William’s eyes went wide. “You’re a switch?” he asked, completely perplexed. “And Bizzy’s a woman?” He held up his hands. “Not that I’m judging . . .”
I laughed, and replied, “Oh, she’s all woman.” I snickered. “Bizzy’s my nickname for my very bossy vagina. She calls all the shots.”
“Like, your busy beaver?”
“Oh God, not busy, B-I-Z-Z-Y.”
William seemed stunned for a second, then doubled over laughing. He shook his head. “Well, I suppose some of your dialogue with Bizzy makes sense, then. Although I’m a bit weirded out that she talks in such a high-pitched voice.”
Oh—my—God, Bizzy has a voice?
I just smiled and pretended I knew that.
“So, do you have a name for my . . . business?” he asked shyly.
I bit my lip and decided whether or not to tell him what Bizzy had dubbed his junk.
“Ahh,” I began, “are you sure you want to know? This name was Bizzy’s call, not mine,” I said defensively.
He smiled and approached me slowly. “Tell me,” he cooed, “please.”
I ground my teeth and reluctantly answered, “Apollo.”
One eyebrow flew up. “Like the Greek god?” he asked, smirking.
I nodded. “And like the space shuttle. Worthy of worship, and takes me to the moon.”
William scooped me up and planted a not-so-sweet kiss on my lips, whispering, “How about I formally introduce Apollo to Bizzy, then?”
I nodded so hard I got a crick in my neck. Luckily, William was able to work out all the kinks.
Literally.
Emphasis on the word KINK.
Rawr.
“Sup, bitch?”
“What’s new?” I asked, trying not to look annoyed.
Erin took a long swig of her tea, eyes never leaving mine. “Oh nothing with me,” she droned, “except I heard an interesting rumor about you,” she said cryptically.
“It’s true,” I said, “I did swipe all the good jeans at Nordstrom.” I smiled and held up my bag, triumphantly. “Fifty percent off!”
Erin flicked her eyebrows up at me, and blew into her hot drink. I realized our routine was beginning to get a little stale. I took no pleasure in our long, tea-soaked talks anymore. “No, I heard your submissive is moving in with you.”
“William moved in last week,” I said, grinning broadly. “He’s just about unpacked.” I snickered to myself at the private joke.
“Lemme guess: You’re already having vanilla sex with him, aren’t you?”
My face completely gave me away. I made a mental note to never, ever play poker. “We have plenty of flavors at our house,” I said with enthusiasm, “and vanilla can be very tasty.”
She crossed her arms so forcefully, her boobs squished up to her neck. “And what’s next? Sex in those awful flannel pajamas on weekends? Or, better yet, rushing through sex so you can watch your favorite TV shows together?”
I just rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the barrage of bitch she was throwing at me.
She pursed her lips and spoke again, condescendingly. “And I suppose I won’t see you at any more munches or play parties now that you’ve settled down.”