You have to understand, I was a goddamn mess, but I was a charming mess. I’d just moved to Scottsdale from the Sedona fog, and I was rattling my cage. I met this woman, Jen, at the Four Seasons. A real “upclass” joint, as she’d say. She was a little on the cuckoo side, but she was pretty, in that “I’ve seen some shit” kind of way. She had a blouse on, two buttons undone, a little peek of a nipple just saying “hello.” Lipstick on her teeth.
Our connection? The most beautiful, ironic, and completely unholy thing in the world: we were both ex-Mormons. We were the fallen angels, and we were looking for a new kind of hell to raise. I kissed her in the parking lot. She took off to Utah to see Def Leppard. A beautiful, trashy, and completely perfect start.
She was a player, in her own right. Juggling a few guys. But we both knew there was a possibility, a beautiful, chaotic spark. Our lovemaking, in the beginning, it wasn’t great. I have… expectations. I’m Kirk Douglas, for Christ’s sake. I need a little more than the missionary two-step. But there was room for improvement.
Which brings us to the night.
She wanted to come over. Had to get a babysitter, had a curfew. A real goddamn Cinderella, if Cinderella was a divorced Mormon with a taste for disaster. She comes to my Scottsdale house. We go out on the balcony, have a glass of wine.
“You know,” I said, feeling generous, “I got some edibles from a friend.”
She was all in. I gave her a brownie. She ate it. And then, I think she had… another handful? A quiet, fateful, and completely idiotic miscalculation.
We proceed to the bedroom. It’s on. The standard hour of “Kirk Douglas” being a goddamn legend. We’re high, we’re talking about experimenting, about going “full Toronto.” And in a moment of beautiful, inspired, and completely degenerate genius, I introduce a new… tool… into the equation. A butt plug.
I’m in doggy style, pounding away like a goddamn piston. She’s screaming, I’m screaming. A huge, primal, beautiful, and completely honest symphony of sex. The climax, it was a goddamn nuclear explosion. My back arched, the relief was intense. Holy Christ. The best we’d ever had.
I pull back, a beautiful, sweaty, and completely triumphant hero.
And I look down.
The toy.
It’s… gone.
I’m on my knees, patting the bed. “Where the hell did it go?” I’m looking under the sheets, on the floor. Nothing. I’m starting to sweat, and not from the sex.
“What are you looking for?” she pants, still half-dead on the mattress.
“Our… our toy,” I said. “The dildo-thing. The plug.”
And in that one, quiet, cold, and completely terrifying moment, we both realized.
It wasn’t on the bed. It was in the goddamn bed. It was… inside her.
For the next half-hour, I went prospecting. A beautiful, ugly, and completely hopeless finger-fishing expedition. I’m digging around in her ass, a goddamn perverted spelunker, trying to get a grip on the damn thing. But every time I thought I had it, it would just… fwoop… slip a little deeper. I was not winning this goddamn war.
And it didn’t help that the handful of brownies she’d eaten had just declared total fucking war on her brain. She wasn’t just high; she was on another goddamn planet. She was… passing out.
“Jen,” I’m saying, slapping her face a little. “Come on, hon. Wake up. You can’t fall asleep here.”
And then the other bomb dropped. The babysitter. She had to leave. Now.
So now I have a beautiful, naked, and completely unconscious woman in my bed, a sex toy lost somewhere in her colon, and an angry babysitter waiting for a phone call. A beautiful, classic, and completely fucked-up Tuesday night.
I grabbed her phone, got the password, and called the babysitter. An older lady.
“Look,” I said, trying to sound respectable, “Jen is… a little liberated. She’s going to be about an hour late.”
And the lady, she just goes full Karen. “I don’t know who you are! I need to hear her! You could be raping her right now!”
“No, no, no,” I said, and I stick the phone next to Jen’s muffled, half-conscious face.
“Hrmmphh… yeah… ‘sokay…” Jen slurs into the phone.
A beautiful, convincing, and completely useless alibi.
“I’m on my way!” the babysitter screams, and she hangs up. She’s coming to my house. With the kids.
Holy. Goddamn. Shit.
I drag Jen out of bed. A beautiful, dead weight. I get her pants on, her shirt on, just as there’s a furious pounding on the door. It’s her. The babysitter. And she’s pissed. “This is happening again?” she says.
And I see the kids, her poor, goddamn, innocent kids, asleep in the back of the babysitter’s car.
The two of us, me and this angry, judgment-filled Karen, we do a two-person carry. We haul Jen’s beautiful, limp, and still-internally-accessorized body to her car, slide her into the driver’s seat, and the babysitter just gives me this look of pure, unadulterated hatred. A beautiful, ugly, and completely honest end to a chaotic night.
The next day, I get the call.
“James,” Jen says, her voice a little shaky. “We fucked up last night. I… am I under the impression there is something… inside my ass?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, that is true.”
“Well,” she sighed, “I’m going to the doctor. Do you… want to come?”
I’m supposed to be there for support, right? A good “friend.” Hold her hand. I didn’t even think. “No,” I said. “I’m busy. I’m okay. You just… give me a call when you’re done.” A beautiful, quiet, and completely chickenshit act of self-preservation.
She went. She put her feet in the stirrups. The doctor went in with the “long prongs.” He told her it was so goddamn deep they were about to schedule surgery. But they got it. They retrieved the lost soldier.
After that, I decided maybe, just maybe, this was a sign from the universe. That me and this beautiful, chaotic, and completely uninsurable disaster of a woman, we were “too alike.” My dad met her once and said, “You two are brother and sister.” And he was right. We were chaos magnets.
We stayed “friends,” of course. “Friends with benefits.” But the dating, the “relationship”? That was over. You can’t build a life on a foundation that unstable.
But Christ, what a goddamn story. What a beautiful, ugly, and completely hilarious clusterfuck. You can’t make that shit up. You can’t live in a “world of maybes.” Sometimes you just have to shove the goddamn butt plug in, lose it, and call the babysitter.
That’s how you know you’re alive.
