“…There’s this woman.”
Of fucking course there is.
Turns out, the Captain is pretty popular with the ladies. It’s the cock. It really is lovely. I mean, he’s pretty good with his words, but it’s probably his cock.
A few weeks ago, he was drunk on a yacht and everyone knows yachts come stocked with at least one married woman willing to remove her clothing at the first sign of attention and her single, slightly chubby friend. Several beers and boob shots later, it was discovered that everyone had mutual friends in common and the planning for this weekend’s festivities began.
It quickly became apparent that friend #2 was in it for more than just smoked meat and she wasn’t alone. This was a group effort by the couples in her circle in order to reduce awkwardness when socializing,
Upon discovering her plans for his beautiful penis, he decided to initiate a real conversation. As I listened to his rationale, I realized I don’t give him enough credit. Sure, he does stupid shit, but overall he’s a good person. It would’ve been much easier to avoid the awkward and go with it for the weekend, but he chose to be real and I think it’s worth noting.
Also of note, she is an attractive woman who likely has no shortage of offers, they simply had nothing in common. I’m sure if she were a better conversationalist or shared his love for all things kink, I would be writing a much different piece.
She reacted as one would and attempted to convince him they were perfect for one another, but eventually praised his honesty and agreed to keep it platonic. His hesitation to include me was based on his desire to not hurt her feelings and I respect the shit out of him for it. Keeping with his greater good theme, I agreed to keep my mouth off his body and sleep in my own bed in exchange for exclusive blogging rights.
Even after demolishing an entire bottle of Jameson, it is impossible for us to sleep before sunrise. There’s always something that keeps us awake far later than necessary. I have a theory, but you can only use the word cock so many times without sounding filthy. That’s it though, it’s his cock. Roughly four hours later, it was time to fire up the Traeger.
I was quietly judging his Fisher-Price My First Can Opener when the first couple arrived. Cool people and I was happy to slowly ease into the pool of awkward side eyes and resting bitch faces. The next couple brought their dog, which should be a requirement when attending an event with an unfamiliar guest list. I promise, there will always be someone relieved to see an animal. That person is usually me.
When #2 finally graced us with her presence, I recognized her immediately. No, I do not know her personally, but I know.
She met her ex-husband in college and married shortly after he graduated. She never finished her degree, but it didn’t matter because she was a mom. She never did lose the weight from the second kid and hasn’t given a blowjob since college. After he cheated, she drank pink wine in the pantry at eleven o’clock in the morning on more than one occasion. She ended up with the house and spousal support, but not enough to support her Lululemon and Target addictions, so she had to get a job. And baseball. The kid always plays baseball. The only discernible differences between middle-aged divorcées is hair color and whether they opted for real estate or a beauty product pyramid scheme.
It was clear by her head to toe scan of my body and lingering, not-even-close-to-platonic hug, his conversation did little to drive the point home.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.