Real Relationships

As a romance writer I’m embarrassed to say I have trouble maintaining relationships with flesh and blood men. I just don’t understand it myself. See if you can figure out what I’m doing wrong.

Boyfriend Number One
Him – “Why are there rubber sheets on the bed?”
Me - (Yelling in from the kitchen) “I found this new thing on the Internet today I want to try out.”
Him – “Why were you on the Internet all day? I thought you had a deadline to meet.”
Me – (Ignoring the stab of guilt because I do.) “I do. That’s why I was looking for something new, something exotic, something exciting, something that’s not all ready in any of the other books. And it wasn’t all day.”
Him - “So instead of writing, you were trolling on the porn sites which always turns into all day. Why are there rubber sheets on the bed?”
Me – (Directing the guilt back at him because he’s the one pointing out the obvious.) “Actually, I found the recipe on some married woman’s blog about how she saved her marriage. That’s a brand new mattress and I don’t want to get stains on it and it wasn’t all day. I had to go shopping for the sheets which were really hard to find (adult health supply store, yuck) and really expensive and then shop for the …” (Standing in the bedroom door, naked, holding a saucepan with an oven mitt.) “Why are you getting dressed?”

Boyfriend Number Six
Me – “Here, taste this.” (Handing him a wine glass.)
Him – “What is that? It smells … (hesitating because he knows I react badly to any form of criticism) … bad.”
Me – “Lots of things smell bad. Just taste it.”
Him – (Trustingly sips.) “Wow, that’s really good. What is that?”
Me – “So if it wasn’t for the smell, you wouldn’t hesitate drink it? You don’t taste anything I might have slipped … any under taste?”
Him – “What the hell did you give me?”
Me – “Well, certainly not the real thing, just something that tastes like the real thing. I was worried about the taste giving it away but it turns out if I use it in a murder plot, I’m going to have to figure out a way to overcome the smell. Hey, where are you going?”

Boyfriend Number Seven
Me – “Are you sleeping?” (Shaking the bed really hard.)
Him – “Yes, I am.”
Me – “If you’re sleeping, how come you answered me?”
Him – “Because we’re having an earthquake.”
Me – “This is Virginia. We don’t have earthquakes but I’ve figured out a new way to rock your world.”
Him – “We just had sex … (peeking at the over-sized alarm clock I have because I’m blind without my glasses) … three hours ago.”
Me – “Yes, but that was old fashion. This is something new.”
Him – “I do not consider slipping and sliding around on rubber sheets coated in melted chocolate, old fashion. I think I pulled a muscle.”
Me – (Wondering if the uneaten chocolate will clog the shower drain or if I hang the sheets on the clothes line, will the water hose rinse them clean and will the neighbors be watching and wondering about dark brown stains.) “They don’t make rubber sheets anymore. It’s some kind of plastic. You have to give me points for using sugar-free chocolate. The honey didn’t work. It was too sticky and wouldn’t slide. And the whipped cream …”
Him – (Sitting up.) “I don’t ever remember using honey.”
Me – (Hurriedly.) Come over here and I’ll pull your muscle. Let’s see what happens if I put my hand here and you hang your leg there and …”
Him – “I do not want to have sex … again.” (Sounds of whining.)
Me – “Excuse me? You are the man. The man always wants to have sex and how else am I going to figure out if we can manage penetration at this angle ...”
Him – (Fumbling for his keys in the dark.)

Boyfriend Number … ah … Nine
Him – “What is this?”
Me – “Naked scavenger hunt.”
Him – “I’m not naked. I have on this fashionable, faux leather loin cloth and I thought scavenger hunts were held outside.”
Me – “Outside didn’t work. That’s where I got that big scratch across my … inside is much nicer. This is a warehouse rented out for sporting competitions. It has air conditioning, no bushes except the fake kind, no bugs except the electronic kind and no wild animals … except for you.”
Him – “Why is it so damned dark in here?”
Me – “Absence of light adds to the atmosphere and all the jewels we’re searching for are glow-in-the-dark and the darkness makes it easier to find them.”
Him – “That is not one of the jewels on the map. Take your hand out of there. I can’t walk while your holding my … doesn’t make it easier if it’s so dark I can’t read the map and clues.”
Me – “The page is blank.”
Him – “What?”
Me – “Play your stick over the map and the …”
Him – “I am not waving my dick.”
Me – “…The glow stick in your magic bag. It makes the ink light up.”
Him – “I just don’t get this.”
Me – (Translation – he just doesn’t get me.) “You’re supposed to be a little scared, a little intrigued, a little curious and a lot horny. It’s roll playing at its best.”
Him – “I think I see something glowing over there.”
Me – “Don’t look at it directly. (One of my mottoes for life.) Night vision works better if you look off to the side of it.”
Him – “Right. Don’t look directly at what I want to see. (Reaching out.) Hey, I found a key.”
Me – “And I found a door.” (Not really. I had been directing him this way the whole time.) Try your key in the lock.”
Him – (Not completely trusting me but have no other choice, he inserts the key in the lock which is what I’m hoping for … eventually.) “Oh, damned it. What is this shit?” (The opening of the door triggers the rifle which is the next murder twist in my current book. Yeah, I know. All ready been done but I’ve added a certain twist of my own.)
Me – (Watching him slip on the discharge from the pellets of the paint ball rifle that hit him dead in the bare chest and he falls on his cute faux leather-clad ass.) “Glow-in-the-dark paint balls. Isn’t that cool?” (Fantasizing about sex covered in glow-in-the-dark paint.)
Him - (Examining his chest) “How the hell am I supposed to explain these bruises and shocking blue glow-in-the-dark paint in my pubic hair to my wife?”
Me – “Wife?” (Giving him back his car keys but keeping his shirt, pants and shoes. Let’s see him explain that faux loin cloth, too.)

Boyfriend Number … I Lost Count
Him – (Upon coming into the bathroom for a pee, finds me naked, draped on the bottom of the dry bathtub covered in blood and his electric razor lying on the floor. He doesn’t even flinch.) “You know perfectly well that is the wrong type of razor.”
Me – “I know but straight razors are expensive and this is a one time test.” (And my budget was blown on rubber-plastic-vinyl sheets. I’m dying to scratch but it would shatter the illusion.)
Him – (Unzipping, lifting and peeing while not paying any attention to me.) “If I open the window, you’ll draw flies and it would be more realistic.”
Me – “No, too creepy.”
Him – (Shaking, flushing and lowering the seat.) “Flies would be too creepy for the woman lying in the bathtub covered in ketchup? What am I supposed to put on my fries tonight?”
Me – “You brought fries? Yummy. (Hoping for cheeseburgers to go with the fries.) No, the flies crawling on my flesh would be too creepy. Hey, where are you going?” (Rats, another one gets away … but no … wait … what is this?)
Him – (Coming back in the room with the camera, the fries and wearing nothing but a smile.) “Okay, lift your right leg further over the rim. Good.” (Flash.) “Tilt your head back in the corner a bit more.” (Flash.) “Now, can you hold your eyes open without moving them. No? Okay, we’ll go with shut.” (Flash.) “Although, shut could mean peaceful suicide while open would mean shock from being murdered.”
Me – (Peaceful suicide?) “Why are you naked?”
Him - “Because I don’t know anyway of getting ketchup off of jeans.”
Me – (I feel him drag a French fry across my stomach through the ketchup. You know, this one might just be a keeper.) “Did you remember the salt?”

Any resemblance to the living or to the dead or to the imaginary of the aforementioned boyfriends is the sole responsibility of the author (who apologizes to any current ones whom she hasn’t tried to kill … lately).