From Butt to Booty Read Online Free PDF

“Am I gay?” I have to move the phone away or risk the laughter damaging my eardrum.
    Adam calms down long enough to ask again, “What?”
    “I am not repeating myself.” He so heard me the first time.
    “No.” He sounds adamant.
    “You’re sure?” Don’t gay people have a sixth sense about these things?
I smell gay people
or something?
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Cuz,” I hedge.
    “He’s a bad kisser?”
    “I don’t know, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
    “One has nothing to do with the other.”
    “Huh?”
    “If you’re gay, a kiss can be nice but take-it-or-leave-it. DonJuan could kiss you with a millennium of knowledge and you’d ask him to pass the salt.”
    “Oh.”
    “But if you’re with a bad kisser, your orientation is so not the issue.”
    “Oh.” Really? Could it simply be a case of badness? Thank Goddess, or God—the devil even. I’m just happy.
    “Stephen lack chops?” Adam wants details.
    “His tongue seems abnormally large.”
    The cough can’t conceal a laugh. “I’m sure his tongue isn’t setting records for size.” For Adam’s sake, I’m glad he’s not eating right now, because he’d so be needing a long-distance Heimlich.
    “And that’s the other thing.”
    “What?”
    “Size.” I can’t even bring myself to repeat this. It sounds like bad reality TV even in my head.
    “Of his tongue?” Adam sounds confused and frustrated. Not that I blame him. I’m not Miss Articulate at the moment.
    “Are you happy with your size?”
    “Of my tongue?”
    “Your codpiece,” I clarify with what little dignity I have left.
    “My what?”
    “Your dick.” Oh my Lord, I am reverting to a nine-year-old wannabe Pops language.
    “My dick? Am I happy with the size of my penis? You want to know—”
    “No. Forget I asked. I don’t really want to know. But are you?” My face is burning. I hate being a girl. We are so unprepared for genital insecurity. We’re too covert for this.
    “I’m not throwing myself on any swords.”
    “Meaning what?” Please, now he gets all cryptic. Spell it out for me.
    “I’m about average, I guess. Maybe a little more. Nice size when erect. Nothing I’m worried about. Where does this come from?”
    “Stephen called me.”
    “And said what?”
    “He’s uncomfortable with his … size.” And I know I’m totally perverse, but all I can think about is the baby boy I babysat whose teeny-tiny didn’t seem to matter when he peed all over me. Never change a boy’s diaper. Let them sit in it. Or bring a change of shirt for when they decide to engage in water sports.
    “He did not. I am not falling for this crap. You have to be joking.”
    “Have I ever in my life joked about penis size?” Knock-knock jokes, an occasional ironic comment, sarcasm, yes. But a shtick about sticks? Not my style. “I’m not kidding. Honestly.”
    “Swear on the Barbie you mutilated.”
    “I swear on Barbie’s double mastectomy, I am not kidding.”
    “Oh my God.”
    There’s a long uncomfortable silence.
    “Adam?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You there?”
    “Hmm. Trying to figure out what to say.” He sounds as blown away as I feel.
    “Is it as weird as I think it is?”
    Adam hmphs. “How long have you been going out?”
    “Almost two months.”
    “Yeah, it’s a little odd.”
    “I mean, do guys talk like that? I thought you were supposed to be all silent and hard to figure out even after years of marriage.”
    “Well.”
    “I mean, first he makes me wonder if I’m gay and then he drops that one. And what do I say? What in the world did he want to hear? That I think his dick is just right for my inadequate vagina? How does he know? I have no idea if I need to add that to my list of things I should have therapy for, so how does he know? And why does he think this is something I want to hear about? What in the world was he thinking? That I want to know his every secret and fear?”
    “Breathe, Gert, breathe.”
    I gasp for air, but