Oliver
“Where’s Vivian?”
She’s in the bathroom, but she’s been in there for a while. Maybe you should check on her,” my mom says while walking past me, carrying out plates and silverware.
“Yeah, I will.”
I stop at the door and listen, but I can’t hear anything. “Vivian?” I knock.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay in there?”
“Yes. I’ll be right out.”
“Are you feeling sick or something?”
“No.”
“Female issues?”
The door swings open. “No, I’m not having female issues, or the shits, or anything like that.”
“Are you wishing you wore underwear?”
She rolls her eyes. “No!”
Damn! Why did I go there again? I’m already hard again.
She sighs. “I told your mom you asked me to move in. Then I thought that wasn’t really my news to share with her. Are you mad?”
Men suffer from both types of ADD—Attention Deficit Disorder and Acute Dick Dementia. The latter being the inability to remember anything that’s said around us for at least five minutes after a sexual thought enters our brain, and if a new thought creeps in within that five minutes the clock starts over.
“Oliver? Did you hear me?”
“What? Yes … no. You have to start wearing underwear, every day. Okay?” I adjust myself and her eyes follow my movement.
“What about your mom?”
“I’m quite certain she wears them. I don’t think she’s the type—”
“Oli! I’m talking about her knowing that I’m moving in with you.”
“Oh.” I pull her into my chest and kiss the top of her head. “I was going to tell everyone at dinner anyway, so it’s no big deal. Why? What did my mom say?”
“Nothing really, but she looked shocked. I mean, before that she said I was good for you, but then I told her that you asked me to move in and her whole demeanor changed.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
Vivian looks up at me. “Are you? It felt spur of the moment and we haven’t known each other that long. I’d understand if you wanted to change your mind.”
Hell yes I want to change my mind. Who wouldn’t after a temporary lapse of sanity? The practical part of my brain wants to tell her to run and never look back.
“I’m not going to change my mind.” I kiss her and the irrational part of me that asked her to move in returns and triggers my ADD response.
“We’d better go,” she mumbles against my lips. “They’re waiting for us.”
“Let them wait.” I suck her tongue and grab her breast with one hand while my other lifts her dress in the front.
“Oli, stop.”
I slip my finger into her slick channel. “Are you sure?”
Her head falls against my chest while her hands grip my shoulders. “Yes … I mean no. I mean … oh … God.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No … yes … oh … God.” Her fingernails claim the top layers of my skin even through my shirt.
I add a second finger and rub her little nub with my thumb. It’s sadistic of me, both to her and myself, but I can’t stop.
“You two coming?” Chance yells from the back door.
“Oh God!” Vivian yells as I pinch her nipple through her dress and tug on it—hard. Releasing it, I cup my hand over her mouth.
“What’s that?” Chance’s voice echoes.
“In a minute,” I yell back. “Are you close?” I whisper in her ear.
She fists my shirt and swallows while nodding her head, eyelids heavy.
“Good. I’ll meet you at the dinner table.” I pull out my fingers, kiss her cheek, then walk away.
“Oliver!” she grits between her teeth, but I don’t look back.
Payback’s a bitch.
Chance is waiting for me at the deck door. “I think you should ask Vivian to give the blessing before dinner,” he says with a hushed voice.
“What?”
He rests his arm over my shoulders as we walk toward the table. “She just seems pretty religious.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard her calling to our Lord.”
I shove him away. “Are you drunk?”
“Not yet, but oh … God I could be.” His voice raises a couple of octaves.
I glare at him. “Not one word to her. You don’t need to embarrass her.”
He holds up his hands and shakes his head. “Oh … God, no that’s your job.”
“What are you boys talking about?” Mom sits down at the table next to Dad.
“Nothing.”
“Is Vivian coming?”
Chance chuckles and snorts like a perverted teenager.
“Yes she’s com—on her way.” I shake my head at Chance.
“There she is,” Dad says.
She smiles at my parents and even gives Chance an endearing look. Me? I get nothing, not one glance. Standing, I pull out her chair. “Are you mad?” I whisper in her ear.
“I don’t get mad, I get even,” she says between gritted teeth.
If we didn’t have an audience I would argue that what I did was getting even with her and that now we are in fact, even. End. Done. Final.
“How was Cape Cod? Thought you weren’t coming back until Sunday.” Chance knows all my buttons to push tonight.
“Vivian wasn’t feeling well. I think she’s still struggling with it tonight—shit!” I slap my hand against the table causing the glasses and silverware to rattle.
“Oliver, what are you doing?” My mom gives me a stern glare.
“Actually,” Vivian interrupts with a fake grin while clenching my junk so tight under the table I doubt it’s still in one piece, “Oli has trouble, well … I’m just going to say it since you’re his family and I know this is a nonjudgmental, safe environment. He can’t sustain an erection,” she whispers, “when there are other people in the house. So our romantic getaway wasn’t feeling so romantic. That’s why we came home early. I think he gets nervous or something. What do you think, Dr. Konrad?”
She did NOT just tell my family that I have ED, did she? My dad looks at me and I clench my teeth while prying her death grip off my crotch.
My dad grins and I’m not sure if Chance is even breathing he’s laughing so hard. “Maybe you should come in for a physical, Son. ED can be a symptom of a more serious condition.”
“Vivian’s not wearing underwear.” The words are out and I can’t take them back.
Her eyes go wide as she gasps. Then they shrink into a menacing scowl. “Oli cut his head after he tripped while chasing me around his place naked because he was trying to spank me.”
I throw in the towel and kiss her with my hands cradling her face. It’s passionate and demanding and I don’t stop until I feel her whole body surrender. The roar of laughter around us is accented with a nice round of applause.
Releasing her lips, I stare into her hypnotic green irises while still cradling her face as if we’re in our own little bubble. “Vivian agreed to move in with me,” I say with a soft voice.
She smiles and nods.
We both turn and I’m not sure if the watery eyes gazing at us are from all the laughter or something else; but in this moment, for the first time in over three years, I don’t see it: pity.
“Man! I can’t believe you stole my girl.” Chance draws the attention away from us. More laughter fills the balmy summer evening air.
“You’re still my backup.” Vivian blows him a kiss.
“Well, I’m happy for you both.” My dad raises his glass. “To Oliver and Vivian, may you never stop finding the humor in life.”
My mom holds up her glass with one hand and wipes a few tears with her other. I know they are happy tears mixed with a few sad ones too. As much as she wants me to move on, I imagine she fears my past is unresolved and could destroy what I have with Vivian. Yet another self-diagnosis. It must be genetic.