A Year Of Living Stupidly

3. We Need To Talk

A/N: Be advised: This chapter ramps up the adult concepts. Hold on.

I'm twenty-nine years old and sobbing.

Threeb sits next to me on the pullout sleeper sofa in our office/guest room where we've never hosted a guest—until this morning. She massages my thigh in an attempt to calm me and has wrapped a sheet around her body. Jesus, that's the biggest wet spot I've ever seen.

...

"I want to back up a few minutes," I tell her. "And what I have to say is not polite."

"It's all right."

"I'm standing in the doorway and I drop my jacket. They both turn their heads to see what made the sound. Whether it was shock or disbelief, nobody utters a word. And the Older Guy makes zero effort to remove himself from her 'you-know-what,' and not the traditional 'you-know-what.'"

"I get the picture."

"I'd never witnessed Threeb having sex from a distance, so I studied every detail."

"Why?"

"I knew I would never be able to shake the image and I wanted to always know what it actually looked like. I won't let my memory exaggerate or whitewash the truth."

"Interesting."

"After an eternity, Threeb, calm as can be, says, 'Oh,' like the cookies didn't come out right and she realized that she left out the salt—That kind of 'Oh.' And with the Older Guy still inside her ass, all she has to say is, 'I guess we need to talk.'"

...

We need to talk—the official start of the end. Whenever you need to talk, it's invariably something you don't want to talk about.

We need to talk about our relationship.

We need to talk about your future with this company.

We need to talk about your test results.

It's never good.

Threeb's been talking continuously, but my head is buzzing too loudly to hear anything she says. Finally, some words cut through. "You're so negative."

What? Given the circumstances, I'm doing a good job of keeping, if not a positive attitude, at least some neutrality. All the horrible names I could call her or him, but I don't mine that territory. I don't get violent. Maybe she's referring to my overall cynical world-view. You can't blame me for that. The world provides too much ammunition.

...

"Did she explain her actions?" She asks.

"No need."

...

Algebra can be useful at figuring out relationship problems.

Let's say x + y = z.

If x = 'We' and y = 'should take a breather' or,

If x = 'I' and y = 'need some space' or,

If x = 'I' and y = 'want some time to think' or,

If x = 'I' and y = 'don't want a big relationship right now' or, as in my case,

If x = 'You' and y = 'are just so negative' then,

You're screwed. It doesn't matter what values you plug into x and y because z is a constant. Z always equals 'I don't want your penis inside me anymore.'

I was a straight-A math student and understand the equation. Threeb knows that. But her particular issues result in the need to make sure she is Being Heard. In every conversation, she makes sure her point is transmitted and received with no ambiguity. Apparently, it's crucial she deliver this day's message with unnerving detail and joy.

A/N: It's going to get brutal. And funny.

"I don't want your penis inside me anymore," she confirms my math. "I want his. I want his penis in all the places I never let you put your penis. And I want to do all the things with his penis I would never, ever do with yours."

"Like anal, obviously."

"And deep-throating. And facials. And you know the three-way you always wanted to do?" (She's referring to that one time I mentioned her Conniving Friend with the perfect breasts.) "We have a date to do that next week. We're going to do every possible combination of boy-girl, girl-girl, and boy-girl-girl they do in those porn videos you think I don't like to watch. I'm finally going to eat pussy and he will do whatever he wants to both of us while I do. And she and I will team up to give him the most explosive orgasm of his life. You can probably figure out how, and what she and I will do with it afterward."

The pride in her voice is unsettling.

"And guess what?" She beams, "I squirt now." Which explains the size of the wet spot.

...

"She really said all that?"

"It's what I heard."

"And what was your reaction?"

"I'd rather not. Fine. I got an erection. But it didn't last long."

...

Other than my own, I've never seen a hard-on in person. Yet there it is, hovering inches from my face, still glistening with Threeb's newly voluminous moisture. It's smaller than I would expect, not that I planned to see a stranger's erection this, or any, morning. And yet, it cuts through its airspace defiantly, challenging me to ignore it or, I'm convinced, admire its audacity. But I can't allow myself to get distracted from the real issue.

"And all this because I'm negative?"

"Not just that," she explains. "He inspires me." I assume she's referring to the erection's life support system. "And you... You disappear into your own head. He's always right here, in the moment." There may be truth in there, considering the damn boner still dangling at my brow.

"Could you do me a favor," I beg Older Guy, "and do something about that?"

"Sorry."

"What exactly about this situation do you find arousing?" I really want to know.

"Dude, did you not just hear what I'm doing next week?"

...

"You haven't said how you felt about her infidelity. Were you hurt? Angry?"

"I felt–not cheated on, but cheated out of my twenties. You're supposed to explore at that age. I squandered the whole era on someone who was not committed to me."

"Did you consider she might have felt the same? Maybe it led to her cheating."

"If you're unhappy at home, fix it. If it can't be fixed, get out. Sleeping around before you settle things is hurtful."

"Was she your only love?"

"No. I've been in love three times. With four women."

...