Strip tease. Done. Did not go well.
Wall sex. Done. More dangerous than anticipated.
Role-play. Done. Will never, ever be spoken of again.
Sex tape. Umm… I don’t know. Could I do that? Could Jeremiah do that? Do I even want to know what our sex life looks like?
I sigh as I contemplate what my next move will be to spice up our lives, when visions of Ross and Rachel from Friends assault my memory. In particular, the episode where they watch their own sex tape and are mortified. Yes, that was a TV show, but still, if beautiful people can’t stand watching their own fake sex tape on a fake TV show, how in the world will I do it?
Me and Jeremiah. Just an average couple.
“Yoohoo, earth to Becky!” Janine waves her hand through the air in front of me to capture my attention. “What are you doing?” She walks up next to me, tossing her purse and keys into the open locker next to mine in the locker room at the gym. She gives me a sidelong glance and a low whistle. “Whoa. You have the Suck-it List out, so it must be important.”
Embarrassed, I quickly fold up the sheet of paper and stuff it back in my purse with a nervous laugh. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s next to try that won’t end horribly. Every attempt seems to be a massive failure.”
Janine bends down and makes a show of re-tying her pink and aqua gym shoes. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re trying too hard?”
I scoff and blow the bangs out of my eyes, rooting around my purse for a rubber band so I can whip it back into a ponytail. “How is trying to spice up sex with my husband trying too hard?”
“I don’t know,” she says slowly, standing. “Maybe you should start with something more simple.”
I’m afraid to even ask. “Like what?” I shut the locker door, grab the orange key fob out of the lock, and pin it to the inside of my tank top.
“Blow jobs.”
I roll my eyes and begin my stretch. “What is your obsession with blow jobs?”
I’m not shouting, but I’m loud.
Too loud.
An older woman, wearing a swimsuit and appearing to be just shy of her ninetieth birthday, rounds the corner, stops pushing her walker mid-shuffle, and drops her jaw.
“Um…” I stumble. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Oh stop,” Janine says, turning to address the crypt keeper. “Ma’am, you look like the sort of woman who wouldn’t be offended by something like that. In fact, I bet you could give my friend Becky here some friendly wisdom.”
Her jaw quickly snaps shut, and she rubs her chin thoughtfully while using her other hand to hold on to her walker for support. “Well, of course I have advice. I’m old, not sheltered,” she responds with a snap of authority in her tone. “I’m shocked because we were just discussing the benefits of blowies in my water aerobics class a few minutes ago.”
Did she just say blowies? Please no.
The old woman shuffles forward a few inches towards us. “Even at my age, you have to keep your man happy.” She glances around and says in a mock whisper, “Have you tried the grapefruit technique?”
Even Janine has the decency to look shocked by the dramatic turn this conversation has taken. However, unlike myself, who’s standing here slack-jawed, she recovers quickly.
“Hmm, I can’t say I have. Care to enlighten us?”
Grandma shuffles forward again and glances towards the clock hanging on the far side of the locker room. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a massage scheduled with Raul in ten minutes in the spa, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss having his skilled hands all over my body.” She waddles towards her locker, casting a look over her wrinkled shoulder. “You ladies know how to use the online intranet system, don’t you? Look it up on the YouTube. It’ll have all the instructions and even a video demonstration.”
As soon as she hobbles around the corner and we wipe away the last tears from our laughter, Janine makes a beeline for her locker, frantically grabbing her phone and pulling up YouTube to search. “Let’s see if the old bag is right.”
“That was the strangest conversation I’ve ever had,” I tell Janine as I grab my foot and pull it to my rear in a hamstring stretch. “It’s like I was in a Space-Time Continuum with Janine from the future.”
Janine ignores my barb and thumbs through videos on her phone. “You heard her. Blowies are a tried and true method to sexing up your relationship and proven to be effective in all age categories.”
I roll my eyes towards the ceiling. “Okay, you just made that up. She did not say that.”
“No, she didn’t. But it’s true. Blow his mind with a blowie.”
“Gross,” I say. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
“A-ha!” she yells, victorious. “I found it! Holy crap, here it is: the grapefruit technique.”
For the next five minutes, instead of stretching and getting ready for a workout we paid good money for, we stand huddled in the cold locker room, watching some nasty-ass woman sucking on a dildo with a grapefruit wrapped around the base. She’s moaning and groaning and making sex noises.
What in the actual fuck?
Janine is obviously enthralled, because she immediately begins quizzing me. “Did you see that you can cut the hole in the grapefruit to any size?” she says as we walk through the door together towards the weight room. At the far side of the room stands our trainer. “That way it doesn’t matter how big or small Jeremiah is. It’ll still feel good to him.”
I grab a clean, white towel off the metal rack as we pass by and wrap it around my neck, holding on to the ends. “Are you out of your freaking mind? I’m not using the grapefruit technique, Janine. No.”
“What? Why?” she asks, looking way more disappointed than she should in my preference of blow jobs. “Why not? He’ll love it.”
“You’re insane. And so was that old lady.” We pass the barbells and elliptical machines. “Besides, I don’t like grapefruit.”
“So use an orange. You saw the video. It’s way smaller, but the video did say any citrus fruit will do.”
“I don’t like citrus fruits.”
“Liar!” she yells, pointing her finger in my face as I begin stretching out my back and shoulders. “You love oranges!”
I hold up a pointer finger. “But I hate laundry. Do you know how messy that will be on my sheets?”
“So put a towel underneath him.”
“Ohmygod, Janine.” I sigh. “If you want to know how well the grapefruit method works, why don’t you try it yourself? Give Harvard another chance.”
Our trainer Matt catches the end of our conversation, and a pleased smile tips his lips. “Did I hear something about grapefruit and oranges? I’m glad to hear you ladies finally discussing some healthier eating habits.” Poor, poor, good-looking but naïve Matt.
If only he knew.
To say Matt is attractive is an understatement. He’s not overly tall and has a glowing tan I suspect is cosmetically enhanced; Matt is the textbook specimen of male perfection. Built. Sinewy. Ripped. We’ve never seen him without his shirt on, but his biceps can’t be covered up, even by sleeves.
He has a bright smile and is always pleasant to be around.
And he’s twenty-three.
I made sure of his age before Janine and I embarked on Matt’s small group fitness classes. I was hoping the vast age difference would deter her from hitting on the trainer. I’ve actually grown to enjoy coming to the gym, and I don’t want our membership in jeopardy because of some harmless sexual harassment. Or because he violates some weird policy about sleeping with clients. Because Janine loves to flirt, and to her, flirting knows no boundaries.
So far, so good.
“Oh, we weren’t talking about food—” she begins.
“Yes! Yes we were!” I interrupt quickly, shooting her a panicky glare. “We were in fact discussing the merits of citrus fruit in our diet.”
Beside me, my best friend lets out an unladylike snort.
“Ah. Well, even so, let me just give you a little tip: you need to be careful how much citrus you add to your diet…” We stand idly by as Matt launches into a passionate explanation about sugars in fruit, carbs in fruit, and acids in fruit. He continues with serving sizes while we finish warming up and wait for the others in our class to arrive.
Once he’s done and goes to greet more of our classmates, Janine just stands there, making none-too-subtle googly eyes at Matt. “Did you hear that, Becky? Matt sure knows a lot about grapefruit.” She winks at me.
My hands go to my hips and I pick up the big blue medicine ball. “Did you enjoy that? Huh? Did you enjoy my discomfort?” I ask in a hiss as I rotate my torso, first to the left, then the right. Other members of our class trickle over, warming up within earshot.
“I won’t lie; I really, truly did,” she says honestly. She gives Matt another glance. “Isn’t it nice to have some eye candy to focus on during class? And did you hear what he said about citrus? Be careful how many times a week you use the grapefruit technique.” She laughs and takes a seat on the ground, grabbing for her own ball of torture and death. “One… two…”
“Janine!” I exclaim while trying to keep count of the number of times I’ve rotated with the medicine ball. “I am not doing the grapefruit technique.”
“Nine… ten…” she counts.
“That was three. You’re cheating.”
“Whatever,” she says with a wave of her wrist, dropping the ball and turning her head towards me, always wanting to chatter as I bust my ass with actual physical exertion. “I’m going to try it next time I have an opportunity and I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah—you do that.”
“I will!” she challenges me.
“You don’t think a guy is going to take one look at a grapefruit and run the other way screaming? I mean, hello—acid in the hole…” I let my voice trail off.
“Acid in the… Ew! Ouch.” My best friend shudders.
“Speaking of dating opportunities,” I say with a grunt as I count off the last of my twists and move to the next station. Planks. Ugh, I hate planks and they hate me. “Did Harvard ever come out of the bathroom after it didn’t, you know… work?”
She plops down on the yoga mat next to me and assumes the plank position. Sort of. Her butt is in the air just enough to showcase her derriere, eliminate any physical exertion whatsoever, and ensure that Matt will notice her poor technique and try to correct it. It won’t work, but he’ll have his hands on her.
Just how she likes it.
I, on the other hand, am already sweating like a pig, perspiration dripping down the middle of my back and staining my gray tank. I look like I’ve been here all afternoon, but we’re only on station number two. Out of five.
Janine interrupts my inner complaining.
“He came out of the bathroom as I was getting ready to walk out the door.”
“Really? How’d that go?”
“It was awkward. He followed me into the kitchen but didn’t offer me a nightcap. Not even a cup of coffee to go.”
Yikes.
“But did he say anything about his… member not going in?” I’ve been holding this plank for so long, my arms, legs, and voice are shaking.
“Okay, first of all,” she grunts. “No one calls it a member. No one.” I watch as she lowers her knees to the ground to “rest.” She prattles on. “He never said a word about it, but he did text me. Something about us not working out. Of course, the only recourse was to reach down into the depths of my black soul and be honest with him.”
“Your black soul? Don’t be so dramatic.” I plop down on my stomach, taking my allotted five-second rest time to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth… “I’m a little nervous about your brutal honesty in this situation.”
“All I did was tell him how it is,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Meaning what?”
“I texted him back, ‘Foreplay, foreplay, foreplay.’ And just in case he didn’t take the hint, I told him he really needed to watch some videos and figure out how to get a woman turned on before sticking it in. I recommended Don Dean, of course.” We resume our planks and she continues. “As much as his self-confidence might attract women and get them into his bed, it isn’t going to do anything for them once they get there. Not if he wants to keep them there. I did him a favor, trust me.”
I burst out laughing as we stand up and walk to the next station.
Lunges.
I was wrong before when I said I hated planks. I hate lunges. Especially when Matt makes us hold twenty-pound weights while we do them.
Why does Matt hate us so much?
“And how did he respond to that little bit of advice?”
“He sent one of those little red angry-face emojis.” I scrunch up my face at her as she carries on. “I know. Mature, right? Especially after I explained that while having a big dick is nice, if you don’t know how to use it, eventually no one is going to want to screw you.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit… harsh?” My voice falters, not sure if I’m referring to her words or to the throbbing pain in my thighs.
“It was definitely disappointing,” she says. “I finally find someone I’m attracted to, and it turns out he’s a stinker in the sack. Six… seven…”
I count her lunges. “That was only four, Janine.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re supposed to do twenty-five.”
“Huh, imagine that. How about I double it next time?”
I roll my eyes, knowing full well she’ll never do the actual workout. She’s here for conversation and man candy. I shake my head. “No. You really won’t.”
Janine snaps her finger. “Darn it, you caught me. Guilty as charged.” We stop to take a break, sipping from the water bottles she bought us when we joined the gym.
“So, any progress with Great Dane? You’re attracted to him, right? When is that going to happen?”
“Ugh, I don’t know.” She walks to yet another station.
It’s the rope. The damn rope from hell. My least favorite of all.
We have to slam it on the floor thirty times. It looks easy, but it’s not.
Yet somehow, it’s the only exercise Janine ever does all the way through. And she looks good doing it. Me? I almost tip over from the weight of the ropes. Every. Single. Time.
But my arms and shoulders are starting to look great.
“He hasn’t asked me out yet,” she complains, grabbing the rope from the floor with ease. Show-off. “I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” I ask as she begins slapping the floor with the rope like a champ.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you have that thing for the office coming up? Why don’t you ask him to go with you?”
“You mean ask him out?” she questions, not even winded from the exertion.
“Why not?” I shrug as she finishes her thirty without having broken a sweat—that bitch. “You’re an independent woman. You went home with a man just to get some sex, for goodness’ sake.”
She shrugs and hands me the rope. “So you think I should make the first move?”
“Why not?” I say again, procrastinating slamming the rope down on the floor.
“I guess I could,” she says hesitantly. “It might be nice to have someone there with me at the company picnic for once.”
“Uh huh.” That’s all I can say and I’m only on number ten.
“Of course, I can always ask Matt the sexy trainer if he’d like to go instead.”
I immediately stop my movements and drop the rope on the floor. “NO!” I shout, causing the entire class to turn and look at us. “Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “You know how much I hate the rope.”
They all shrug their shoulders and continue on with their workouts. Janine, on the other hand, is laughing hysterically.
“You are not allowed to sleep with our trainer!” I hiss at her, grabbing my water bottle. “I like coming here and I don’t want to get kicked out because of your… your… sexcapades.”
“Sexcapades?” she squeals and starts laughing again.
“You know what I mean.”
“You know I was only kidding, right?” she says when she finally pulls herself together and we get to the last station… more abs. “He’s a child. Besides, I was planning on taking you to my work picnic, anyway. You’re better company.”
“Janine, no!” I went with her last year, too, and it was a complete embarrassment. She’s convinced some guy in another department that we were a new couple, and he insisted the photographer they’d hired take our picture for the company website.
Holding hands.
There was only one time I’ve ever allowed Janine to hold my hand for no good reason. We were nineteen and it involved a live minnow and beer. Lots of beer.
“Why not? Give me one good reason.”
I walk away from the rope. If Janine can skip out on part of her workout, so can I. “Fine. Great Dane.”
“Ugh, what about him?”
“You have to ask him out. I will only go to that stupid picnic if he says no.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll ask Great Dane out on a date.”
“Not so fast. I need proof if he says no. You can’t just lie to get me to the picnic because you’re a chicken.” I smile victoriously before it’s immediately wiped from my smug face.
Stabbing pain shoots through my abdominal muscles, and I find myself wondering why I just fought so hard to keep Janine from getting us kicked out of this torture chamber.