The Birds and the Bees

Monkey's Butthole

What was I thinking? That only had I agreed to meet Simon fucking O'Hara at the busiest point in my working year, but now he was taking me away from my gorgeous nearly boyfriend who would otherwise be fucking me stupid. I guess I was just that good a person.

The morning after, Adrian had brought me breakfast in bed, the perennial favorite: French toast with blueberries and sliced strawberries and a beautiful dusting of powdered sugar over it all. I ended up swiping a bit of the powdered sugar on the end of his nose and after we ate I spent the rest of the morning gloriously naked in bed memorizing every freckle and mole on his body while he discovered every dimple and crease on mine.

It was heaven on earth.

My heaven, evidently, wasn't meant to last forever. Wednesday came and with it responsibilities, both for me and for Adrian. The way he tenderly held my face in his hands as he left for work that morning is something I'll never forget.

"You sure you're going to be okay, Eugenie? I'm going to be awfully late tonight. I'll probably get in after your meeting with..."

I curled my hands around his wrists and looked sincerely up into his eyes. "I'll be fine, Adrian," I assured him. "I'm a big girl. Now, go out there and tackle those prosecutors." I followed this with a fond smack on his gorgeous ass.

He grinned widely, his eyes crinkling up at the corners in that adorable way they did. But as soon as he was gone, I leaned against the closed door and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. Even work seemed to crawl by until the inevitable hour of seven o'clock approached and I gave Alex and mock salute of farewell.

"Hot date?" he asked, smiling lasciviously.

I rolled my eyes and leaned against the door jamb, obviously stalling for time. "Yeah, I wish! No, unfortunately Adrian's working late tonight and I'm meeting my father for drinks and a long overdue father-daughter."

Alex had the good grace to wince. "Ew. Good luck with that, Gene."

"Yeah," I whispered pushing off the door frame and turning to leave.

To my surprise, the White Oaks Kitchen turned out to be one of those craft beer places, all exposed brick work and rafters and trying too hard. There were brightly colored stickers with hipster sayings stuck to the columns and rusted old license plates nailed to the wall. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, but certainly not this.

For a while I sat there, feeling like the sort of person who went out on his own to drink artisanal ales which, thinking about it, was probably a perfectly respected pastime in the artisanal-drinking community. Oddly enough, this wasn't very comforting. I ordered a pint of Monkey's Butthole, which apparently had notes of mango and banana, and a toasty bitterness that lingered right to the end. I sat there alone in my table amongst the beards and ironic lumberjack shirts.

Having spent the past half decade missing deadlines and then telling myself it was fine because my friends knew where they stood with me, I felt at once angry at my dad for pulling the same stunt and angry at myself for taking so long to realize what a crappy way that was to treat people, and also for being hypocritical about it.

My phone buzzed. It was nice to know Adrian was thinking of me, but it was less nice that he apparently decided to think of me through the medium of a photo of a gray-haired man I most certainly did not recognize.

I assume this is a dick, I texted.

Yes.

Should I have any clue what kind of dick it is?

It's a movie dick.

I liked this better when it was a flirty game instead of an actual general knowledge quiz.