Emasculation: The Father Son Story You’ve Never Heard (I Hope)
By Jeffrey A. Boyer
The evening starts sitting at my favorite bar sucking down beers to numb myself from the recurring verbal taunting from my father. The overly testosterone ridden macho son of a bitch never resists any moment to question my manhood. His favorite tongue-lashings include the advice to “man up”, go “balls out”, or “go find some strange”.
At this moment I hear a clinking sound followed by the sensation of cold liquid lubricating my shirt. Immediately there is an apology in the air, an arm around my shoulder, something soft pressing into the side of my face, with another arm reaching across me wiping up the discharged liquid.
The world turns red. The red of a skintight dress forming around perfect breasts. The red dress ending at a thong line. Those perfectly firm thighs leading to diamond cutting calves. Two words flash in my mind: eye contact. What eyes they are; a deep blue pool of sensual luminosity. Beside me is the most gorgeous woman I ever encountered.
It takes only a few minutes of conversation for me to discover she is a wonderful blend of liberated and traditional woman who seems to know all the angles. She can follow a conversation or lead it. A woman who doesn’t need a man to support her in everyday life but supports the man she loves every time. The kind of woman who will feed you chicken soup when you don’t feel well then give you a blowjob to make you feel better. Of course, her exotic dark hair, hypnotizing green eyes, and the toned, perfect body doesn’t hurt.
In no time at all, she is inviting me to her motel room. The short walk from the bar to her motel convinces me that our earlier discussion was the chicken soup leading to me feeling so much better. Her grabbing my ass and boxing my tonsils with her tongue is a pretty good sign as well.
I toss the used condom into the wicker basket sitting next to the bed like a post touchdown celebration dance wondering when my blood might begin to flow more evenly across my anatomy.
“That was amazing” I tell her with a smile stretching behind each ear.
“You fuck nothing like your father.”
I check my ears for excessive earwax. “What did you say?”
I turn on my side and meet those amazing lips that cause the blood to further concentrate in a very specific area.
“What? I thought maybe sexual technique might be genetic” she says.
“I doubt the x and y chromosome combination predetermines how a persons sexual gymnastics manifest. Sexuality may be genetic. Sexual orientation may be genetic, too. I doubt whether smashing strawberries on someones ass with an oversize spatula relates to genetics.”
She tilts her head to the side as she crinkles her eye brows causing me to tilt and crinkle as well.
“You compared my sexual performance to that of my father. This is not information I need to know. And how do you have a basis for comparison?”
“Your father and I have a regular thing.”
They meet every Tuesday at 9:00pm, Thursday at 7:00pm , and have breakfast on Saturday.
“A regular thing? You’re his number 97?” I reconsider my words. “Girlfriend, I mean.”
She laughs at the word girlfriend. Laughs a few moments longer than is necessary I think.
“Aren’t you cute? Not his girlfriend, nor number 97.”
Again, I tilt my head while crinkling my eyebrows. “You’re not number 97? Oh, three weeks ago he was at 96, so I thought..”
“I was 96, but it’s strictly sex, although, sometimes he is chatty. Last week, he starts talking about Kim, and her breaking up with you with your few weeks ago.”
“He told you about my breakup with Kim?”
“And by text. That must sting.”
“A text that says she’s breaking up with me because she has things to do does not exactly lend itself to closure.”
“Well, I reminded him we could talk or fuck, but not both. We fucked, of course” a proud smile brightening her eyes.
“I can’t believe he told you about Kim.”
“Just before we fucked.”
“Stop saying that.”
A coy smile spreads her lips as if some epiphany coalesces in her consciousness. Some light turns on as she reaches out to pinch my cheeks.
“He said you were the sensitive type. Maybe you are in denial about being gay.”
”He said that too. I don’t believe this. He is such a dick.”
“He’s not hurting there that’s for sure” she silently laughs. “I guess that ain’t genetic either,” she says, grabbing my crotch to verify her memory.
“Oh, come on Mr. Sensitive” punching me in the arm. “You seem like a nice guy.”
“That is actually the worst possible thing you could say to me right now.”
I collapse on the bed covering my eyes with my arms and stomping my feet into the mattress in as an adult manner as I can muster for this particular moment.
“Kim never talk to you that way? Just a little trash talk. You liked a lot of trash talk a few minutes ago.”
“Kim is a sweet, wonderful person which was the problem.”
“Your father thinks a great deal of her.”
Her words hit me in the face like a large polo mallet filled with horse manure. “My father what? Did Kim break up with me because my father was hitting on her? ”
“Kim did not break up with you because your father was hitting on her.”
“No, of course not. He’s not that kind of man.”
The absoluteness in this woman’s’ voice as she calms me is reassuring. Kim did not break up with me because of my father hitting on her.
“I thought that maybe he tried to make her number 98”.
“Not until after she broke up with you.”
“My father is sleeping with Kim?”
“The other way around. Kim seduced him.” She spoke calmly like this was common knowledge.
“Kim is number 97” another large polo mallet full of shit slams me in the face,
“You ought to hear them. Noisy little fuckers. She actually said he makes her feel like a real woman.”
“Noisy little fuckers is how you describes the interaction of the love of my life with the man who helped give me life from his loins. Those same loins now making Kim feel like a real woman. This is information I do not need to know.”
Her eyes stare into the air with an absent look on her face.
“Hey, want to know a secret. She makes me feel like one too.”
Everything previously swollen, including my ego, goes limp.
“Listen, we got time for one more ya little jack rabbit.”
I make her repeat herself as I wanted her to beg for seconds.
“Hey, talk, fuck, eat, or shit, however you want to run out the clock.”
Those four words strike me in a very specific way. I try to deny them. Consider any other possible meaning to them. “You’re a prostitute?”
“Think of me as a paid stranger with benefits.”
“I thought you liked me. You seduced me. I thought we had something special. We didn’t agree to remuneration for services rendered. ”
“Your father pre-paid for this. Gave me a good tip, too.”
“I have only one question.”
“Times a ‘waisting’” she taps her foot.
“How was I?”
“Very….” She bobs her head from side to side, eyes to the ceiling and back to the floor.
“Well…” She crinkles her face in deep thought.
“Concentrated.” she finally answers.
“Concentrated?” I ask.
“Very concentrated” she emphasizes the word very. “I could tell you were really making the effort. Let me show you a few tricks.”
“Please, I don’t want to see any photographs of your other patrons. Certainly not if any of them is my father.”
“I could give you a few pointers. You finished. My turn?”
She pulls a second condom from her purse. “I’ll show you how to work with what you got up here” placing a finger in my mouth “and down here” reaching to where her drink did not spill.
“Uh oh. Where’s that little engine that could. Don’t worry. Momma can help.”
A buzzing from inside her purse breaks the moment. Rifling through its contents pulling out condoms, makeup, pepper spray, feathers until she finds her phone. Her face glows with a smile as she reads text.
“So… Round two.” I remind her.
“Sorry. I got to go”.
“But our time isn’t up yet. Remember. Pointers.”
Round two quickly moves from sure thing to tentative with each piece of clothing returning her exquisite body to definitely not happening. Her attention has already left the room as she files the strewn contents of her purse back to their place.
“But our time isn’t up. We didn’t run out the clock.” Without thinking, I am putting my clothes back on even returning to her an eyelash curler that fell to the floor.
“Well, technically it’s your dad’s time, since he paid for it. Turns out, he’s horny and is calling in the rest of the time. Seems Kim has this fantasy about making me into a living chocolate sundae complete with whipped cream and cherries, so gotta go.”
There is nothing I can do, nothing I can say. The entirety of this magical night is an illusion predicated on a fantasy wrapped up in my father’s credit card.
“This is your place. I could wait. Maybe we could pick up where we left off later.”
“More of a business expense. Oh, you have to pay for it when you leave. Anyway, no. This will be a while and I’ll really have to go home and wash my hair after the whole chocolate sundae thing.”
Grabbing a pen and paper out of the motel desk drawer, she scribbles something on it before handing me the paper while pushing me out the door. There is a phone number on it with the name Jamie.
“Oh. Ok, Jamie. I’ll call you later and we’ll get together.”
Her galloping pace across the parking lot does not slow.
“That’s not me, but call her. Jamie is down on her luck due to certain medical conditions and really needs the business.I’m sure it’s fine now.”
She waves to a limo turning into the parking lot.
Every explicative lines my tongue, every hostile feeling conflagrant; every moment of every insult boiling my blood. This is the final straw. It is my time to have the final say in something. This is my moment. And so my final words to not Jamie before her legs swing into the backseat of the limo burst forth in thunderous explosions.
“Say hi to Dad and Kim for me.”
Complete list on the Meandering Page
Emasculation: The Father Son Story You’ve Never Heard ( I Hope) and photo Zest by Jeffrey A. Boyer.