I'm laying here in Christian's arms, and I can't believe in how much he's confiding in me. I guess men like to talk after.
I'm still not sure.
"For example," he says, "I've never even had sex with two women at the same time. I've had sex with a woman who weighed more than two women, but that's about it. And I've never enjoyed a husband and wife getting into an argument in front of me. The least they could do is let me get dressed and leave first. And I like using I Can't Believe It's Not Butter with my morning toast. That way, when someone asks me how my breakfast was, I can honestly answer: 'It was unbelievable.' Have you ever had a lesbian experience, Ana?"
Where did that come from?
Maybe all this confiding stuff is overrated.
"Um... no," I tell him.
"Really?" he says, surprised. "You mean you've never tripped and fallen face-first into Kate's vagina?"
"Sure, but who hasn't?"
My inner goodness motions me to go on.
"Christian?" I say, meekly.
"Yes, my sweet?"
"Why does your family have a Bait Shack in El Paso of all places. We're in the middle of a desert, for crying out loud."
"Well," he says, "it's one of the idiosyncrasies of being rich. You're never truly considered rich until you own things that other rich men don't have. For example, back when I used to play golf, I hired a beautiful young college girl to wash my balls. You see, back then I enjoyed driving a Mercedes 450SL, and the other rich golfers would kid me about my not owning a Rolls Royce. I simply told them, 'I may not drive a Rolls, but then none of you have a beautiful young girl washing your balls, do you?' They could only cast their eyes downward, admitting defeat."
"You? Had a girl? Washing your balls?"
"Yes, and after every hole we'd go into the bushes where she'd enthusiastically polish my putter."
"I love laying here in your arms," I tell him, "but this is all so new to me."
"I understand, my dear. There's a first time for everything. I remember the first time I went to have my custom-made rubbers sized. It was embarrassing for me, but the gentleman in charge of taking my measurements tried to make me feel at ease. He handed me a board with holes in it. The holes were all different sizes. And then he pointed me to a private room. What he wanted me to do was go into the room, achieve and erection, and measure the circumference of my erect manhood using the holes in the board. He asked me if I needed help. I told him no, and he seemed disappointed."
Oh, my! This was new to me. The only thing I can think of that's similar is when Kate goes shopping for vegetables. She must be love her salads, because she's very picky about the length and girth of her cucumbers.
"So I took the board," he continues, "examined the different sizes of the holes in it, entered the room and did what comes naturally. I put it on, I took it off. I put it on, I took it off. It took me a while, but I eventually found the hole with the best fit."
"And then what happened?"
"When I was done I told the man, 'Forget the rubbers, how much do you want for the board?"
All of a sudden, the Bait Shack begins to shake around us.
What Can It Be?