can figure out
how to fix this shit!” Jim scolds.

“FIX SHIT!” Molly yells.

“FIX SHIT, FIX SHIT, FIX SHIT!” all five girls chant.

“We’re out of our depth, man.  We’ll never make it out of this alive,” I yell to Jim
over the girls chanting.

“We just need a plan.  Where is the closest wig store?” Jim asks.

“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard!” Carter argues.

I look at Billy in envy as he sleeps soundly on Carter’s shoulder through the chaos.

“Do you have a better idea, genius?” Jim asks him.

The three of us stare at each other blankly, not one single idea coming to mind that
will ensure our wives don’t gouge out our eyes with spoons.

“Get me some scissors, a razor blade, a jar of peanut butter and some safety goggles,”
Gavin says, coming up next to us.  “I got this one.”

~

Jenny walks into our bedroom a few hours later to find me sprawled out on top of the
bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Why are their Barbie heads hanging from our ceiling?” she asks as she climbs into
bed next to me and rolls over onto her back.

“Well, Gavin decided all the other Barbies needed a warning.  He figured if they saw
what happens to Barbies that disobey, they’d think twice about putting Ken in a frilly
pink tutu and purple stilettos
during a Barbie parade
.”

We stare in silence at the twenty little plastic heads affixed to the ceiling by their
hair with scotch tape.

“Where are the kids?” Jenny asks.

“They’re both in bed.  It was a long day.”

Before I even finish the sentence, Jenny is on top of me, straddling my hips and ripping
off my clothes.  It’s been so long since she took control like this, I’m momentarily
stunned and don’t move.  She has my pants and boxers off before I can blink and pulls
a Hulk Hogan and rips my tee shirt right down the middle.

“Oh my God!  That was my favorite shirt!” I yell, sadly glancing down at the torn
lettering that used to say:
Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks – Ghandi.

Jenny pulls her mouth away from my chest, leans back, and glares at me.

“Are you seriously complaining about a shirt right now?”

Oh Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?  Why am I even talking???

“No, no, no, no!  Keep going.  Please, God, keep going.”

Jenny goes back to what she was doing, kissing her way up my chest and grinding her
pelvis into my raging hard-on.

My hands clutch onto her hips and help her move faster on top of my dick.

“You still have your clothes on,” I mumble through groans as she licks her way up
the side of my neck and sucks my earlobe into her mouth.  “OH SWEET SUGAR POPS!”

My hips jerk against her as she swirls her tongue around my ear.

She pulls away suddenly and I groan at the loss of her mouth on my ear until I see
she’s sitting up and pulling her shirt up and over her he
a
d.  Her glorious tits are spilling out of her black lace bra, and my hands immediately
gravitate to them, palming them and rolling them around in my hands.  She hasn’t let
me anywhere near the twins since she starte
d breastfeeding Billy, and I mad
e that crack about cookies and milk.  I feel like a crack addict getting a hit after
months of being clean.  I want to cry like a baby as I hold their fullness in my hands. 
I feel her nipples harden beneath the lace, and I’m wondering if I’m even going to
last long enough to savor this moment.

Jenny leans
over me,
sucks my earlobe back into her mouth and starts grinding her hips harder against me. 
She’s moaning and breathing heavy in my ear and the warmth of her breath is making
me forget all about the fact that she still has her skirt and underwear on and I’m
not inside of her yet.  I
move
my hips faster between her legs, and she says the words that have the power of making
me come in a split second.

“Felix wants to purr with Buck.”

Yes, we named our privates.  Sue me.

Jenny starts thrusting her hips faster, my dick rubbing against the cotton of her
underwear, and I really want to reach down, move her underwear aside, and push myself
inside of her but I can already feel my orgasm creeping up and my hands are clutched
too tightly to her hips to move them.

Before I can stop it, I’m jerking,
convulsing
, and shooting my load against her white cotton underwear and the inside of her skirt.

“Fuck!  Holy crab rangoons!” I shout as the orgasm makes me twitch and my toes curl.

“Are you coming already?” Jenny asks.

“I’m sorry!  YES!  Oh fuck YES!”

She keeps moving against me and all of a sudden begins shouting her own excitement.

“Oh my gosh me too!  Oh yes, yes, yes!” she yells, sitting up on top of me and thrashing
her head all around.  “OHHHHHHHHHH, OOOOOOOOOH!”

I lie perfectly still wondering what the fuck is going on as she starts slapping her
hands against my bare chest and continues to flop her head all over the place, her
long hair smacking me in the face as she works out the longest orgasm in the history
of orgasms.

“YES!  YES!  YES!  YES!  OHHHHHHHHH YES YES YES!”

I’m completely amazed that she’s still going strong.  My penis has already started
to go soft and her vagina isn’t even touching it right now.  She’s just humping air.

“YES!  YES!  DON’T STOP!  OOOOOOOOOH YES!”

Don’t stop what exactly?  Don’t stop lying here wondering how this is happening right
now?

She finally ceases all movement and collapses on top of me, breathing heavy and sighing
in contentment.

Within seconds she’s up and off of me and standing next to the bed.  She leans down
and kisses my cheek.  “That was amazing.  I’m going to go check on the kids.”

She walks out of the room, and I’m left in bed with a shirt torn in half, naked from
the waist down,  my wilted cock resting against my thigh, and twenty Barbie heads
silently judging me when I hear her shout from across the hall.

“What the hell happened to Veronica’s hair?!”

It’s been two weeks since I attempted the “fake it till you make it” with Drew and
I think it was a total success.  He knows I still want him and that got me off the
hook for a little while to try and get my libido back in shape.  I had a little bit
of doubt that my performance wasn’t good enough and that Drew suspected I had been
faking that day, but after a little pep talk to myself, I knew I was a golden shower.

I had made Liz play that scene from
When Harry Met Sally
seven times and then Claire made me act out the scene to make sure I got it right.

“Don’t keep your eyes open. You’re totally giving it away by staring straight ahead
looking bored,” Claire stated.

I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, and started moaning loudly.

“How’s this?”

“You sound like a dying cat.  A dying cat that’s trying to catch snowflakes.  Put
your tongue away and close your mouth,” Liz scolded.

“Really get into it.  Picture someone telling you that tonight, you will sleep twelve
hours straight without any interruptions,” Claire instructed.

I screamed in ecstasy and shout words I didn’t even know how to pronounce.

“Wow, you nailed that one,” Liz said in awe.

“Yeah, I guess we found your sweet spot.  Just imagine you’re asleep when you’re banging
Drew,” Claire said with a laugh.

“Hey, before we had Billy, our sex life was very exciting and I never would have needed
to think about sleep.  We were even finalists in a porn home movie contest.  The contest
required us to use four props.  Two living things, one gas operated power tool, and
jumper cables,” I told them.

“You really need to stop sharing things like this with us,” Liz complained.  “But
seriously.  Do it exactly how you just did and it will be perfect.”

It
had
been perfect, if I do say so myself.  I don’t get why Drew is still acting weird
though.  You would think that since he got off he would be in a better mood.  I mean,
he came without even having sex.  That’s got to be a good thing.  And since he thinks
he got me off too, he should be feeling pretty good about himself.  But he’s been
moody and sad and hasn’t even made any comments about bending me over the table in
days.  Something definitely isn’t right with him.

Our neighbors
call to
invite us over for a cook-out this evening, and I take them up on their offer.  In
the few years we’ve lived in this house, we’ve never done anything with our neighbors. 
They are a very strict, religious couple, and we obviously aren’t. 

Before I had got pregnant with Billy, Liz hosted a sex toy party on our back deck. 
The wife had been outside tending to her garden and saw thirty women waving vibrators
around and trying to pop blown up condoms by grabbing a partner, putting the condom
between them, and hugging each other as tightly as they could to get the condom to
explode.  The condoms had been full of lotion and everyone was screaming and throwing
vibrators at each other. 

I’m pretty sure that’s why every time I see her out in the yard, she turns and runs
back into her house.

Getting an invite from her for a cookout had been a shock but I figure it couldn’t
hurt.  If anything, maybe this couple could help Drew and I learn to communicate better. 
I mean, they are religious people.  They must know how to talk to each other and how
to make a marriage work.  I bet I can get some really good advice from them.

“The freaks invited us to their house?”

“Will you stop calling them that?” I complain as I put a pink bow clip in Veronica’s
hair.

“What’s a fweak?” Veronica asks.

“The crazy people who live next door,” Drew replies as he pulls a onesie
out of Billy’s drawer that reads:
Screw the ti
tties and milk. Give me a beer.

“No.  Absolutely not.  You are not putting him in that shirt.”

I walk over and snatch the onesie out of his hand and put it back in the drawer, searching
through Billy’s clothes for something appropriate.

“How do we not have one good shirt for our son to wear?”

“What are you talking about?  These are ALL good shirts,” Drew argues as he pulls
out a red onesie that says, “I shit my pants when ugly people hold me.”

“These are nice people who invited us over for a nice dinner.  He needs to wear something
nice,” I state as I keep digging through the drawer.

“Boooo. Nice is lame,” Drew states.

“Fweaks are lame,” Veronica pipes up.

“Yeah they are!  High five sister!” Drew exclaims as he puts his hand in the air for
Veronica to smack.

At the very bottom of the drawer I find a shirt that says, “Pooping in progress” with
a percentage line under it showing forty-five percent.

“This will have to do.  Can you get Billy dressed so I can do my hair?” I ask as I
lay out the shirt and a pair of tiny little jeans to go with it.  “Also, you need
to change your shirt.  You are not wearing the shirt with a picture of Jesus and a
crying Virgin Mary that says: Bitches be trippin’.

“I just want to state that for the record, I do not think this is a good idea,” Drew
yells as I walk out of the room.

“Doodly noted,” I yell back.

~

“Okay, everyone, it’s game time!”

Seven seconds after walking across our yard and stepping foot onto the neighbor’s
back deck I realize I’ve made a mistake.  This isn’t just a fun get-together with
our neighbors and a way to make new friends and hopefully learn from them about how
to make a marriage work.  This is the Twilight Zone and we are never going to escape. 
We are surrounded by women wearing ankle-length jean skirts and their hair in braids
down to their asses.  They pray before dinner, they pray in the middle of dinner,
and they pray after dinner.  They pray so much I can almost imagine Jesus himself
sitting up there on a white puffy cloud saying, “Oh for the love of my dad, shut the
fuck up already.  I heard you the first eleven times.”

Drew keeps poking me in the side and snorts every time someone says, “Let’s bow our
heads and give thanks.”

“If they ask us to drink the Kool-Aid, grab the kids and run,” Drew whispers as everyone
pulls their chairs into a circle in the middle of the deck.

“But I like Kool-Aid. 
Grape is my favorite,” I whisper back in confusion.

“We’re going to go around the circle and everyone has to tell an embarrassing story!”
the hostess announces.

“Oh this cannot end well,” Drew says quietly.

I elbow him in the side as one of the jean skirt women starts to tell her story about
her husband playing a trick on her.  When she had asked him to get her a glass of
grape juice, he had handed her a glass of prune juice instead.

“Oh my fu-fart!” Drew states loudly as everyone around us laughs.

It’s been a challenge trying to curb our language throughout the night.  At least
Drew is managing to catch himself before he lets something awful fly out of his mouth.

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s just sad,” Drew whispers.  “You realize that every
single one of our embarrassing stories ends with one of us naked, right?”

Thankfully, halfway around the circle, people start running out of stories to tell,
and I don’t have to try and find a way to clean up the story about how we experimented
with popsicles and chocolate sauce and had to use a blow dryer to unfreeze the popsicle
from the inside of Drew’s thigh.

“So, how did you two meet?” one of the men asks as everyone turns their attention
to Drew and I.

I look over at Drew in a panic and wonder how I’m going to explain to these God-fearing
people that we met after a sex toy party.

“Um, well…we, um have these friends.  And they have a store that sells…um, Tupperware,”
I flounder.  “We met after one of their Tupperware parties.”

Everyone smiles and nods and Drew starts to giggle.

“Yeah, they have GREAT Tupperware.  Every shape and size you can imagine.  Jenny likes
the great big Tupperware,” he says with a snort.

“Ooooh I love Tupperware too!” one of the women states excitedly.  “I use it every
single day.  It really is a life saver.”

I just smile and nod, trying to mentally telephone to Drew that he needs to shut up.

“Do you like to use the gigantor Tupperware or the teeny tiny Tupperware?” Drew questions
seriously.

“I like to use both at the same time,” another woman pipes up.

“Yeah you do!” Drew smiles and nods, giving her a wink.

“My husband takes Tupperware to work and everyone is always asking him if Tupperware
is better than
GladWare
.  I tell them that Tupperware can fit in all sorts of places and can be used for
your pets,” someone else says.

“Wow, that’s disturbing.  But good for you,” Drew says.

“
GladWare
is the poor man’s Tupperware, that’s what I always say,” one of the men pipes up.

“Amen brother!” Drew shouts.

A chorus of “Amen’s” is muttered all around the circle and I have to cover my face
with my hands because I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Tupperware really has saved our marriage,” one of the women says with a laugh.  “Before
I filled my pantry with Tupperware, Steve was using Zip Lock bags and his stuff was
just spilling everywhere.  He made such a mess!”

“Ha ha. Oh, Steve!  Look at you spilling your stuff everywhere. You’re so bad!” Drew
tells the guy sitting on the other side of him.

“I went to a Tupperware party once where everyone was passing around the different
sizes and then they sold those at the end of the party.  It seemed very unsanitary
to me.  Everyone touching the Tupperware and putting their hands all over it and then
you were supposed to just take it home and use it?” another woman states with a look
of disgust on her face.

“Oh, they make a
special
cleaner for that,” Drew tells them.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Steve, the “stuff spiller” says.  “Drew seems like a good sport. 
I bet he would love to play The Great Swami game.”

The circle erupts into laughter and nods of approval.  Everyone starts rearranging
chairs so there are two in the middle of the circle, facing each other.

“The Great Swami game, you say?  I’ve never heard of it,” Drew tells them.

“Oh, it’s great fun!  You have to try and do everything The Great Swami does.  So
far, no one has been able to beat him,” Steve says excitedly.

One of the other men takes a seat in one of the chairs in the middle of the circle
and a few people direct Drew to the chair opposite him.

“Bring on The Great Swami.  I will totally kick his assss-ascot!” Drew cheers, catching
himself just in time.

“Okay, so Eric is going to be The Great Swami,” Steve informs Drew.  “All you have
to do is follow along and do the exact same things he does.”

I have no idea what’s going on but it looks like a safe enough game where Drew won’t
get in trouble with his mouth, and hopefully it will have something to do with having
a good marriage.  Eric puts both of his arms up in the air, making a 'V', and Drew
does the same.  Eric then touches his finger to his nose, which Drew copies immediately.

“Man, this is easy.  The Great Swami is going down!” Drew exclaims as he copies every
single move Eric does with his arms and hands.  I’m feeling even more confident that
we will at least end this evening on a good note, even if we don’t get any good marriage
advice from these people.

Since Drew has his back to me, he doesn’t see one of the women sneak up behind his
chair with something in her hand.  I can’t see what it is since she’s hiding it in
front of her, but everyone around the circle starts to giggle when they see her.

The Great Swami Eric does a few more arm movements that Drew repeats and then suddenly
he stands up from of his chair.  Drew immediately follows the movement, at which point,
the woman sticks what I now see is a huge, sopping wet towel onto the seat of Drew’s
chair.

Eric quickly sits back down onto his own chair, and Drew follows suit, smacking his
ass down onto the wet towel and the puddle it makes in his chair.  He quickly pops
right back up and twists and turns to try and get a look at his ass while everyone
around us is rolling with laughter

“SON OF A MOTHER FUCKING JESUS BITCH!  WHAT THE FUCK ASS SHIT BITCH JUST FUCKING HAPPENED?!”

I can almost feel Jesus on his puffy cloud shaking his head in shame at us and saying,
“You should have known better than to mix with my people.  They will fuck you every
time.”

We quickly gather up the kids and thank everyone for a wonderful time.  Drew tells
them we need to leave because Billy has explosive diarrhea
just
as Veronica begins singing at the top of her lungs, “SHIT POOP DIAWEEA. SHIT POOP
DIAWEEA!”