20. This Is My Circus, Those Are My Monkeys
THIS IS MY CIRCUS, THOSE ARE MY MONKEYS
RYDER
After slipping into a pair of sweatpants and using the fancy espresso machine to brew a couple of lattes—Mabel declared we’d need coffee for this conversation, and I wholeheartedly agreed—I join her on the couch, pleased to find her sitting in one of my old Team USA hoodies, her knees tucked against her chest under the fabric.
“For you, Marshmallow,” I say, handing over the oversized white mug featuring a cartoon frog dressed as a cowboy that says ‘Hold on, partner. I’m overstimulated.’
“I made sure to add twenty pumps of that liquid sugar caramel crap you love.”
“I asked for twenty-one,” she deadpans, taking the mug from my outstretched hand.
I join her on the couch, sipping my own, slightly-less-sweet latte from a rainbow tie-dye mug with the phrase ‘Turns out this is my circus and those are my monkeys’ written across it.
We drink in silence for a moment, never taking our eyes off one another while the tension in the room builds. And then finally, Mabel breaks.
“I thought we were past the point of lying to each other, Rye Bread.”
I furrow my brow.
“Okay, first off, who said I was lying about anything? And two, haven’t you been lying to me and yourself since we got back from Vegas? You know, considering you refuse to talk about your feelings?”
“That’s not lying. That’s me withholding information.”
“Withholding information, lying by omission. Tomato, to-mah-toh.”
She kicks one of her adorable feet out at me, and I catch it, cataloging her soft sigh when I run my thumb over the arch.
“Ryder. I know you’re not a virgin, so what gives? Do you have a stamina problem or something? Because that’s fine, we can work on that. And honestly, the sooner you finish, the better. Hate to break it to you, bud, but I’m kind of lazy and I like not having to work too hard.”
“Mabel,” I sigh, sounding as exasperated as I feel.
As much as my dick and I love the reality of her talking openly about wanting to fuck me, I need her to listen to me first. “I’m not lying to you.
If I have a stamina problem, I don’t know about it yet, because I.
Am. A. Virgin. I have been my whole life. ”
I drag out each word, staring into her chestnut eyes and watching as her pupils dilate, as my confession settles and the truth hits her like a ton of bricks.
“But,” she bites her bottom lip, worrying the flesh between her teeth. “What about Cancun? I saw the photos, Ry. Everyone saw them.”
Oh, Cancun. The orgy photos heard ‘round the world. I knew they would come up eventually, and if I want to know Mabel’s inner thoughts, I need to be willing to offer up some of mine, too.
“Truth for a truth?” I offer, bringing her small, delicate foot to my mouth and placing a kiss to the spot right under her big toe.
Mabel doesn’t kick me in the face, so I guess she doesn’t mind my wife-specific adoration of her feet.
She nods her agreement. “You first, then. Tell me something true, Marshmallow.”
She pauses, inhaling deeply, and I wait patiently for her to gather her thoughts, keeping myself busy by tracing the curves of her foot with my thumb.
“I like you, Ryder. I always have. It started when I was still too young for you, and by the time I’d grown up, I’d built these walls between us because…
I was scared. Scared of being rejected. Scared of being hurt.
And I was mad, too. Those things I said to Whitney, I meant them.
You were an easy scapegoat for all of my frustrations.
But even though I know I was wrong, and I know that you have feelings for me, and that there is something bigger than a marriage certificate tying us together, it’s hard.
Crossing the pillow wall and humping you silly was easy, but untying all of those knots I’ve woven over the years is hard. It might take me a long time.”
The vulnerability in her voice could take me to my knees if I were standing. My steadfast, headstrong, sweet girl.
“Lucky for you, you married a very patient virgin.”
With a sexy little growl grumbling in her throat, Mabel pulls her foot back and slams her mug down on the coffee table.
“Alright, Rye Bread. Your turn. Explain to me how a so-called virgin finds himself dick-up in a pile of naked bodies on a Mexican beach? People were talking about the orgy that overshadowed my birthday for years.”
“I faked it.”
She blinks at me, her face blank.
“I’m sorry, how exactly does one fake an orgy?”
I roll my eyes and toss back the rest of my latte before scooting closer to Mabel.
“I didn’t fake the orgy, Marshmallow. The orgy occurred, I just faked my involvement.”
Mabel closes her eyes, rubbing her temples.
“I feel like you’re speaking in riddles.”
“Mabel. That night was a shit show. I was trying to keep an eye on you, give you water and all that, but you were pissed at me, remember?”
“Oh yeah, you kept calling my girlfriend Bobo.”
“Mhm, Bonnie hated that, and so did you. But it turns out I was right, because when I found you at midnight, blacked out, topless and hugging the toilet, old Bobo The Bitch Clown was taking photos of you. She was threatening to sell them unless I gave her something juicier. I didn’t want your privacy violated like that, so after I got you to bed with Danny watching over you so you didn’t choke on your own vomit, Bitchy Bobo and I went down to the beach.
I’d accidentally stumbled upon the group sex earlier and had been invited to join.
When I came back, those horny folks were more than willing to have their fifteen minutes of fame with the world thinking they’d scored with me.
I stripped down, and Bonnie took out her phone.
She sold the photos, I got in trouble, and you got to turn twenty-one without the world seeing your breasts without your consent. ”
I chew the inside of my cheek, the anger and hurt from that night flaring in my stomach as I recount the tale. Bonnie left the resort that night, and even though Mabel cried for the rest of the trip because her girlfriend had ghosted her, I couldn’t have been happier to see her gone forever.
“I don’t…I don’t understand. Why? Why would you take the fall for me like that? I was awful to you that weekend. I was awful to you most weekends.”
“Yeah, you were. You’re a brat, Mabel. A real pain in my ass.
But you didn’t deserve to have your privacy violated like that.
And for me, flashing my dick to the world is no big deal.
It’s barely a blemish on the tapestry of my life.
If the world had gotten its hands on those photos of you, it could have ruined everything.
It wouldn’t have mattered that Bonnie basically assaulted you with the intent to sell you out.
That vulnerable moment of imperfection would have been your cross to bear.
I’ve seen what you’ve gone through since we were kids, working twice as hard to try to prove your worth to the world when that never should have been your responsibility in the first place.
I saw an opportunity to use my male privilege for good, and I took it.
” I lift the mug in my hand. “You’re my circus and my monkeys, Marshmallow. ”
“Oh my god,” she whispers, pressing her fingers to her lips. I can see the cogs turning in her head, the wheels spinning, the engine sputtering as the story settles in her brain. “Oh my god, you were so right about Bonnie. She really was Bobo The Bitch Clown.”
My snorting laugh catches me off guard, but Mabel’s accompanying giggle sends me spinning with glee.
“So there you go. That’s how a person fakes an orgy.”
“Okay,” Mabel says, blowing out a breath to calm her laughter. “Okay, but can I ask you a serious question?”
“Of course.”
“Have you been putting the pussy on a pedestal?"
I snort. “You are not quoting The 40-Year-Old Virgin to me right now, are you?”
“You did it first! But fine. Serious question. What does virginity mean to you?”
My unamused glare doesn’t satisfy her, because she continues.
“Don’t get all heteronormative on me. You’re bi, too.
You know that putting a penis inside a vagina isn’t the be-all, end-all sex act.
My first time was with a woman during my freshman year of college.
Neither of us has a penis, but it was the first time I shared orgasms with another person, and so that’s the night I officially said goodbye to virginity.
You don’t have to give me specifics, but I know you’re twenty-seven years old.
I know you’ve dated. I’m just curious as to what we’re dealing with here. ”
“Ah,” I rub a hand over the back of my neck, feeling my cheeks heat. “Gotcha. Well. I haven’t…there’s been no…”
“You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me anything. This is none of my business. I’m sorry, Ryder. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it is your business. I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything. I have dated. I’ve…fooled around a bit, you know? When I was a teenager, I mean. Never any penetration, given or received. But, uh, what we did in your bed…”
“Dry humping each other in our pajamas?” She finishes when I trail off, and I nod, feeling like an awkward teenager.
“That was the first time I’ve…that’s the most intimate I’ve been with anyone for almost ten years.”
“But why?” she asks, and my heart leaps, my chest aching with the painful, agonizing wanting I’ve been living with for years.
“Mabel,” I breathe. “You know why.”
I can’t bring myself to say it, the truth that probably makes me an awful person and an even worse ex to my former partners.
It never mattered how much I liked the women I’ve dated, how cool or smart or funny they were.
None of them were Mabel, so I could never get myself to go there with them.
How could I sleep with someone when, the whole time, I knew I’d be thinking about someone else? Wishing they were someone else?