Brizzles Basket

My sister-in-law, Sharon, her friend, Kim, and I are having a “Fantasy Party.” I’m not supposed to be a part of it because I’m male, but the Fantasy Party rep girl has bent the rules. I’ve been smuggled into all-girl wedding and baby showers and the like before, so it’s not all that unusual that I’d do this.

My mom has been tricked into going. Sharon and I have led her to believe it’s a Tupperware party.

Sharon and I park in front of her apartment. Mom is at the door and ready to go.

She gives Marsha some last minute instructions. I unlock the back door and Mom climbs into the car.

“Mark is throwing a goddamn fit,” she says.

Mark is my brother. He is mentally retarded and doesn’t like to let Mom out of his sight.

I back up and point the car in the direction of Kim’s house, where the party is going to be.

“Don’t worry about Mark,” I tell Mom. “He’ll be fine for a few hours without you.”

“Is Bonnie coming?” Mom asks.

“Yes. I talked to her a couple of hours ago. She’ll be there.”

“Good,” Mom says.

I’m happy, too. I always have fun with Bonnie.

Mom sits back. “I’m kind of glad to be going to this,” she says. “That stuff you buy in the store — it ain’t nothing like Tupperware. Sharon, do you remember the tumblers that you used to could get? They were like eight different colors and they came with a caddy thing. I hope they still have those. I’ll get me a set. And I used to have this really nice container you could store your cold cuts in after you opened them. I hope they have those too.”

Sharon and I look at each other.

We get to Kim’s, park and climb out of the car. Mom pats her Chia-pet hair, straightens her huge glasses and checks the buttons on her sweater. We go in.

There’s a dozen or so women sitting in a semi-circle of chairs in Kim’s living room. Bonnie’s one of them. She looks fabulous. I hug her and say hi to all the other women. Everyone is thrilled to see Mom. She rarely makes an appearance anywhere these days.

A woman Mom and Nezzie work with named Faye gets up and lets Mom have her chair. “Oh! Thank you,” Mom says.

Faye’s daughter, Jennifer, and a neighbor of Kim’s named Candy have volunteered along with one of the Fantasy Party reps to model lingerie.

Jennifer has a body like Elle McPherson and a head like Gene Wilder. Candy is tragically bucked-toothed, but is otherwise attractive; she has really great hair. The Fantasy Party rep/model looks pretty good in next to nothing.

For a while, various skimpy looking things are modeled while other sexy women’s garments are held up or passed around for a closer look. Mom, looking both eager and confused, takes it all in.

A chair between Mom and Bonnie empties up and I grab it. Dildos are now being distributed and passed around the room along with some of the underwear and silky things.

Mom is handed a dildo that’s heavy looking and has a crank protruding from it She holds the thing up close to her glasses and then holds it far out to view it another way. She calmly turns the crank a few times and then hands it to me.

I pass it to Bonnie like it’s on fire. She quickly gives it to the woman next to her.

Mom leans in to me: “This ain’t no Tupperware party.” She flops back in her chair. “It’s Fuckerware,” she says, in utter disappointment.

Jennifer, the Gene Wilder-looking girl, recognizes Bonnie and rushes up. She is in a red teddy and matching panties. “How are you?” she asks Bonnie. “My, you look great! I think the last time I saw you was at Angela’s funeral.”

Mom leans forward and says, “Honey, why are you in your underwear?”

“It’s a Fantasy Party, Peggy. I’m modeling things that they’re selling.”

My mom gives me a dirty look.

“Jennifer!” The Fantasy rep’s voice calls out from down a hall somewhere.

“Excuse me,” Jennifer says, and leaves.

“Did you go to Angela’s funeral?” Bonnie asks me.

“No. I really should have though.”

“Everybody was talking about how good Angela looked. I tell ya, they were all lying. She was ghastly. The deadest looking dead woman I ever saw.”

“I remember when cars had a crank on them to get them started. So it makes sense they’d put one on a fake doo-loller.” Mom was talking to a woman sitting behind us that I didn’t know.

Buck-toothed Candy, taking the modeling thing a little too seriously, has changed into something very see-through and edged in black feathers. She struts her stuff.

Sharon, in the doorway of the kitchen, seems to be having fun. “Why don’t you model some crotchless panties for us, Bill?”

“Honey, don’t do it,” Mom says. “I ain’t seen your pecker since you was about 12 and I really don’t want to now.”

“I don’t want to show it to you, Mom.”

“You could show it to the rest of us,” buck-toothed Candy says.

“Some of us didn’t get see it when you were 12.”

“You’d have to take me to dinner a few times first.”

“Honey, save your money,” my mom says. “It won’t be a fair trade. He ain’t a bit interested in seeing anything of yours.”

Nezzie pulls a chair over, closer to where we’re sitting. “Peggy have you done something different to your hair?”

Mom touches her miserable hair. “Oh, I just got it permed again. My hair is so fine. I have to perm it to give it a little body.”

Bonnie looks at me.

Mom’s white hair is electrocuted-poodle curly, but I don’t say anything.

“What?” Mom asks.

“Nothing.” I refuse to be drawn in.

“Bill hates perms,” my mom tells Nezzie.

More dildos in various shapes and sizes come our way. Mom seems to be taking a little more interest in them. The doorbell rings and Kim welcomes a friend of hers that I’ve seen at some of these gatherings before. Her name is Roberta and she looks . . . picture Bea Arthur dressed like a hoochie. Everyone seems glad to see her.

The Fantasy rep has somehow joined us and is rubbing something on my mom’s hand.

“Now blow on it and you can feel it getting hot,” the rep tells Mom.

“You’re supposed to put it on yourself down there?” Mom asks.

“Yes,” Fantasy rep girl says. “Or on a man’s penis.”

“And it burns? . . . Honey, if you’re here for Tupperware,” Mom tells Roberta, “you’re about to be rudely disappointed.”

“I ain’t needin’ no Tupperware,” Roberta assures the assemblage.

Mom turns back to Rep Girl, “And this stuff, it gets hot?”

“It gets warm. Can you feel it?”

“Yes. It’s like UTI in a bottle. That’s really going to get me raring to go.” Mom shakes her head, totally unimpressed with the product.

A green plastic thing that looks like a skinny dick with the head severely bent sideways is handed to Mom. She looks at it. And then at me.

“It’s a tool designed to reach your G-spot,” I tell her.

“Most penises won’t reach . . . ” the rep girl tries to help explain. Mom doesn’t need the help.

“Oh, Hank’s won’t get to G,” she says. “He has trouble reaching D.”

“Have you ever had your G-spot stimulated?” Rep Girl asks Mom.

“Honey, I’ve looked for it and I can’t find it. Maybe I could locate it with this, though.”

“How do you know about G-spots?” I ask Mom.

“HBO,” she says, still eying the green toy closely. “Men don’t have a G-spot, do they, Bill?”

“No, Mom, but if I had one, the best tool to stimulate mine would be a checkbook.”

“I heard that!” Bea Arthur Hoochie Woman says.

Mom hands the dildo off to the woman that I don’t know behind her. “I gotta be careful here. A while back, Nezzie told me Jerry liked it when she pinched his nipples and one night I gave both of Hank’s a real good squeeze and he damned near wanted to fight me. I know now everyone don’t like the same thing. Do you like it when somebody pinches your nipples Bill?”

It’s not easy being the only guy at a Fantasy Party.

“No Mom. I don’t like it.”

Mom leans forward and tells Bonnie, “Everyone don’t like the same things.”

“Oh I know,” Bonnie says.

“Hank ordered me to stop talking to other people about sex, but I don’t listen to him on things like that.”

“Roger wants me to dress up,” I heard someone say.

Mom looks around. It’s the woman behind her.

“Hell ain’t sex a good time to get undressed?” she says.

“With Paul, the bus never arrives on schedule,” Patsy says. Patsy is a long-time friend of Sharon’s, dating back to high school.

“Honey, what’s she talking about?” Mom asks, blinking violently.

“He’s a premature ejaculator,” I tell Mom.

She looks at me. “You mean some aren’t?”

“Some aren’t,” I assure her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m seeing lightning bolts in front of my eyes. Honey, what’s this?”

“It’s a butt-plug, Mom.”

“What’s it for?”

“It’s kind of self-explanatory, Mom. Butt. Plug.”

“You plug it into your butt?”

I nod.

“Is it for people with a leakage problem?”

“No, some find it pleasurable to insert something . . . ”

“That big in their ass?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, not me!” Mom shakes her head. “I have to put in a suppository now and then and I think they should make those smaller. Do you want something that big in you . . . um . . . never mind, let me ask this woman.”

“Anal anything isn’t for me,” Bonnie offers.

“Why plug a hole that don’t leak?” Mom asks the woman behind her. “And if it leaks bad enough you need something this size to stop it, I say order up some surgery, not a big plug. I mean, see a damn doctor!”

“That poor girl,” Bonnie talks to me low and out the corner of her mouth.

“Who?”

“Candy. Why don’t she do something about those teeth?”

“Those teeth of hers are dangerous,” Mom agrees hissingly. “She kissed me when I came in and I checked to see if I was bleeding. Honey, what is Roberta looking at over there?”

I sigh. “Ben-Wa balls, Mom.”

“Whose balls?”

“They’re . . . in this case . . . metal balls, Mom . . . Ben-Wa . . . it’s Asian. They’re . . . um . . . you put them . . . forget it, Mom.” I need something to drink.

I get up. Mom stands and follows me. We pass several small groups of women talking at the same time. Three women to my right discuss the pros and cons of swallowing. I hurry Mom past them.

Bonnie sidles up next to me. “Check out Jennifer’s friend with the blue tank top on,” she says out the side of her mouth.

“What about her?”

“She’s missing two toes on her left foot.”

“Bonnie!” I say scoldingly.

“She’s wearing sandals!” Bonnie defends herself.

Patsy and a woman named Nola are blocking the punch Sharon made and the cheese ball and crackers I bought. I go around them and grab a can of Pepsi.

“Get me one, Bill,” Mom says.

I get mom a soda and head back to the living room. I sit down. Jennifer immediately sits next to me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What?”

“If a man wants you to put something in his rectum does it mean he’s gay?” Gene Wilder looks anxious to get an answer.

“Kevin?” Mom has followed me. “He wants you to stick something up his ass?”

I ignore Mom. “It doesn’t mean he’s gay,” I tell Jennifer. “The anus . . . it’s an area on a man that . . . there’s a lot of nerve . . . No, Jennifer, it doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“What does he want you to put up there?” Mom takes a slug of Pepsi.

My mother’s friend Margaret arrives late. There’s a brief meet and greet thing. Margaret’s brought a broccoli salad. She sets it down in the kitchen. “I’m sorry I’m late, Peggy. It’s been hell getting away . . . I’m not wearing my teeth. I hope you all don’t mind. They were itching and burning me something awful.”

“Those are hemorrhoid symptoms. Where were you wearing them?” I ask.

Margaret doesn’t get it, but Bonnie yelps.

“What kind of things does Kevin want you to put in his ass?” Mom asks Jennifer again. “There ain’t no Tupperware here,” she tells Margaret.

“Like a cucumber or carrot . . . the handle of a hair brush, once. Things like that.”

“Oh, I’d say he’s queer then,” Mom says, and blinks violently.

“Don’t listen to her, Jennifer. If he likes men, he’s gay. If he likes cucumbers, he’s . . . well, he’s something else.”

“You can say that again,” Mom says, and looks to Bonnie for agreement.

Bonnie laughs.

“All I know is, if he has something up his rectum he gets better erections,” Jennifer says.

I nod understandingly. “He’s drank a lot of alcohol over the years and that can effect . . . ”

“Hell! If it’ll give Hank better erections, I should shove one of them plugs up his pooper.”

Buck-toothed Candy, in regular clothes now, has joined us. Mom turns to her. “Are you still seeing Phil?” she asks.

“Oh, he makes a booty call now and then.”

“What kind of call?” Mom’s eyes swim behind her large glasses.

“A booty call. It’s when a man just wants sex from you.”

“A booty call . . . ” Mom frowns “ . . . and you answer?”

“I did the other night.”

“Booty call . . . ” My mom says again. I can see she is filing this away in her brain.

Margaret flips through a catalog.

Mom frowns at her. “Honey, if your searching for a tally-whacker with a crank on it, you’ve come to the right place. You can get some shit that’ll set your twat on fire, too. Or some Oriental guy’s balls, Ben somebody, but you ain’t going to find anything to put leftovers in. I wanted some tumblers, but they ain’t shit like that here.”

I get out of my chair and Bonnie takes it. I need a cigarette and start plotting an escape. Bonnie takes my arm and pulls me down to talk in my ear. “That woman in the red, Theresa? Kim’s sister-in-law, who just left — she ordered $227 worth of stuff!”

“You’re lying!” I say.

Bonnie shakes her head. “She did. Really.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Somebody needs to introduce her to an iron,” Bonnie says. “Did you see that wrinkled blouse?” She lets go of my sleeve and sits back.

The party is starting to wind down. I’m eating cheese ball on crackers like I’ll never get another meal. Jennifer is telling Bonnie how much she liked Jennifer Anniston’s hair and how she told the girl at Fantastic Sam’s, since they had the exact same name, to give her exact same cut.

Bonnie looks at me.

Jennifer’s hair looks exactly like Gene Wilder’s, but I keep a straight face.

Bonnie leans forward. Talking low and out the side of her mouth, she says, “It’s so sad, when someone is hideous and don’t realize it.”

Mom leafs through one of the catalogs. She looks up and thoughtful.

“It should be that none of this stuff is necessary, shouldn’t it?” she asks no one in particular. “It should be that God gave us all everything we’d need to turn on a man, shouldn’t it?”

A silence fell over the room.

I take Interstate 264 West and Mom’s apartment is only a few miles away.

The party was everything I expected it to be. Bonnie was in rare form and I’d had a good time.

But the real kicker is mom ordered (on a discreet form placed and sealed in an envelope) $116.43 worth of something and she won’t say what.

“Mom, you gotta tell me.”

“No, Honey. I respect mine and Hank’s privacy too much.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

I give up and wait for the light at Crums Lane to turn green.

I look over.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask Mom.

“Honey, I’m just wondering what I’m going to store my cold cuts in.”

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 9th, 2011 at 3:45 pm and is filed under Rock Me, Momma. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.