Savages

192

O sits on her bed and watches an episode of The Bachelorette on Hulu.

“I’m telling you,” Esteban says, “she’s going for the wrong guy. That boy there is a player.”

O disagrees. “I think he’s sweet, and vulnerable.”

Esteban don’t know what “vulnerable” means but he knows what a player is, and that boy in the hot tub there is a player.

Maybe maybe, O thinks.

Men know men.

She and Esteban have formed a nice little relationship. He’s her new BFF. Sure, probably a case of Stockholm syndrome (O saw this thing on TV once about Patty Hearst), and he’s no Ashley, but he seems like a nice kid. So in love with his fiancée, OMG is the boy whipped. He tells O all about Lourdes and the baby, and she gives him sage, sisterly advice on how to treat a woman.

“Jewelry is very important,” she tells him. “Jewelry and lotion. I’d pull back on the chocolates, though, because she’s probably feeling all fat and stuff.”

“She is.” Esteban sighs.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t bag the groceries, amigo,” O says. “And are you doing the deed regularly?”

“Que?”

“Drilling for oil, digging for gold, performing your husbandly duties?” O forms a “V” with two fingers of her left hand and shoves her right index finger back and forth between them.

Esteban is shocked. “She’s pregnant!”

“Not dead,” O says. “And during her second trimester her hormones are hopping around like bunnies in a field of clover. She’s hornier than a convent. You have to take care of business, boyfriend, or she’ll think you don’t think she’s beautiful anymore, and then look out.”

“She is beautiful.” Esteban sighs.

Whipped, whipped, whipped.

“Show her.”

Actually, one of the things O likes about Esteban is that he’s sexually unthreatening.

Which O appreciates these days.

She doesn’t really like the idea of being touched, never mind being entered, being violated, which she used to like a lot. Her once voracious sexual appetite has dwindled to a sensual bulimia. Her little bud that used to pop out and welcome any new sensation now hides in the closet in the fetal position.

Thank you so much, my clit-sis, Elena.

And Chain Saw Guy.

Summoning that image is a mistake because it turns on the vid-clip. She squeezes her eyes shut and when she opens them again the bachelor’s head is floating in water and it’s a second before she realizes that he’s just sunk down in the hot tub, but for a second there it sure looked like the bachelorette was bobbing for apples.

“Stebo, you got any weed?”

“I’m not supposed to …”

“Come on.”

Show some huevos.