Have you ever had one of those moments when you see yourself from above? Not like an out-of-body experience where you’re dying or anything. You’re just watching yourself and the entire scene play out and you’re shaking your head and tsk-tsk-tsking yourself. You know your behavior is unacceptable but you just can’t stop yourself. There is no amount of self-control left in your body. You are an intelligent individual. You are charismatic. You are lovable. You are ignoring all of these attributes and skills. You are becoming a Jackass.
You know it. You feel it. Hell, you even see it. You just can’t stop it. You know there are going to be ramifications as a result of your verbal Jack-assery but you just don’t care. For me, it takes a lot. I’ve got to be pushed to my absolute, furthest limit. I’m talking indigestion after eating raw jalapeno in chili with a Tabasco chaser. Yeah, that kind of breaking point.
This happened to me over the holidays. What began as a delightful (excuse the play on words) vacation with friends ended in the cold shoulder. Here’s the truth, from DJ’s point of view. And yes, I did just third-person myself.
We arrived in my hometown Friday evening. Immediately, we had plans with Daniel. Our relationship is odd (and that’s being nice). My husband knows we’ve been intimate in the past and knows that we are still best friends. He is also best friends with Daniel and they do what men do together, blow things up, work on cars, talk about boobs…you know, guy stuff. Even when I’m around, nothing changes. I’m just one of the guys…except for that whole I have boobs thing. If you’ve read my “There’s no risk involved if you’re good” blog, you know that Daniel and I have this sexual tension swirling around us pretty much all the time. We can not be alone together. It always ends up in a make-out session or worse…meh…maybe better, depends on who’s judging.
So, Saturday night, we had a bon-fire at Daniel’s work. He has several acres and no neighbors there and it’s perfect for music, drinks, and a fire. A few people show up. Good times. The entire night, even as I sat on the tailgate of his truck, some 30 feet from him, I could see him watching me. I pretended not to really notice. I knew that if I made direct eye contact with him, he’d own me for the night. Nevertheless, I did, occasionally, glance his way and let him catch me doing it. Hubby was drinking pretty heavily and I knew he was not going to be driving us home. Daniel had only had two beers, perhaps in preparation for that drive home. Hubby was adamant that he was fine and would be able to transport us safely *EYE ROLL*. Daniel sent me a quick text from across the fire, “Y’all can crash at my place tonight if you need to.” I responded, “Convince him of that.” About that time, Hubby leans over the side of the chair and tosses his cookies. He wouldn’t need convincing after all.
We get to Daniel’s house and I am commissioned to prepare the 2 am snack for the three of us: EZ Mac and Chicken Fingers. 🙂 Hubby was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and cleaning himself up. Daniel was, you guessed it, hovering very near me in the kitchen. I could feel his eyes on me as I did everything in my power to stare intensely at the spinning bowl of macaroni in the microwave. I was not going to turn around. I was not going to give him the opening. The silence in that room was so thick you couldn’t have cut it with a hack-saw. I wanted Daniel to touch me. He wanted to touch me. But we didn’t know how to break the silence. Like we always have been, neither of us can ever pull the trigger. The timer on the microwave said 1:43 remaining. That’s the last thing I remember seeing before Daniel grabbed my arm and spun me around. He pushed me back against the counter, grabbed the sides of my face, and oral chaos ensued. I could feel his boxer-clad hips and everything in between pressing against my own hips. He was very excited to be there. I pulled him closer to me, wrapping my leg around his waist, close to hopping on the countertop when the toilet flushed. Hubby was done. We quickly parted. He sat down at the table and that damn microwave dinger had impeccable timing. I placed two bowls of steaming mac and cheese on the table and retreated to the bathroom to change clothes and regain composure.
The boys ate and Hubby stepped outside to smoke. I was making the guest bed because obviously, we were staying the night, when out of nowhere Daniel’s manly bits are entering my airspace again. This time, his hands are on my hips and he was pulling me to him from behind. I stand up and he’s kissing my neck. Damn this boy! He wasn’t taking no for an answer. This time, even though I pretended I was trying to be good, I was a little more open to the encounter and I became the aggressor. I pushed him against the wall, grabbed a handful of those boxers and went to work. And then…..his door chime went off signaling that the smoke break was over.
Fast forward through Hubby and I sleeping off the booze, the next day’s Christmas activities, and all that’s included in that. That’s boring. We decided that we would go dirt road riding with Daniel. For those of you not familiar with that terminology, “riding dirty” or “dirt road riding” is when you obtain a four-wheel drive vehicle, normally a pickup truck, a full cooler of your preferred beverage, normally beer, and you proceed to a road that has not yet been adorned with black gold most commonly referred to as asphalt. Daniel called one of his “friends” to join us. I suppose so he wasn’t the third wheel. He hesitated before calling her, afraid that I would scare her or otherwise ostracize her. I understand now why he was hesistant.
Trixy, as she will affectionately be called, is 24. She has thin, dark brown, shoulder length, stringy hair. Her face is unfortunate with deep acne scars on both cheeks, a nose that would allow her to play either Big Bird or Woody the Woodpecker with ease, and eyebrows that rival Wilfred Brimley’s. The rest of her? Well, I’m surmising that is why Daniel called her to begin with. Yes, Trixy was adorned with after-market parts. She got the 500 CC models. Add to that, during the course of the evening, we were all informed of her nipple rings, various tattoos, lack of panties, sexual exploits on top of bars, her lack of a gag reflex, her ability to maintain a steady level of drunkeness so that she is still able to perform in bed following a night out…well, you get the idea. Trixy also let us know that, had she known it was so hard to get a job, she would have lied about the father of her child. That way, she wouldn’t have to go to school or work. Her “Baby-Daddy” would have provided for her. Oh, and apparently, Webster’s Dictionary is not her favorite reading material as the words Accountability and Acceptability are now synonyms. I endured 3 hours of mind-numbing conversation with White Trash Barbie and maintained my grace, composure, and class the entire time. I didn’t even balk when she snatched my hand over to her right breast and made me fondle her to see how natural it felt.
We dropped her off at her vehicle after my 3 hour lesson on the finer aspects of being a whore. I knew she was probably going to end up at Daniel’s place. I hoped not, but I knew better. After all, he’d invested a 6 pack in her, he had to get his money’s worth. She got in her vehicle and Daniel turns around to look at me for approval. I’m not naive and he’s certainly not mine to be possessive of; so I said, most sanctimoniously, “Daniel, If you do bed this girl, please, dear God, wrap it up. I’m pretty sure she has a 4 inch thick file at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. Add to that, if you do escape without requiring a penicillin injection, you’ll end up footing the bill for whatever future offspring she can blame you for. Or for her next boob overhaul.” Well, apparently, this didn’t sit well with Hubby. Daniel just laughed. Hubby insisted my hositility was because I was jealous.
I most certainly was not jealous. She was stupid, ugly, and trashy. And she had no right to swoop in and man-handle him. Besides, she’d spent all night telling me how I should feel inferior to her because I hadn’t birthed my child naturally and my breasts weren’t as firm and perky as her own. Who did she think she was? Fine, I will admit it. I was jealous that this lower class citizen was going to be copulating with My Daniel. Then, the bigger issue arises…I shouldn’t be jealous. I squirmed my way out of the argument with Hubby. I have amazing debate skills and I can cry on demand. But the entire situation left me feeling like a Jackass. I have no right to be angry at Daniel for his frollicking with her. I shouldn’t dislike her just because she’s gonna “hoover” Daniel. I shouldn’t feel inferior to her because she has fake boobs and gave birth naturally. I shouldn’t care at all. I had a father for my child. I am gainfully employed. I can buy my own damn beer. And I could grow my own boobs, I didn’t need the 500 CC after-market set. Add to that, Daniel was trying to do me the night before. I could’ve had him if I’d wanted.
So I pitched my hissy fit with Hubby for no reason. And Daniel hasn’t admitted he actually followed through. Well, really he has. His lack of communication with me speaks volumes. He would’ve normally texted or called by now after a visit. I’m just guessing here, but I think he’s ashamed. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he added a notch to his bed post that night. And it still pisses me off a little.
Diary of a Dirty Domestic Goddess 