The Vacation Wife by David Stone (best selling autobiographies TXT) 📕

“I know,” said Susan. “You might be able to squeeze in a little tidy-up, but not always.”

“Would you two stop it!” I said, genuinely frustrated. “This isn’t about how you women are down there.”

“You brought it up, Ryan,” said Marci.

“Women are really insecure about that stuff,” said Susan.

Marci concurred. “The first time I looked at myself in a mirror, you know, after I got pubes, I was, like, horrified. I didn’t want anyone to see my twat. I thought it was ugly.”

“I know,” said Susan. “Me too.”

“And now we call it our ‘flower’,” said Marci, whimsically. “Talk about a switcheroo.”

Matteo arrived with our food before the two of them could get into yeast infections or other matters related to their vaginal health. I assumed it would end the discussion before I got to my main point, which had now nearly escaped my mind. Susan’s deft oral manipulation of a tagliatelle noodle restored my focus. After several consoling mouthfuls of my excellent meal, my equanimity was restored.

“So, anyway, as I was saying, Marci… What the hell are you doing?” She had her finger to her nose.

“Nothing!”

“Why were you smelling your finger?”

“I don’t know. Just because?”

“Marci!” said Susan. “You’re not…”.

“Not what?” I asked her.

“Maybe I was. So what?” said Marci.

“What are you two talking about?” I asked, now losing my grip on my recently restored equanimity.

“She was testing whether she was okay, Ryan. Let it go.”

“Her finger?”

“No, dickwad,” said Marci. “My twat.”

“How would your finger tell you… Oh.” I figured it out. Surreptitiously, she must have fingered herself under the table, easy to do as she was wearing a short skirt. I now wondered if I was sitting with two women who should be kept under lock and key in an asylum. On the other hand, I knew I wasn’t above testing my own orderliness before an impromptu liaison, but never while dining.

“I wish men were as fastidious as we women are,” said Susan, having not quite read my mind.

“I know, right?” said Marci. “I mean, smegma? Talk about nasty.”

“What?” I asked, exasperated. “What’s ‘smegma’?”

“She’s talking about uncircumcised men, Ryan,” said Susan. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

That was good to know. But what did Susan know about uncircumcised men that she wasn’t telling me? After our dating progressed into our sleeping together, I specifically remember asking if she’d ever been with an uncircumcised male. Every man in the world who is circumcised asks this question of new lovers. She had said no.

“Have you been with one?” asked Susan, speaking to Marci.

“Yup.”

“Been with what?” I asked.

“An uncut dude, Ryan,” said Marci. “I’m sure I told you about that.”

“I don’t recall.”

“How was it?” asked Susan.

“I couldn’t warm up to it,” said Marci. “It had no, I don’t know… Character? Plus it stunk.”

“Jesus.” I put down my fork.

“Recall, Ryan, you brought this all up talking about your load,” said Marci.

“I said I liked it, Ryan,” said Susan. “Don’t you remember?”

“Okay, now both of you,” I said, obviously now annoyed. “Could you two shut up now and let me get to the point I was trying to make?”

“Hey, no one’s stopping you big guy,” said Marci. “Settle down.”

“Recall earlier when I asked if a man went down on you and then told you you smelled different…”

“Okay, I’d tell him to go fu…”

“Wait! I’m not finished! If he told you that, what information is he really conveying with the question?”

“I don’t get it,” said Marci. “I mean, if he left it there, I wouldn’t know if he meant better or worse or what.”

“No. He’s saying he’d gone down on other women too because he had to of been making a comparison between you and some other woman.”

“Yeah. So what?” asked Marci. “I don’t pick up men thinking I’m the only one they’ve been to bed with. Anyway, it’s better if they’ve had some practice, you know?”

I was now unsure why I’d brought the whole thing up. Sitting in the car with Susan, after she offered to give me a blowjob and compared it to going back to highschool, and then afterward asking if I knew that I came a lot, I had wondered what this was telling me about her history. This is the point I meant to bring up, and now I felt like a fool for going there.

“Okay,” I said. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, Ryan,” said Susan. “What were you aiming for there? You started out by saying I said something interesting to you in the car that night.”

“Right, but really, we can let it go.”

“I’m really curious.”

“Okay… Look, when you asked if I knew that I came a lot, you were making a comparison, right?”

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Susan. “I get it now.”

“I don’t,” said Marci.

“When I said that, Ryan knew other men had come in my mouth.”

“Yeah? So?” said Marci. “He knows you’ve been with other men. It’s not like he hasn’t come in my mouth a zillion times.”

“I’m so happy for you,” said Susan.

“That was just part of it,” I said. “And really, I should have let it go, but since it’s gone this far, what struck me most was when she said giving me a blowjob in the car would be like going back to high school. No one ever gave me a blowjob in a car before, and certainly not in high school. But for Susan, it would be like going back to high school, so you see—I had to imagine her giving boys blowjobs in cars.”

“Boy,” said Marci. “You are one fucked-up dude.”

I wondered if she was right.

“Honey,” said Susan. “It’s not like I did it all the time. Maybe twice.”

“You only blew two guys in high school?” asked Marci. “What a priss.”

“What about you, Marci?” I asked. “Or do we need to give you time to think about it?”

“You’re a riot, Ryan.”

“Well?”

“How many girls did you go down on in high school?”

I didn’t have to think about it. “Two.”

“Did they come?” she asked. Her eyes brightened at the prospect.

“How would I remember something