When the Smoke Clears

WARNING: the following post is absolutely NOT safe for work or for the easily offended and possibly the under 21. Sorry, mom…
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I remember a good friend’s wedding a few years ago. As she walked across the grass heading to the outdoor altar, she looked over at me, turned her whole body towards me, arms outstretched, smiled and called out, “So how does it look?”

“It’s the finest one I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something. It’s glistening.” Under the scattered pine trees of the state park she looked so beautiful in her lace wedding gown, flowers throughout her hair like a Celtic maiden. But it wasn’t the dress of which we were speaking.

Keri and I had been friends for years. She became like a big sister to me when I first moved to the city. She lived in the same complex, the next apartment building over from mine, and it was easy enough to wander over there, or she would wander to my place where eight of us lived. It was a different, youthful, crazy time in life with those first real adult bonds of friendship forming amongst a large circle of friends.

One night at a party at a huge house, we were hanging out, drinking, talking… like you do. The noise was pretty loud in the big main room so I wandered off to one of the larger bedrooms where a quieter crowd gathered to kick back in a slightly more mellow zone. Our friendship was strong and allowed us to be very straightforward with each other. Attraction-wise, it just wasn’t there for us. I wasn’t her type, she wasn’t mine. In fact, the one I was attracted to at the time was at the party and had already rejected my flirtations.

Keri knew. It was cool. Lying on the king-sized bed with her and a few others watching some friends play cards, she rubbed my head. She had had an okay time at the party as well, but was getting tired. I couldn’t resist messing with her.

I let out a sigh, looked up in her eyes using the sad but hopeful gaze, and said, “Keri, we’re friends, right?”

The pause and subtle movement of her eyes let me know I had played her just right. She was getting worried she was about to have the uncomfortable “I really like you but…” conversation.

“Yeah…” she said with some trepidation.

Taking her hand, I looked away and said, “I uh, I just. Well, I wanted to ask you about something…” I think the room started getting a little quieter, others sensing what might be happening.

“ooookayy…”

Looking back up at her with all seriousness and earnestness, a glint of tears in my eyes, I asked, “Keri, if I told you you had a beautiful clitoris, would you hold it against me?”

There was a pause, then some of the most heartfelt, loudest laughter I have heard from any person. She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead and said, “oh you little fuckhead.” I replied only with my impish smile.

Since then one of the most common greetings she has for me is, “Hey, baby! How are you? How does my clitoris look today?”

Depending on the mood, I might reply, “Gorgeous,” or, “a little sad.” She usually would add in, “Well I worry, you know, because it grew a nail.”

“Barely noticeable,” I’d assure her. (yes, her husband knows and laughs right along, adding his own commentary: “Honey, tell him about how it got snagged on the couch…”)

Why bring this up? Well, Keri is now pregnant with her first child. I’m excited for her, but even more excited for the child. That is a baby that will always know what it is like to be completely and totally loved while being properly cared for.

Congratulations, ma’am. I’m sure your clitoris is glowing.

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