“I wonder if there are recommendations anywhere for bibs with the highest rate of absorption—in the long run, that might be cheaper than constantly buying boxes of tissues.”
“So, a blow job bib? Now there’s an idea.”
A blush colors my cheeks at the compliment. “I’m nothing if not practical.”
“Maybe you’re onto something here—something to keep her clothes from getting cum on them that allows for easy cleanup? Not everyone swallows.”
“So true,” I agree with a nod, the visual of giving Brooks a blow job suddenly entering my mind and making me blush harder. Jeez, I have seriously got to give dating another shot—if I’m lusting after Brooks, I’m in a drier drought than I thought.
Brooks tilts his head. “Possibly sold at a novelty store?”
“A blow job bib really is genius. We can sell those to all the sex shops and make a bloody fortune. We can plan the whole thing out on a cocktail napkin.” I look around my living room. Not a cocktail napkin in sight.
“You said cock.” My neighbor laughs like a ten-year-old boy who’s into potty humor.
“No more socks or paper towels necessary for a sloppy toppy—that could be our slogan.” We just keep going and going, the endeavor taking root and making us both laugh as we shout out slogans and products and marketing ideas.
“Fuck, maybe I should quit my job and start a business with you. Who needs to design buildings and create entire communities when we can change the landscape of the sex industry?”
Duh. “Honestly, Brooks—I doubt we’ll even need investors. Just a little seed money—get it? Seed? Semen.”
We both laugh drunkenly, though we’re both completely sober.
Brooks hoots. “A bit of scrap fabric and a dream. Ah, I can see it now.”
That gives me another brilliant idea. “What if we threw in a free hair clip with purchase? Or like, a hair tie.”
“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck yeah to the hair clip. God, it’s not even nine o’clock and we’ve already built an entire business off of blowies before putting on our pajamas. We’re brilliant. We could build an EMPIRE!”
I throw myself back into the couch cushions, emitting an evil laugh, not unlike an evil queen in a cartoon movie.
Confession: we both sound a bit manic, but second confession? It feels amazing.
We’re having fun.
“Free hair ties are brilliant, I tell you! Honestly, it’s perfect.”
I love bantering like this with him. It fuels my soul.
It’s the reason I’ve been up before my alarm clock each morning and out the door for work before I have to be at the office, the reason I’ve been bringing Dale and the rest of the team coffee and donuts.
I’m happy.
Brooks makes me happy. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about blow jobs like it’s no big deal.” And I can’t believe I can make jokes about it without dying of embarrassment.
“It’s hilarious. I’m telling you, Abbott, we should quit our day jobs…”
I think at this moment, Brooks Bennett could talk me into just about anything, including quitting my job to begin a sex toy hair tie company.
12
Desdemona
What are those two idiots blathering about?
I crack an eye, two obnoxiously high-pitched screeches rousing me from a lovely slumber. Ugh, it’s those two again—my human and that other…thing…being noisy and doing whatever it is people do when they’re happy.
Do shut up, I moan, another eyelid opening.
Girl and her new friend are sitting a bit too closely for my liking, hogging my couch—the big, long sofa I’m able to perch on the back of, putting me near the window. I do most of my lounging when Girl leaves in the morning, watching the birds fly by, dogs being walked, people jogging in the big, green park below.
It’s warm during the day in my spot, when the sun is beating down through the window—the window that prevents me from catching birds or killing mice in the park.
My human laughs again.
Mine.
My eyes are open but they narrow at Boy.
At least I think it’s a boy.
I’ve seen versions of him on that square box Girl watches when she’s on the other end of my couch. And now?
Boy is sitting in my spot.
Screeching like an owl.
They both are. The sound has me covering my ears with a furry paw, and I bury my head in the soft, white blanket Girl lays on her bed for me. At least, I think it’s her bed?
It’s also my bed, so it’s really hard to say just who it belongs to. Most of the things in the house are mine, but she uses most of them, too.
I need something, and it appears.
Wait…what’s that smell?
My nose hits the air, face tilted up, searching for a waft of…
Food.
They’re eating, and my gorgeous nose twitches.
True, I have kibble or whatever that brown bullshit is, but I’ve barely touched it today, not in the mood for anything but shrimp, the fragrant aroma wafting out of the white container in Girl’s hands.
She hands it to Boy with a smile.
A gurgle erupts from her throat and it sounds like she’s choking on a hairball—except she’s making the same face at Boy she makes at me when she’s scratching behind my ears or under my chin, so maybe she isn’t dying.
I groan, rolling to my back, mouth opening in an exaggerated yawn, pink tongue licking the air.
Blink at the ceiling.
No one comes to scratch my belly.
An irritated ear twitches, and I crane my neck to peer over at Girl, who still has those loud noises coming out of her mouth.
I dig deep into my belly and push out a loud purr, glance over at Girl.
No one comes to scratch my belly.
Fucking A, how hard is this going to be? Am I going to have to get up and walk over? It’s cold in this godforsaken room and the sun isn’t shining anymore. It’s dark and chilly and Boy is sitting on my blanket.
Bastard.
Except.
There is that shrimp…
Clearly no one is going to hand-deliver it, more’s the pity, so a trip across the room seems to be the only way I’ll get my furry paws on a single morsel.
Screw the kibble.
Rolling to my feet, I manage to rise. Shake out my luscious mane like a white tiger on the Serengeti before stretching. Yawn.
Shake again.
Lick my paw.
Strut forward gracefully, amber eyes—the ones that have Girl spellbound—fixated on the white container in Boy’s large hand.
Give it up, pretty boy.
I lick my chops.
“Ouoiutoiua kitty, kitty.” Girl’s mouth is moving and sound is coming out; she finally gives me the attention I deserve, but I have no interest in her just yet.
I jump onto the couch, into Boy’s lap.
Another loud screech from his mouth hole and I startle, ears pulling back.
Keep your hole closed while you’re feeding me, human. The last thing I need to hear is your intolerable voice. I’m not as impressed with him as Girl is, groaning from deep inside my chest. I don’t like it when he talks, but I do like it when he feeds me.
I deserve better than to be kept waiting.