Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
As a result, I wasn’t surprised as my friends slowly peeled away and dropped off. I’d get texts from them occasionally, asking about the status of my pregnancy, and quite a few attended a small baby shower that Wanda threw for me. But otherwise, we had little in common anymore. Wanda is the only one who’s stuck by me, and whom I’m still friends with now, two years after having Danny.
“Giiirl,” she sings into the phone. “I know you went on a date last night. How did it go?”
I sigh. Terrible. But how do I tell Wanda just how bad?
“Well, let’s just say it was a negative five on a scale of one to ten,” I say dryly.
She squeals.
“Oh my god, that awful? What happened? Was he a psychopath or a criminal of some sort? Or did he, I don’t know, reveal that he’s a polygamist and actually married to four women? Wait, this is the date you were going to have sex during, right?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. Wanda is smart, and sometimes too smart for her own good. Her memory is like a steel trap, and I could tell I was going to be forced to recount every single detail.
“Yes, we were supposed to sleep together,” I begin slowly.
“So what happened?” she breathes. “Did he have a small pecker?”
The words almost make me explode with mirth because that’s exactly how to describe the situation. But I try to go about it delicately.
“Well, yes, in fact, he did.”
Wanda immediately cuts me off.
“Then I don’t blame you at all, girl. Guys with small peckers just don’t cut it. It doesn’t matter how handsome they are, or if they make millions of dollars. There is no cure for a small pecker.”
“Well, there are all those sheaths and alleged drugs guys can take,” I venture cautiously.
“Girrrrl!” Wanda squeals. “Are you talking about penis pumps? Well, I have news for you. Those. Don’t. Work. My old boyfriend Harvey tried one just for fun, and his penis came out so purple and painful after he used it that we had to go to the emergency room. Not only that, but I think it shrank him in size long-term,” he adds on a confidential note. “I didn’t want to tell him, but in my opinion, it did some really serious permanent damage.”
I have to laugh at this.
“Well, we didn’t get a chance to talk about penis pumps or Viagra or anything because Rob kicked me out. He said it was my fault,” I say.
There’s silence for a moment.
“Your fault? How is that possible? He’s the one with the small pecker.”
I shrug, feeling despondent again.
“He said that it’s because my pussy is too loose. He said it’s not the size of his equipment, it’s the size of mine. He says I’m all stretched out from giving birth and whatnot, and that’s what the real problem is.”
I can almost hear Wanda shaking her head on the other side of the line, her red curls bobbing.
“No way,” she says defensively. “That guy is just flat out wrong.”
My heart warms because Wanda always has my back. And yet, my thoughts are still troubled.
“Rob was lame, but the thing is Wanda, what if he’s right? What if I am stretched out down there from the baby? What if there is something wrong with me?”
“There isn’t,” she says quickly. “Women give birth all the time and bounce back to their original sizes.
“But what if I’m not one of them?” I ask, trying to keep a reasonable tone. “I mean, not everyone goes back to their pre-baby weight, so it makes sense that not everyone goes back to their pre-baby elasticity, right?”
Wanda makes a huffing noise.
“I don’t know, but that guy’s a dick. He’s just needling you, Bethie. Let it go, and good riddance. There are tons of guys on-line who’d love to meet you. Just go back on DatingTime and I’m sure you’ll have a new date in two hours.”
I sigh.
“I know, I know, but the thing is what if the second date also goes wrong? What if my pussy really is stretched out, and the second guy also says um, I hate to tell you but you have a really serious problem down there? I’d be devastated, Wands. I’d want to kill myself.”
My friend’s silent on the other side of the line, and I can almost hear the wheels in her head turning.
“Well, since you’re asking, I guess I have some relevant information.”
“You do?” I ask, stumped. Wanda is an investigative reporter, and I have no idea what she could possibly know.
“I do,” she says. “You know, I did a little bit of work for Love Magazine, right?”
I nod. Love is an established glossy catering to the mid-twenties to mid-thirties female population. They run articles about make-up, hair, fashion, and getting the guy. Once in a while, they throw in something about current events, but not often.