I went ahead and left out how the recent divorcee claimed in our first meeting that she hadn’t realized just how unsatisfying her sex life had been with her husband until she joined a local book club. Their first read? An alien romance with a giant penis and very impressive oral skills.
She was a changed woman.
A few months (and many books later) she was a single woman, ready to reclaim her sex life.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, in my experience, book men were a lot more, well,generousthan real-life men.
“Of course it’s a—” he started. Only to get interrupted when one of the servers came over with a tray full of cupcakes topped with painfully accurate penises on top. Veins and pink coloring and everything.
Perish looked down at them, over at me, huffed out a laugh, then turned and walked away.
It was just as well.
Because a moment later, the lady who was providing the sex toys started setting up her table. I would never admit it aloud,but I knew the function of each and every one of those items. Even the tentacled types.
Thanks, Aunt Peyton.
Besides, I had an ice penis to fix.
I rushed into the kitchen to throw the slushy mix together and ran back to the sculpture and said a little prayer as I started the process of reattaching the appendage to the ice man.
Was there a slight little uneven line? Sure. But the guests were quickly drunk enough not to notice. And when the penis eventually started to melt and fell off? Well, the divorcee went ahead and popped it into her drink.
It was a loud, hilarious, raunchy party featuring—mostly—the book club that changed the divorcee’s life. And I knew from personal experience with the bookish women in my own life that the book readers were the closet freaks. And their flags were flying high and proud all night.
My cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time the lights dimmed. And the man dressed as a server came strutting out of the back to the first throbbing bass beats of some filthy song streaming out from the speakers.
Embarrassment crept up my spine as he started to thrust in the divorcee’s face, making me slowly make my way toward the kitchen, then out the service door.
The performer was supposed to be dancing for a solid twenty minutes. No one was going to need me while he was out there stripping off his clothes and doing impressively gymnastic dance moves.
The spring air still had that slight nip to it, which immediately chased the heat from my cheeks and neck.
I sucked in a deep breath, wiggled some of the tension out of my shoulders, and looked out at the sunset, casting the world in brilliant orange.
I never understood the hate orange got.
I guess we could blame that awful traffic cone shade.
But nature’s oranges? Sunrises, sunsets, leaves in the fall, butterfly wings? There were so many beautiful shades.
I took a few steps forward to change my vantage point, looking out across the sprawling, perfectly manicured lawns, the woods behind them.
I’d always loved this venue. Part of it was the raw natural beauty, including a gorgeous koi pond that acted as the backdrop to many a wedding or engagement photoshoot.
The other part was the fact that it felt like a whole different world in the middle of Navesink Bank.
I loved my town.
But I was officially at the age where I would point at some awful new construction and say, ‘I remember when all this used to be woods/farmland/a pasture.’
It was refreshing to still see natural beauty in an area that had become so built up.
I was still watching the sun slowly lower behind the trees in the distance when I heard a squealing sound. It was the kind that made your shoulders inch up toward your ears and your belly tighten as you braced for what seemed like the inevitable crunching sound of cars colliding.
But as the tires just kept squealing, my head whipped to the side to take in the parking lot.
It was fuller than when I’d first shown up, back when it had just been the staff of the main building. It had filled up with the vehicles of the catering staff, the guests, and, yes, still Perish’s motorcycle, despite it getting too late to work on the lawn.
