5 comments/  35638 views/  9 favorites

Teabags

By: rikkitampa2014



My wife Valerie had a glow about her I had not seen in years. Had she been a source of light it would have been spectacular neon display on a building's façade. She entered the kitchen where I stood fairly well bouncing.

"I just saw the most amazing thing!" she enthused.

"What?" And...What, no hello?

"I just saw our future son's balls."

"WHAT?"

She was swallowing her own saliva, nodding. "S'true," she managed to say. "I went over to drop off some things for Caroline, and no one answered the door, so I walked in—the front door was unlocked—and I heard some noises down the hall and I walk in...You know that little side bedroom they have? And Lance and Caroline are going at it on a mattress on the floor-"

"And what did they say when you walked in on them?"

"Nothing. They didn't see me. They were too...in the middle of it. Carol was on her back with her legs in the air and Lance was between them with his back to me. And...I'm having a hot flash!" Val said, fanning herself with a piece of junk mail. "Would you get me a glass of water?"

Tossing a dish towel aside I sighed and headed for a cabinet door. "And?"

"And there his balls were in plain view. They're huge! Twice the size of yours! Thanks," accepting the ice water, and taking a greedy slurp.

"Thanks," I said back, with a smirk.

"They're like a...pair of ripe apricots!"

"All soft and mushy in syrup?"

Valerie frowned. "The fresh ones not the canned ones," reminding me of Hemingway, a short story. "And even though he was in the middle of banging Carol they were still hanging part way down."

"Gravity."

"This beautiful plump pair in a thin sac." Val gulped more water. "I bet when they're fully distended he's got a pair of real low-hangers."

"Maybe he's a stretcher."

Another frown. "What?"

"Nothing."

Valerie returned to her reverie. "I've seen a lot of men's balls in my time, especially back in my Bad Old Days, with Garth, but these...Can I have a refill?"

By Bad Old Days Val was alluding to her relative youth, when she and first husband Garth had been swingers. They'd even performed together, with others, in a couple of semi-amateur porn videos—which could still be had, for not very much money, in VHS format, on Xbay. But those crazy days with Garth, who was Caroline's father supposedly, though I failed to see any resemblance, were long over Val had always insisted.

Was she regressing now, I wondered, before my very eyes? Falling off the wagon so to speak? Was she like the recovering addict who just, in an accidental moment, got a whiff of heroin smoke? I handed her another extinguishing glass of cold water.

"And what do you think your daughter, who is about to get shipped off to a war zone, would think about your sudden infatuation with her future husband's testicles?"

Valerie's botoxed brow really knitted up this time, or tried to. "Carol and I have no secrets," she claimed. "Besides, she's not going to the war zone. She'll be flying her drones from a remote base a thousand kilometers away."

"How do you know?"

"She told me," following a sip.

"She shared classified military information with you?"

"I told you! We have no secrets!" Valerie set her half-empty glass down. "Now I have to pee..."

I thought—hoped—that was the end of it. I should have known better. Ten hours later, just as I was drifting off into a peaceful sleep, a bedside lamp came on. Carol's side. She sat straight up.

"What?" I grumbled.

"I just can't stop thinking about them?"

I played innocent. "Thinking out what?"

"Jeremy's balls!"

"His name is Lance."

"Lance, I mean. Lance! Jeremy was the other one..."

"Jesus, Val. Will you go to sleep?"

"I can't. I'm wide awake. Every time I close my eyes I see that big pair of his throbbing between his legs."

"Throbbing?"

"You know what I mean. Bouncing. Vibrating-like as he pounded Caroline. Though pound is the wrong word..."

"Euro?"

"It was more of a...steady rhythm."

"Like in a porn film."

"Exactly. Hunh?" looking down at me.

I sleepily rolled over onto my right side, back to the lamplight. Back to Valerie's neon face. "Good night..."

"Back in the day," she said, oblivious to my disinterest (while Val was spying in Caroline's house that afternoon, I, after a day of yardwork and horny thoughts, had been masturbating in the shower), "if anybody had a pair like that, I would have lain on my back and opened my mouth wide and had them straddle my face and lower them in. Lain?"

"Tea-bagging," I muttered.

"What?"

"They call it tea-bagging now."

"I know what they call it! And I would have sucked those balls—shaved preferably—and run my tongue over them and then sucked them individually and my partner would've said, 'Oooo, easy baby,' and if I was lucky a second guy would've been eating me the whole time. Yummy. And then-"

A bedtable drawer had abruptly opened. I could hear the urgent frown in Valerie's voice. She was halfway leaning over me.

"Is my vibrator on your side?"

Reluctantly I raised up onto an elbow and opened my bedtable drawer. Maybe I could get rid of her this way. And there the translucent-pink, jelly-thing was. Along with the K-Y. I passed them over to Ms. Neon.

"I'm going in the guest bedroom so I don't keep you awake. It'll be hours before I can get to sleep..."

And hours of off-and-on battery-powered muted buzzing, I thought.

"Nighty-night!" she called in retreat, or advance, depending on how you looked at it, after extinguishing her light.

I was wide awake now. I had a hard on. Well, sort of.

"You didn't tell me you were taking Lance fishing!"

We were back in the kitchen, days later. It was Valerie's turn at the stove. Which meant something bland but greasy, cooking not being her strong point. I poured two glasses of cheap Riesling.

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't!"

"I did. You forgot. I told you after Caroline shipped out and Lance was on his own I was going to take him fishing. We were going to rent a boat. A bonding thing, remember?"

"Oh, that," she blinked, dismissively. "When?"

"Saturday."

Valerie tossed her spatula aside and came running over. If I'd had lapels she would have grabbed them. "Perfect time to tell him about me!"

"What?"

"About my balls! His, I mean! My infatuation with them..."

I raised my hands like a traffic cop. "Hold on, dear, this is your daughter's fiancé we're talking about."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? There is no 'so'. It is what it is. He's your..."

Val's arms had crossed. The handle of the spatula was melting behind her on a burner, the smell acrid.

"You know how this generation is," she protested.

"What generation?"

"Theirs! If there's no intercourse it's not sex. I'm not talking about having sex with him, I'm talking about sucking his big balls. It's completely innocent."

"Innocent...," I mused. "And what is his cock doing all this time?"

"His what?"

"Cock!"

Valerie shrugged. "It's probably getting harder and harder."

Yes, like getting a concept through your thick skull, I thought.

"I'm probably jacking him off while I'm sucking his balls. But it's still not sex."

"Of course it's sex! The spatula is burning, by the way."

"You're not up on what the modern definition of sex is," she said, grabbing said black spatula and tossing it into a hissing kitchen sink.

"Who are you Bill Clinton?"

"Hillary."

"Oh, Christ," I moaned. "I wasn't aware until now there was a Lexicon of Sex Terms."

"What's a Sexicon? I burned my finger," Valerie said, holding it under the tap. "Remember when Caroline was younger and you caught her giving that guy head?"

"Jeremy?"

"No, one of the other guys. Troy, I think."

"OK. So?" I felt like a chess player who'd just realized his last confident move had in fact been a blunder.

"And she said to you, 'It was just oral, dad'—remember how proud you were she'd referred to you as dad?"

"I..."

"And she explained to you how, for her generation, a blowjob was no different than a kiss?"

"Some kiss..."

"Yes, and that's exactly what you said to her that night. Lame. Well? What's the diff between a BJ and tea-bagging?"

"Why are you talking like this?"

"In fact," Valerie reasoned, "it's even more innocuous than a BJ. There's no...transmission."

"Sort of like a Tesla..."

"Who? And what if he does shoot his load on my breasts? Or in my mouth? So what? It's just a kiss..."

"While your patriotic daughter is four thousand miles away-"

"Killing people with drones." Valerie raised the peace sign. "Hey, make love not war! That's always been my philosophy."

"Thanks, Yoko Ono..." My head was spinning. Owing to my wife's ever-spiraling, ad hoc hypocrisy. "Don't try to turn this into some sort of noble-"

A renewed tack, she was at my nonexistent lapels again. "Tell me you'll tell him," she practically begged.

"About...?"

"His balls! My mouth! You...!"

I braced for a knee to the crotch. I really did. Fortunately the ear-piercing smoke alarm had just gone off.

"Take another dramamine," I advised my future step-son, or whatever the hell he was going to be.

"I'm OK," he claimed, wiping sweat from his brow on a relatively cool summer day. As the boat bobbed I opened another beer. My fourth? Fifth? Thinking: good thing Troy—I mean Lance—hadn't been drafted into the Navy. And why, at his ideal age, isn't he part of the war-fodder machine, like my step-daughter? Is he exempted? And if so, why?

"What do you think of Caroline?" I asked confidentially, taking a swig.

He looked at me, blankly. "I lover her!"

I shook my head. "Valerie, I mean. Her mother."

Lance shrugged. His color was returning. "She's nice. A nice lady. I like her."

"No, I mean what do you think of her?"

"Think?"

"Vis-à-vis..."

"Sir? Well, she's got great tits. Like Caroline!"

Now we were getting somewhere.

"Reason I ask," I said, leaning forward in the bobbing boat and passing Lance his second beer, not that he'd asked for it. "A week ago or so, before Caroline shipped out, your future mother came over and caught the two of you, you know...and she happened to get a good look at your balls. Which apparently—"

"She did?"

Lance wore a curious look.

"Yeah."

"I didn't see her."

"She said you were too...At any rate she saw your dangling balls from behind and she—fuck, man, what can I say?—fell in love with them. Said it's the best pair she's ever seen. You know how women are. Once they get an idea in their heads-"

"Wait." Lance had stood up. And was looking greener than ever. "What day was this?" he asked.

I thought back. Shrugged. "I don't know. Thursday? Friday?"

"And this was during the daytime?"

"Yeah. Like two o'clock I think she said."

"Son a bitch!" Lance grimaced, tossing his just-opened can of beer as far as arm allowed. I watched its distant splash in the choppy drink.

"What wrong with you, man?" I shouted. "You're going to capsize us! Sit down!"

"That motherfucker Jeremy...," he mused, taking my advice. 

"Who?"

Lance looked across at me, grey-green like the sickening chop. "Caroline's old boyfriend, Jeremy. That's who your wife saw her with. Caroline's always going on and on about how well-hung he is. It's fucking insulting." He shook his head. "Couldn't have been me, dude. I was at work every weekday last week. Till, like, six p.m."

I went into full recovery mode. As if Norman Bates trying to mop up the tub...

"Hold on, man. Maybe I got the day wrong. Or the time." I hadn't. "I'm sure there's some-"

"No." A surprisingly subdued, or resigned Jeremy, I mean Lance, sat with his hands folded between widespread knees. At least he wasn't standing anymore. Heaving beer cans. "Like I say, it couldn't have been me. See, dude, I've only got, like, one testicle."

You do or you don't? He was looking across at me again, youthful brow furrowed. It was a hangdog look. My mouthed moved, but no sound came out. He went on:

"When I was, like, 19, I had to have one of my testicles removed—the right one—for health reasons. Why do you think I have my military exemption?"

My wordless mouth was still moving. Lance shook his head, an inch of water, and growing, sloshing in boat's aluminum bottom between his feet and mine.

"I should've known...," he said.

"What?" I'd just killed a sixpack.

"Caroline and Jeremy. A goodbye fuck..."

"You know, I need to check with my wife again." I was still mopping the tub. Desperately. "Maybe I misunderstood what she said. Maybe she didn't say anything about a pair of-"

Lance was standing again, unsteadily. (Sit the fuck down!) "Will you take me back to shore? Like, NOW? I'm going to be sick."

I found Valerie upstairs in the jacuzzi, up to her eyebrows in suds. In fact, suds had spilled over the sides onto the pink tile floor.

"I always forget," she said, batting the froth away. "Never use bubble bath in a jacuzzi..."

"Yes. Not a good idea," I said, picking her damp panties off the floor and tossing them in a sink. Her side. "So how did it go?"

Neon!

"Oh my," my wife said. "My oh my. Exceeded all expectations."

"Really?" My hand was sticky. From the panty.

"And I'm so relieved it wasn't Lance."

"Why, because he's only got one-"

"No!" still batting bubbles. "Because he's future family."

We'll see, I thought...

"First he teabagged me..."

"Jeremy?"

"Of course Jeremy! Who else are we talking about? And while I sucked his big balls I stroked his cock. A little skinnier than I expected but still nice. And then we fucked. That was beyond wonderful! No wonder Caroline still has the hots for this guy. Then he pulled out and came all over my breasts. Big cummer, big surprise. It was like I was back in my old VHS days!"

"Maybe you guys should hire a videographer."

"I was meaning to talk to you about that. Anyway, Caroline is pissed."

"About you and Lance? Jeremy I mean?"

"Fuck no. That just happened today! She's pissed because, after your famous fishing trip thank you very much, she and Lance talked and he told her about me and the set of balls—Oh, yummy yum yum!—and now she thinks I'm some kind of intruder or spy or something and-"

"Better watch out. She'll sic a drone on your fat ass..."

"Fat? What do you mean fat?," slapping suds. "So now I've got to deal with that bullshit..."

"On the bright side, just wait till she talks to Jeremy..."

"He's fair game! In fact, better than fair game. That little slut is in a relationship after all."

"Oh, like you're not?"

"We have an arrangement," Valerie countered, leveling at me a glance that would have felled a redwood. I continued picking up discarded, sticky clothes. A matching push-up bra, for instance.

"I feel sorry for Lance," I said from the righthand sink, Val's sink.

"Why?"

"Because-"

"SHHH!" Valerie hissed, sudsy hand jerking upward at the crescent window above her head.

"What?"

"Quiet! I thought I heard a whirring sound..."