Like most evenings when I’m in Tumbling Rock, I talk to Cricket for a few hours while we watch TV together. Tonight, we enjoy “Quantum Leap” while talking about losing our virginities. Cricket’s first sex apparently involved a lot of booze and a non-disclosure agreement.

“Tell me about your first kiss,” she coos into the phone. “Sex is gross. Let’s get back to sweetness and light.”

“Our sex isn’t gross.”

“Of course not. Shh, don’t cry. You’re great at the intercourse, and no one said differently.”

Laughing at her teasing tone, I can picture the look on her face while she plays her game. “Fine then. My first kiss was with a girl named Tamilyn when I was fifteen. We kissed behind the gym after school. After the kiss, she asked if we were dating, and I told her sure. We stayed together for a few months.”

“Why’d you break up?”

“She accused me of being insensitive when she tried to blow me and kept gagging. I told her to stop trying to shove it down her throat, and she claimed I was coldhearted. Tamilyn was a little bizarre.”

“Why was she shoving it down her throat anyway?”

“It’s how she thought blowjobs worked. I don’t know what kind of pornos she was watching, but they must have been brutal.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Yeah. We dated again a year or so later. That time, I dumped her in another blowjob-related incident.”

Giggling, she asks, “Really?”

“Tamilyn had gotten braces, and she wanted to show me that she could still blow me. I saw that mouth full of metal and checked out. No way was I chancing my dick with all those sharp edges.”

“Women are replaceable. Dicks aren’t, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Was she blonde?”

Rolling my eyes at her question, I ask casually, “No. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Are you trying to figure out if I have a type?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t. No woman ever made me crazy before you.”

“Crazy is good,” she murmurs, and I miss her lips that are most definitely smiling right now.

“Now tell me about your first kiss.”

“I don’t remember his name. He was just some neckbeard from the country club who asked if he could kiss me. I thought I might as well get my first kiss out of the way. Then he went from normal kissing to French kissing. Ugh, did you know that involves a stranger putting their tongue in your mouth?”

“I had heard something about that, yeah.”

“Well, I tried pushing him off because I had no idea where his tongue had been. The beef fart wouldn’t let me go.”

“Let me guess what happened next,” I say, thinking about Cricket in a bind. “You either went for his crotch or bit down on his tongue.”

“Both but in the opposite order. I sunk my teeth into his tongue and just went cannibal on him. He screamed of course. Such a bitch, and then he let me go. I was spitting on the ground, trying to get rid of the taste of his saliva and blood. Then out of nowhere, can you guess what he did?”

“Cried?”

“No, though, I could tell he wanted to cry. But no. The butt nugget bitch slapped me! I’d never been slapped in the face before. I don’t know if you know this, but bitch slaps hurt.”

“As someone who’s been bitch slapped, I agree,” I say, wishing I could find that asshole who hit her and make him bleed for a few days.

“Wait, what did you do to get bitch slapped?”

“A senile old lady thought I stole her purse.”

“Did you?”

Snorting, I ask, “If I did, would I have added the senile old lady part?”

“Maybe you’re attempting to deflect from your guilt,” she says, struggling against laughter. “Like making me think she was wrong without actually saying she was wrong. I know how you biker boys skate around the truth.”

“Though you make a good point, I did not steal her purse. When she slapped me, I didn’t even slap her back. I could have too. No one was around, and she was senile, so I could have gotten away with it. Still didn’t take down that bitch.”

“In her defense, you’re young, and she’s old. There’s probably some jealousy involved in her lying and slapping behavior.”

Laughing, I wish I could reach out and touch her smiling face. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. In fact, I thought I could drive to Tumbling Rock and visit you this weekend. Meet your family. Get to know the town you call home. You know, slum it for my man.”

“That would be fricking fantastic.”

“Fucking, Poet. Just use the real word.”

Smirking, I warn, “The more you tell me what to do, the more I’m certain I’ll never say your version of fricking again.”

“It’s not even for me. It’s for the babies. Do you really want them growing up saying fricking rather than the much cooler fucking?”

“I want them to fit in with my family, meaning they’ll need to say fricking. Besides, they can get away with saying fricking when they’d get in trouble saying that other word.”

“In trouble with whom? No, really, who are these people telling my kids they can’t say fucking?” Cricket says, and I sense she’s getting ready for a really wild rant. “Are these jerks related to you? If so, you need to keep your banjo-playing, hill-folk kin on a tighter leash. I won’t be having my children controlled by anyone besides me and you and possibly Bianca Bella and Chipper if you and I are busy.”

“We don’t play banjos,” I say in a dismissive tone while trying not to laugh at her rage.

“But you want to, don’t you? I smell your banjo envy every damn time we share a room.”

Laughing at her tone, I imagine her sitting on my couch with me. “I live in a trailer. Don’t expect your fancy stone shower here.”

“I won’t judge you or even complain. I’ll even keep that banjo talk to myself.”

“Thank you,” I say and then add, “You’ll want to put on your thick skin before visiting. The women in my family can be... What’s a nice way of saying bitchy?”

“Catty. Snarky. Cunty. Vagina-y. Any of those will do. Wait, are you saying they might bully me? I should warn you that I have bitch slapped women in my life.”

“That’s not really fair, is it? They can’t bitch slap back.”

“Even better,” she murmurs. “Hey, I’ll bring Chipper, and they can bitch slap him in retaliation for me bitch slapping them.”

“Sounds fair. You are twins.”

“Exactly. We share everything, and I know Chipper will totally sign up for that. He likes when women mistreat him. It’s like his meth.”

“Are you really coming?”

“Yep, and then you can make sure I keep coming. Eh, get it? Wink, wink.”

“Oh, I’m already picturing you naked.”

“I’ve gotten fatter since you last saw me.”

“We were together two days ago.”

“Exactly,” she groans. “I keep getting bigger and bigger. I have nightmares that I’ll pop like an over-inflated balloon.”

“You’re beautiful, and you know it.”

“I really do,” she says and laughs.

“Hey, whatever happened to the shit stain who bitch slapped you? Is he still around because I could drop-kick his balls the next time I’m in town?”

“Oh, I don’t know what happened to him after the ambulance showed up.”

“More details please.”

“He hit me, and it hurt, so I gave him a roundhouse kick to the hip. He went down like a sack of potatoes. That’s when I kicked his frank and beans region until someone mentioned I should stop. I heard from Candy that Chipper later talked to the guy and explained a few things. I don’t know if that means the guy is dead, or Chipper and he became chat buddies. My brother wouldn’t tell me, and I honestly didn’t care that much. That experience taught me a lot about bitch slapping, so it wasn’t a complete loss.”

“I’m sorry your first kiss wasn’t amazing.”

“I’m sorry your first kiss was amazing. I want to be the only girl who ever kissed you without setting off your gag reflex. I guess that’s a dream I’ll never enjoy.”

“You’re the prettiest girl I ever kissed.”

“I know. I’ve been to West Virginia before, remember?” she says and bursts into laughter.

“Funny stuff coming from Methland, Tennessee.”

“Hey, I live next door to Methland! Get your geography straight.” We laugh for a few minutes with her snorting more than once and muttering, “Methland.”

“I can’t fricking wait until you’re sitting next to me in my trailer. It’s something I’ve been fantasizing about since our one-night stand.”

“Is that your way of warning me that I’ll need to ride your dick all over the trailer?”

“Yes. I have many fantasies, Cricket. I’ll be gentle though,” I tease. “You’re carrying our babies who are half Butternuts. We all know what that means.” Cricket laughs at my taunting, but I sense her mind is on sex in my trailer. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll clean before you get here.”

“Mmm... can you clean while naked? That’s a sexy fucking thought right there.”

“Nothing sexier than a man vacuuming with his dick flopping in the wind.”

“Don’t stop,” she moans between laughter. “Now tell me about doing the dishes and how the suds will drip down your frank and beans. Oh, yeah, I’m so close.”

Laughing at her tone, I try to imagine her touching herself while we talk. Her thighs widening as her fingers slide into the sweet pink flesh I know so well. Except, in reality, she’s likely lounging in an oversized puppy-covered nightgown while her real puppies sit on her feet. Only Cricket could make reality sexier than even my best fantasy, and that’s how I know she’s the woman for me.