Drunk Dial

Running my finger over his skin, I said, “I love it.”

The ‘R’ rolled off his tongue. “Ranita.” He smiled. “Little frog.”

“God, you sound sexy talking in Spanish.”

“Really? I got more where that came from.”

“Yeah? Say something else.”

“Let’s see.” Closing his eyes, he pondered what to say before coming out with, “Quiero metértelo por el culo, mi amor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I want to fuck your ass, my love.”

“That’s so romantic.”

“It will be romantic.”

“Is that so?”

“My brand of romance, yes. You’ll be begging for it by the time I get done teasing you. Want a little preview?”

Feeling extremely horny, I bit my bottom lip. “Yes, I would.”

Landon left the kitchen and returned about a minute later. He was holding what looked like a small, pointed dildo with a flared base that was made out of silicone.

“What is that?”

“What do you think it is?”

“A wine stopper?”

“It’s a butt plug.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I bought it…for us. To play with.”

“For your butt?”

“Well, I hadn’t really thought of that, but, no, I bought it with your ass in mind, actually.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “How many other toys are you hiding?”

He kissed me then said, “A few.”

“Really…”

I faced the counter so that my back was toward him then briefly turned around to watch as he slowly licked the tip of his toy to wet it a bit; that was so erotic. I closed my eyes, loosening my muscles. Spreading my legs apart, I prepared for what I knew was coming.

I could suddenly hear the door open.

His body jolted behind me. “Who the fuck is here?”

My father’s voice echoed through the apartment from down the hall. “Hallooooo.”

“Shit!” Landon scrambled to adjust himself and tossed the butt plug across the room.

Papa walked into the kitchen carrying a giant pineapple.

Trying my best to seem casual, I said, “Papa, you should’ve called first.”

“I no-call. Why you need me to call first? I come to see him.” My father narrowed his eyes at Landon. “Why you have girly hair like ballerina?”

“It’s not real.” Landon was out of breath as he took the bun off. “Eddie…it’s good to see you.” He offered his hand.

As they shook, my father looked confused and asked, “Where you living?”

He knew Landon had moved to Michigan, but we hadn’t broken the news that we would be living together.

Unsure of whether to admit we were shacking up, Landon looked at me. I shrugged. There was no sense in hiding it.

“I’m living here, actually.”

My father looked between Landon and me. He wasn’t happy. As much as I knew he wanted me to date again, he was very conservative and didn’t believe in living together before marriage. Landon knew that.

He surprised me when he looked my father in the eye and said, “I know you don’t agree with what we’re doing. But I don’t want her living alone anymore. I want to be able to help her financially, and honestly, even if that wasn’t an issue, I don’t want to live apart from your daughter. I’ve already spent too much time away from her. I know you can relate to feeling protective of Rana. You’ve had to be the main person looking after her for practically her entire life. But I want you to know that now you have a second set of eyes. I want nothing but the best for her, too. Because I love her. And it’s really important to me that you understand that. I’m going to be here whether you’re okay with it or not, but I plan to earn your trust.”

My father just nodded silently. I knew he had heard Landon loud and clear. The fact that he hadn’t chosen to argue about it meant that he had essentially accepted it.

Papa walked over to the other side of the kitchen. He placed the pineapple on the counter.

Landon and I both looked at each other in fear as my father then bent down to pick up something off the floor. It was the butt plug Landon had hastily tossed.

“What’s this?”

“That’s a wine stopper,” I said.

Papa looked skeptical. “Hmm.”

I snatched it from him and threw it in the utensil drawer. “So, where did you get the pineapple?”

“I love pineapple.” Landon smiled, attempting to further shift the conversation away from the butt plug.

My dad answered my question, “Farmer’s market.” Carrying it over to the table along with a knife and a few plates and forks, he nudged his head for us to follow him.

Papa and I often sat at the table alone eating sliced fruit. For the first time ever, we had someone joining us, and I somehow knew that this was the start of a new family tradition.

Landon and I used our forks in a race to snatch up the slices that my father was cutting.

We ate in silence until Papa surprised us when he said, “Next time, I call first before I come.”