Walking in, knowing smiles lit up all three faces waiting for me. I twisted the bottle cap of the coke I was holding and felt my cheeks burn. "So, uh, how’d the visits go after I left?"
Veronica snorted, "Who cares? We’re married. How did your visit go?"
"We’re friends." I said dismissively, hoping they would drop it.
"I’m not married, woman!" Jerrilyn laughed, pushing Veronica’s shoulder.
"Four years, and you’ve had your finger up his butt. You’re married." Veronica replied, joining her.
Up his…never mind, I do not want to know. I’m not ready for that level of friendship, because once you know whose ass somebody has had their finger up, it‘s only a matter of time before you‘re checking a questionable growth between the cheeks or between the lips, neither of which are above the belly button.
Ah, hell. She’d seen my ‘what the fuck’ expression at the comment Veronica made. I looked back at the door, wondering if I could make it before she went into detail.
"I used to work in an old folks’ home. They’d get constipated, and sometimes laxatives were too harsh. You’d have to put gloves on and fish the dingle berries out so they could shit. My boyfriend got constipated one night and I offered to help him, but he wouldn’t let me. I told him, It’s natural. You don’t have to be embarrassed. But he kept repeating, Jerrilyn, you’re not sticking your finger up my ass." Jerrilyn explained, with absolutely no shame.
"I hope you wore less rings, then." Veronica said, ambivalent to the story. "Just friends, huh, Midget? Friends sneak in to a mental ward? Opposite sex friends?" she prodded, not intending to let me play this off.
I picked up my drink to take a sip. Ugh, can’t do it. Damn you, Jerrilyn. I’ll have the mental image of you finger bowling your boyfriend stuck in my head for at least three days. "He is just a friend. He brought some stuff up here my roommate wanted me to have." I said, trying to act as though I were not completely full of shit. "Where’s Aaron?"
"Don’t change the subject." Veronica teased, her lipstick a shade of faded passion fruit. She sucked on a cigarette and leaned forward, blowing the smoke up toward the vent.
"Your roommate could’ve dropped the stuff off at the nurses station outside, or even on the first floor."
"Your roommate could’ve dropped the stuff off at the nurses station outside, or even on the first floor."
"Are we supposed to be back here? I mean, I wouldn’t want anybody to get in trouble…" I started, then shut my mouth before it could give me away entirely.
Too late.
The expressions on their faces, the glee and mischief, told me I had just corner-fucked myself with considerable aplomb. I dedicate that linguistic combination to my high school English teacher, who once famously said, ‘Never say with simplicity what you can enliven with flare.’ Ha, I’m pretty sure she never saw that one coming!
"Holy shit." Marigold snickered, "Something did happen!"
"Are y’all together, now?" Jerrilyn squealed, her comment overlapping Marigolds.
"What happened?" Veronica persisted.
I scowled. "Okay, I give. He bent me over the stack of Chicken Soup for the Starving Soul in the group room and hit it from behind."
Every jaw dropped.
"Who the hell do y’all think you’re asking for details, ya heffas?" I said, trying to control the smirk on my lips.
Jerrilyn began shaking. Marigold looked like she’d contracted a deadly hiccupping disease, bobbing backwards every few seconds as the laughter in her built. But it was Veronica who broke the silence by guffawing.
Her cawing finally teased the laughter from the other two women, and they dissolved into giggles.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, a smile playing on my lips as I set my drink on the back table. When they quieted a bit, I said, "We’re just friends, but we talked about maybe trying to be something more. He kissed me and shit. It was nice. Too bad he can’t dance to save his life."
"Aww, that is so sweet. Our baby is growing up!" Marigold said, with a glitter of Debra’s insane cheer in her eyes. She put her arms around me and planted a big, wet one on my cheek.
I jerked away, though not as roughly as I might have two days previous, and wiped at the spot.
"Hands off the merchandise, lady. I told you; this pays the bills."
"You must be on unemployment often, then." She quirked an eyebrow at me.
Jerrilyn and Veronica, having just quieted, sunk back in to the giggles. I tried my best to send Marigold a dirty look, but was largely unsuccessful. Oh well, I can crush her spirit some other time.
The dinging of the elevator caused every one of us to freeze. Nobody came up the back elevator. It was off-limits and had no buttons which could be operated from inside of the ward. Any time we went outside, Aaron first went downstairs and rode up in the elevator to operate the buttons on the inside.
I raced out of the smoking room, leaving my cigarette burning in an ash tray, and skidded to a stop around the corner. My mouth began to water and my nose twitched. I don’t know what kind of mix up this is, but I’m takin’ it!
A pizza delivery guy stood before the closed elevator doors, quite confused. He held a stack of pizza boxes and three Styrofoam containers in his hand.
Marigold called behind me, "Is it here?"
"The pizza? Or the penis?" I yelled back, eyeing the young man from the top of his pizza cap to the bottom of his Nike’s. I suddenly had another of my brilliant-but-probably-already-exists ideas; Stripping Pizza Delivery! I tucked the lucrative concept away in the ‘to be patented’ corner of my brain.
"The pizza." Marigold’s voice came from behind me. "The penis is a bonus."
"Yeah, I’m sure it’s not to him. He’s trapped on a floor with a bunch of sex-starved female whack jobs." I said, my eyebrow raising wickedly and my mouth forming the crooked half smile I get when contemplating sin.
"Trapped?" He repeated quietly, wetting his lips and cocking his head to the side, rather like a puppy trying to figure out if he should play or run for his life. I think he’s outnumbered. Running would just be foreplay.
Marigold walked over to him and took the receipt, signing it and giving him a tip. Guess she’s a regular. She put her finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet, and took two boxes of pizza, leaving two more and the three containers on top. "Stay here, okay?"
She walked toward the entryway separating the elevators from the rest of the floor and disappeared around it. I’m not sure, but it’s quite possible she and I would make beautiful babies together. She’d be the guy, of course. She’s got the mustache and the nuts for it.
"Uh, hey guys? My family ordered a ton of food to be sent up here, and we’re not going to be able to eat it, all. Why don’t y’all take these two pizzas? One’s cheese and one is pepperoni, and since my cousin owns the shop, I can guarantee you they are delicious. What do y’all say?" Her tone was encouraging and friendly, with not a trace of apology or guilt.
I waited impatiently, praying her plot worked. After a muffled exchange of voices, which I desperately hoped were due to the nurses mouths being full of cheese, bread, and sauce, Marigold said, "The delivery guy came up the back elevator by mistake. You’ll have to let him out the front. The bill is all on me, though. Y’all just enjoy!"
I like rich people. Who knew?
She walked back to the elevators grinning and empty handed. At the sight of her, I spun and almost snatched the food from the frightened delivery guy’s hands. He very wisely backed up. I flipped open the lids on the containers.
An anticipatory groan bubbled up from my chest, temptation stroking me like a seasoned courtesan. Lasagna, spaghetti, and my guiltiest pleasure, blackened chicken Alfredo.
I looked to Marigold, prepared to butter her muffin if need be. I rarely ate the food in the hospital, the after effects of such risky behavior being significant motivation not to. But I was starving, and this was identifiable ingredients. Big difference.
She chuckled, "Take whichever one you want. I got all three for you, because you never eat. The pizzas are for the rest of us."
"Sweet Jesus, don’t tell me that! I’ll take all three. I can't believe they're open this late." I slobbered, gazing lovingly down at the still smoking pastas, already plotting to sample a third of each.
"The restaurant's right across from the dorm. Go on." Marigold urged, taking one of the pizza boxes and walking back into the smoking room.
"But," I began, following, "what about-"
"There’s utensils in the boxes. Sit down and shut up, for once."
Can your tongue have an orgasm? I’m pretty sure that’s what mine did. As I twirled long, fettuccine noodles and lifted the fork from the plate, one of the noodles dared to come unraveled and tease me as it swished back and forth. My lower lip quivered and extended from my mouth to catch the dangling promise. Hey, noodle! Yo’ mama! Oh, but damn you’re delicious.
The tongue orgasm began, starting from the tip of my tongue as the buttery, creamy Alfredo sauce coated the inside of my mouth with it’s rich, cheesy flavor. I could not dare insult it by chewing too much. These noodles deserved a lengthy digestion fitting a very satisfied meal, which I sighed to acknowledge because I knew that was precisely what I was in for. Swallowing, the taste disappeared and danced hotly down my throat, but it was okay. I had three entire containers of more.
Opening my eyes, I snapped back to reality. Okay, you just had mouth sex. Let’s not make this complicated, okay? Let’s not make this weird. Pretend like nothing happened.
I innocently twirled more pasta on the fork, attempting to look as normal as possible. My three friends simply stared at me.
"Brittni, don‘t take this the wrong way." Jerrilyn started, her voice dripping with sincere amusement, "Next time you see a stack of Chicken Soup for the Soul, you really need to use it."
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