Neanderthal Marries Human

“Why not? It’s his wedding too,” Fiona pointed out and sipped her margarita. “You should ask him to help. Men like to help.”

I thought about how his eyes glazed over every time I asked him for an opinion on floral arrangements or main course options. It was a mere three weeks since our engagement, and I dreaded every discussion he and I had to make about the wedding.

I sighed. “I don’t know….”

“You can do it, Janie!” Sandra shouted before gulping some of Kat’s drink. Kat was distracted, but I noticed. “Start this way—here, watch me—pretend I’m you.” She cleared her throat and fluttered her lashes. “Oh, Quinn, I am existentially flubbered.”

“I don’t think flubbered is a word,” Ashley interjected.

“Yes it is. It’s flustered and befuddled.”

“Wouldn’t that be fluddled?”

“Shh, you’re messing me up.” Sandra frowned at Ashley’s interference and turned her attention back to me. “What do you call each other? What are your pet names? Dearest? Turtledove? Thor? Herr Handsome of my heart? Lizard of my labia? Captain of my clitoris?”

I rolled my lips between my teeth, but it was no good. We all burst out laughing.

“Lizard of my labia? What the heck?” Kat chuckled and reached for her drink. Still, she didn’t notice that one third of it was depleted let alone that Sandra was the culprit.

“You know, lizards and their tongues flicking.” Sandra glanced around the room. “I think it’s a nice term of endearment.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, I do not call him that. Other than Sir McHotpants, which I rarely use and only to illustrate a modification in his mood, I don’t have a pet name for him.”

Sandra frowned. “Not even in bed? Not even when the two of you are going at it? Not even baby?”

To be certain, I thought back over our times of physical intimacy. “No. We don’t talk much during sex.”

Sandra’s mouth fell open. “You don’t talk during sex? You don’t dirty talk? Like, at all?”

I shook my head. “No. Not really. Before, during foreplay, I might quote a few interesting and relevant studies relating to arousal or stamina. But we’re both mostly silent during the act.” I nibbled my top lip. “Sometimes he’ll say move or bend over or some other instruction regarding the placement of my body, but nothing like a term of endearment. Recently he told me what to say while we were engaged in the act—or rather, he made requests.”

“Like what?” Sandra looked confused. “Like dirty requests? A la, ‘Tell me how much you want my big co….’”

“Sandra! I think we all get your point.” Fiona exchanged a look with Sandra then peered at me before speaking. “You don’t have to answer her questions, Janie.”

“No, it’s ok. Quinn said stuff like, ‘Tell me you love me.’”

“Aw…that’s sweet.” Fiona smiled at me approvingly. “That’s not dirty talk, that’s lovely bedroom talk.”

“Thanks.” I returned her smile. “I have limited experience so, to be honest, I’m not sure what is considered normal. This conversation is actually quite helpful and—if all of you are comfortable with the topic—will allow me to gather data on what kinds of things are said in the bedroom between normal, well-adjusted adults.”

“I don’t mind,” Ashley chimed in. “I’m ok with dirty talk in the bedroom—to a point. For example,” she glanced upward, setting her knitting on her knee and seemed to search the bookshelf behind Fiona for the right memory. “This one time, in college, my boyfriend started calling me a whore while I was…well, you know, fellatiating.”

“Fellatiating?” Sandra made a confused face.

“The art of administering fellatio,” Ashley clarified.

“Ah…continue.”

“And it was a complete turn-off. I feel like, with that kind of stuff, the girl has to invite it. Like, I need to be the one to say, ‘Call me a ho!’ or else it feels degrading.”

“I agree.” Sandra nodded. “I mean, I’d never say to a guy while he’s savoring my goods, ‘You’re a slut!’ Right? That’s not okay.”

“What else do people say during sex that’s considered dirty talk?” I asked. “Other than calling each other names, I mean.” I wondered if they’d think it was very strange of me to take out a piece of paper and jot down some notes.

There was a pause while they all considered the question.

Surprisingly, Marie was the first to respond. “I don’t have much experience either. But the guy I was with before David was always asking me if I liked what he was doing, but not as though he really wanted to know—not a survey—more like,” she paused, then lowered her voice to imitate a man, “You like that, dontcha? You like it when I do that, dontcha? You want it all the time, dontcha?”

“Hmm….” Sandra nodded thoughtfully. “I was with a guy who did that. He seemed to need a lot of praise to sustain an erection, so I figured out quickly that it was a good idea to say, “Yes! Yes! God, yes! Don’t stop!”

We all chuckled a little at Sandra’s theatrics, and Fiona turned her smiling eyes to me. “Dirty talk in the bedroom can be fun, especially if you’re with someone you love and who loves you. Don’t be afraid of sounding weird or turning him off. Believe me, anything you say or do—as long as it’s unselfish and about bringing pleasure to both of you—is good.”

“Look at you, Ms. Sex Therapist.” Marie winked at Fiona. “You and Greg are the cutest coupled; of course you guys have everything figured out.”

Fiona turned her attention to her work in progress. “No one has everything figured out.”

“Any chance you can make more of those margaritas?” Ashley smiled at me over her empty glass. “They’re amazing, Janie.”

I nodded and stood. I was the only one who didn’t knit; therefore, I enjoyed being the bartender. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

Distractedly, absorbing this information, I walked back to the kitchen and began mixing another batch.

I decided that I wanted Quinn to have a pet name for me. I heard some commotion from the living room, but only peripherally as I was caught up in the idea. Suddenly it felt very important, and I began listing then rejecting possibilities.

I was still tallying and assessing my preference for different terms of endearment when I walked from the kitchen and found that the commotion was Elizabeth’s arrival. I smiled when I saw her, because I missed her and she was one of my most favorite people in the world—definitely in the top three.

I lifted one of the margaritas I was holding. “Do you want a margarita? I’m making them with Limoncello and Petron.”

“Yes. I will have margaritas.” She returned my smile. It was good to see her smile. Usually, at least when I saw her, she was walking around half asleep from exhaustion.

Even though she was my best friend, I would never ask her to help with the wedding. In fact, when she’d offered weeks ago, I told her absolutely not.

She never got enough sleep, was always picking up extra shifts at the hospital. Helping with my wedding—a wedding I was only planning in order to manufacture stress—was out of the question. She didn’t need more stress. She needed rest.

“Okay, two more coming right up.” I nodded, passing a glass to Ashley and the other to Sandra. I hoped it would keep Sandra from sneaking any more sips from Kat’s beverage.

I was happy to resume my drink mixing as it gave me more time to consider endearment terms. Honestly, I couldn’t think of many that didn’t sound creepy or that didn’t convey inappropriate connotations if examined closely. My problem, as ever, was that I examined most trivial things too closely and most important things not at all.

When I again emerged from the kitchen, the ladies were discussing one of Elizabeth’s hospital pranks and the ramifications of her poor decision making. I thought her pranks were funny, but most likely a way to keep others at arm’s length.

Someone mentioned something about wrinkles just as I was mulling over the possibility of dog breeds as potential endearment terms.

Therefore, I felt it appropriate to volunteer, “Several breeds of dogs have wrinkles, like the Pug and Shar Pei.” I sipped my margarita and licked at the excess salt on the rim.

No one responded for a moment, and I dismissed the idea of Quinn calling me Pug as a sign of his love and devotion.

“Janie, your left-fielding skills are very impressive. You are the most impressive left fielder I’ve ever met.” Sandra said this as she sneaked another sip of Kat’s drink.

I frowned. “You mean the baseball position?” I sat back in my chair, wondering if I could somehow turn left fielding, or another baseball position, into a pet name. “I’ve never played baseball.”

“No, hun. I’m talking about someone who says stuff out of left field. I never know what you’re going to say or where you’re going to take me. I’m just happy to be along for the ride.” Sandra blew me a kiss. I liked it when she demonstrated overt signs of affection. She was a big cuddler and always seemed to want everyone to feel good.