Troubles and Treats Read online

“I can’t even look at you right now I’m so angry. Why in the hell would you think I was faking an injury and trying to cheat Claire out of money? And your father? Really? You actually hired your insane father to follow me around? Did you see what he was wearing? Full on camouflage, a hat with branches glued to the top of it, and leaves painted all over his face. That is not normal, Drew.”

  Would now be a bad time to point out that all three women were dressed as slutty burglars?

  I shrug even though she can’t see me. “What can I say, he really gets into his work. And he said to tell you he was sorry.”

  She doesn’t say a word. She just keeps her head on the back of the couch and the towel over her eyes. I feel like I'm in the principal’s office, standing in front of her desk waiting for my punishment like that one time in high school when I put a little black skirt over the figure on the boy’s bathroom door in an attempt to get some hot chicks to walk in on guys pissing. Instead, the principal had walked in on a Freshman whacking off during fourth period. The principal had ignored me for an hour before she finally gave me my punishment. I don’t want to stand here for an hour. The kids are asleep and Tosh.0 is coming on soon.

  “Um, are we done here?” I ask.

  “Did you seriously just say that to me?!” Jenny screeches.

  How is it possible for women to hit decibels with their voices that even dogs can’t hear?

  “Yes, we’re done here. You can explain your stupidity to Doctor Madison tomorrow when we go for marriage counseling.”

  I’m sorry, what?

  ~

  “So, Drew, tell me why you think you’re here?”

  I stare at the woman sitting across from us wearing a long flowing skirt, Birkenstocks, and yellow tinted glasses. The smell of incense is so strong in here I think I’m going to be sick, and the soft sounds of Simon and Garfunkel coming from her radio in the corner makes me want to take a nap.

  “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here aside from having a bad '60s flashback,” I mutter.

  Jenny smacks my arm and I let out a big sigh.

  “Oh it’s okay, Jenny. This is a room of honesty. Your husband is free to express whatever is in his heart and mind when he’s in this room without fear of judgment. I’ll make this a little easier on you since it’s your first time here. Jenny has explained to me over the phone that the two of you are having some communication issues. Is that correct?” she asks.

  “Um, sure. I guess,” I say with a shrug.

  I don’t know this woman, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell her the only communication problem my wife and I have right now is that her vagina doesn’t want to speak to my dick. Hippy chick here will look right at my penis and wonder what’s wrong with me. This stranger is going to think I have a third ball or my penis is shaped like a horseshoe.

  “My penis is fine!” I shout.

  Might as well put that out there before she gets any funny ideas. She doesn’t even bat an eye at my outburst, just folds her hand in her lap and smiles at me.

  “You have a real connection with your penis, is that correct?”

  Is this really happening right now?

  “Um, well, it IS connected to my body, so yes. I’m sort of connected to it.”

  She just smiles at me again and then points to my shirt. “I was referring to your shirt.”

  I glance down and realize I’m wearing one that says: I puffy heart my penis. Let me show you why.

  “I think I can sense what the root of the problem is here. You two just had a baby not that long ago. Sometimes it’s difficult for couples to connect again after something this life altering happens. What we need to do is get you two to connect.”

  Okay, I take it back. This woman might be a genius. If she can get my wife to connect with me at the pelvis, I will buy myself a pair of Birkenstocks and sit under a black light with her, smoking pot.

  “Jenny, I’d like you to do something for me. Turn your body on the couch so that you are facing your husband.”

  Jenny does as she’s told, pulling her legs up onto the couch and sitting Indian style.

  “Okay, now, Jenny, I want you to look down at your husband’s penis and tell it you love it.”

  Jenny hesitates and looks at Dr. Madison questioningly.

  Do not question the good doctor! Do as she says!

  “It’s alright, Jenny. This will be good for both of you. Talk to the penis.”

  Jenny slowly turns back to me and stares right down at my lap.

  “Um, I love you.”

  “Very good, Jenny! Now, I want you to apologize to the penis for taking it for granted,” Dr. Madison explains kindly.

  I wonder if she’ll tell Jenny to suck the penis next. And if so, should I ask the good doctor to leave or stay?

  “Uh, I’m sorry for taking you for granted,” Jenny says while still staring at my lap.

  “Excellent! Okay, Drew, now it’s your turn,” Dr. Madison states.

  I don’t even hesitate. “I love you penis! You are the best guy ever! No, seriously. You never let me down, you’re always up when I need you to be, and I apologize for some of those issues we had back in college that required antibiotics,” I say to my penis.

  I look up at Dr. Madison, quite proud of myself for being such a team player with this whole therapy nonsense.

  “That was very nice, Drew. But what I really wanted you to do was talk to Jenny’s vagina,” she explains.

  Well alrighty then.

  Figuring I might as well be comfortable for this, I curl up on the couch and rest my head on Jenny’s thigh. “I love you too, vagina. I miss you like a hooker misses her virginity. True story. Why have you done me wrong, Boo? Why is there such a distance between us? Remember when we used to hang out every day? Now I barely see you once a month. You’ve changed, vagina. I hate to say this, but you have. You’re a different person now, and it’s like I don’t even know you. I thought maybe you were hanging around with a different crowd of people and they influenced you against me. Maybe we’re just growing apart. I don’t want to lose you, vagina! I need you like I need air to breathe and football on Sundays. I just can’t quit you, vagina!”

  I realize when I finish that the room is eerily quiet. I lift my head from Jenny’s leg and see both women staring at me with their mouth’s open. Okay, so I had cried a little. Sue me. This is emotional shit. This doctor is getting to the heart of all of our problems. My penis and Jenny’s vagina.

  “Um, that was…uh, unexpected,” Dr. Madison states.

  I sit up fully on the couch and grab a Kleenex from the side table and blow my nose.

  “Wow, that felt really good,” I say, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck from side to side. “It feels like a weight has been lifted. My mind is clear and I feel so free. What should we do next?”

  Dr. Madison looks down at the notepad in her lap and flips a few pages. “Well, I think you have made some great progress, Drew. We just need to get Jenny where you are. Jenny, when was the last time you hugged your womb?”

  “Hugged my room? I don’t get it,” Jenny says, confused.

  “No, your womb. The place where you gave life to your two children,” Dr. Madison explains.

  “Uh, can I do that here? Shouldn’t that be done in a real doctor’s office with a table and stirrups? I don’t think I can reach it otherwise. Unless you have a mirror and maybe a flashlight.”

  “If I can reach your G-spot in the middle of the woods with a tube of watermelon Bonne Belle Chap Stick while it’s raining and there is a homeless guy in a tent four feet away singing the Sesame Street theme song, then you can hug your womb,” I tell her encouragingly.

  I probably shouldn’t have brought that up because now I’m distracted and can only think about the one time we went camping and got lost in the woods.

  And now I have a hard on.

  “Actually, I don’t mean you actually need to…um, reach up and touch your literal womb,” Dr. Madison explains.


  “Why is she talking about littering? Is she saying my womb is dirty?” Jenny whispers to me.

  “What I need you to do, Jenny, is just cradle your arms around your lower stomach area. Hold your womb in your arms and give it comfort. Let it know you care.”

  Okay, now this chick is talking crazy.

  “And while you’re at it, try soothing your ovaries and give them some encouragement to open themselves back up and accept the love that is given. I believe the problem here is that your womanhood has closed itself off and no longer recognizes love.”

  Bat shit crazy. Talking to my penis and Jenny’s vagina is normal. This is one step away from taking all of our clothes off and dancing and chanting around a sacrificed pig.

  My awesome wife does as she’s told though and wraps her arms around her waist. She gently rocks from side to side and begins talking to her “womanhood” like it’s Billy.

  “Such good little ovaries. Yes you are!”

  I want off this crazy train. Right the fuck now!

  Watching my wife rock-a-bye her ovaries makes me wonder what she initially thought we would get out of this counseling session. I had thought it would be a bunch of arguing and pointing fingers about whose fault it is that we aren’t having sex anymore. Maybe she doesn’t think that’s the problem. Shit, maybe that isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s just my problem. She’s not faking a work injury, she’s not cheating on me…what the hell else could it be? A few years ago she cut me off from sex for a week because I gave her a Dutch Oven in bed one night. While hilarious, it’s never a good idea when your wife is naked and getting ready to mount you.

  There had been another time when I gave her a Wet Willy when she started coming. I hadn't meant for that to be hilarious. I read about it in Cosmo. When she had locked me out of the bedroom, I grabbed the magazine and realized two of the pages were stuck together - sex tips and practical jokes. Well played, Cosmo. Well played.

  We leave the cuckoo doctor’s office with a promise to keep communicating with our reproductive organs. Unfortunately, I still have no fucking clue how that’s supposed to help get me laid.

  Chapter 12 – Baby Bullets

  Since cuddling our reproductive organs has done nothing to boost our sex life, there’s not much else for me to do except think back to a time when we were having sex. Man, those were the days. We had A LOT of sex. Like, a lot. Pretty sure it was impossible to even count that high. And fuck, was it good sex. Even when we were trying to get pregnant with Veronica it was good sex. You would think that since we pretty much used to have sex every single day, it would have been easy for us to get pregnant. I had always thought that shoving as much sperm up there as you could guaranteed you a baby.

  I mean, it makes sense right? If you’ve got this little egg, and you just throw a handful of sperm at it, what are the chances that one will get through? But if you pour gallons and gallons of sperm all over it, that’s got to up your chances, right?

  False! Those little white-tailed squirmy devils have serious attitude. It’s like they think they’re too good to fertilize an egg. Little bastards. You’ve got to trick them into submission. A sneak attack when they’re least expecting it.

  “What, you say he’s going to put us through the tunnel while he’s on a Tilt-a-Whirl? Impossible!”

  “I do declare he just shot us out of his cannon in a golf cart on the highway. Preposterous!”

  You see? Listen to those stuck-up fuckers. They even talk like assholes.

  After eight months with no success in getting pregnant, instead of letting it get us down, we had just got creative. We had sex in a supply closet on the maternity floor of a hospital because Jenny thought it would bring us luck. It didn’t, but we got two bottles of Windex, three pairs of doctor’s scrubs, and a box of rubber gloves out of the experience. That was almost better than a baby!

  Another time, Jenny had made a list of all of the couples we knew who either were currently pregnant or had already had a baby. We went down the list and had sex in their beds. She figured there must be some kind of magical power in their beds that made it so they could have a baby. Having sex in their beds would get some of that magic to rub off on us. Yeah, that didn’t work either. And let me tell you, Carter and Claire were not so agreeable with our magic dust plan. I still didn’t get what the big deal was. It wasn't like we had sex while they were in the house. We made sure to wait until they left for work. Geeze, give us a little credit. I still had a scar on my forehead from when Claire threw a lamp at my head. It wasn't our fault they decided to come home early. They should have just followed their normal schedules and none of that would have happened.

  The next one was totally genius and all my idea. What has more sperm than it knows what to do with? Yep. A sperm bank. I made an appointment and then made my deposit. In my wife – booyah! I figured this place was getting people knocked up every single day, so there had to be some luck in that, right? Jenny was a little nervous at first. She said she was certain that little particles of sperm were floating in the air at that place, and she was nervous that a particle from someone else would get all up in her business, and then she’d give birth to a baby that wasn’t mine. Don’t worry though, we took precautions. We kept her lady bits completely covered until I was ready for my deposit, ensuring that my particles were the only ones getting inside. The nurse at that place wasn’t too happy when we came back out and I told her I had made the deposit in the wrong cup. Jenny also wasn’t too happy that I kept referring to her vagina as a cup for the next several months.

  I had been a little sad my idea hadn't worked, but it was okay because we came up with something even better.

  It’s a good thing and a bad thing the next experiment actually worked. I say bad just because some day Veronica is going to ask where she was conceived and were going to have to tell her in the men’s room at a Red Lobster. Jenny had read somewhere that lobsters were lackadaisical, which in her mind, meant they would boost our desire, thereby ensuring we got pregnant. I was pretty sure she was trying to say aphrodisiac, but I wasn't about to correct her when it meant I was going to get laid with a belly full of lobster and delicious Cheddar Bay Biscuits. Before the bill came, we excused ourselves from the table and sneaked into the women’s room. As soon as I saw the tampon machine on the wall, I turned around and walked right back out. I couldn’t concentrate on banging if I was thinking about the red vagina of pain. I grabbed Jenny’s hand and marched us over to the men’s room. The coast was clear; the urinals were empty and both of the stalls were unoccupied. I dragged her back to the handicap stall and got down to business.

  “Fuck, you look so hot in that dress, baby,” I said softly as I slid my hands around her hips and grabbed her ass, pulling her against me.

  “Do you think it’s unclean to do this in a bathroom? What if I get germs in my vagina?” Jenny asked nervously as she looked around the inside of the stall.

  “You obviously have no idea how unclean my penis is if you’re asking me this,” I told her honestly as I slipped my hands under her dress, pushing it up past her hips.

  “Jesus, you aren’t wearing any underwear,” I mumbled against the side of her neck as my hand glides over her bare ass.

  “I took them off at the table,” she told me, wrapping her arms around my neck as I sucked and licked the skin right under her ear.

  “That’s so hot. Did you put them in your purse?”

  I felt her shake her head “no” as my hand slid around in front, and I pushed my fingers through her soft, wet skin.

  “Oh God that feels good! No, not in my purse. I just left them on the floor under the table.”

  I pushed and twisted my fingers through her heated center, sliding them up and around her clit with each pass.

  “Fuck! Take your pants off!” Jenny muttered as she clutched her fingers tightly into my hair.

  I pulled my fingers out of her with a groan, quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, and pushed them down to my knees. Jenny lift
ed one leg up, wrapping it around my hip so I could hold it in place by her knee. With my free hand, I grabbed my dick and positioned it at her entrance.

  “We’re totally making a baby right now,” I told her.

  “This is going to be the best bathroom baby ever made!” she said excitedly.

  I thrusted into her smooth and fast, squeezing my eyes closed, trying to calm myself down with how good she felt wrapped around my dick. After a few seconds of getting myself under control, I stopped thinking about anything else but fucking my wife and those snot-nosed little sperms who thought they were better than everyone else. I began moving in and out of Jenny at a rapid pace, loving the little sounds of pleasure that came out of her mouth.

  “Fuck, I’m getting a cramp in my leg,” Jenny said after a few seconds.

  I stopped moving, still buried balls-deep in her, giving her a second to put her leg down and try to get more comfortable.

  “Here, wrap both legs around me,” I told her as I lift her up, pushing her back against the wall of the stall.

  Her long, smooth legs locked around my waist, and I got back to the task at hand. Pretty soon, Jenny was clawing at my back and groaning loudly, and I knew she was close to coming. I sped up my movements until the stall was rattling and slamming against the wall of the bathroom.

  “OW! Son of a bitch! This is killing my back,” Jenny complained suddenly.

  I pulled out of her as I let go of her legs and set her back down on the floor.

  She stood there for a minute with her hands on her hips, looking at our surroundings.

  “I’ve got it! I’ll kneel on top of the toilet and you can rail me from behind,” she said with a smile as she moved past me and put her knees on the seat of the toilet and faced the wall.

  “Oh my God, I love you so much right now,” I told her as I watch her get situated.

  I had a clear view of her naked ass, and I was pretty sure if I didn’t hurry up and get back inside her, I was going to shoot these baby bullets all over the floor.

  She looked back at me over one shoulder and smiled.