Play Date

5 Charlie Mackerel.

[18+]

Paige opens her leg away from Riley's face.

"That's the worst idea ever. Here," she says, and hands him the condom wrapper to dispose of. She puts one knee on each side of Riley and crawls down his torso. Riley remains on his back and drops the wrapper on the nightstand.

"Jerry practically offered us a job if we'd have a kid," Riley counters as Paige settles. Reverse Cowgirl is not her favorite, but every time Riley compliments the view, her heart flutters. She's pleased with her figure and shudders at the thought of what childbirth would have done to it. That's probably reason three not to have kids, in her mind.

"Have you gone soft on me?" Paige asks. Riley checks. No, it's all good. "We agreed long before we got married—no kids."

"I could see having a cute little you or me around," Riley says. Paige scoffs. Riley stays on point. "Who's going to take care of us when we're old?"

"Having a kid does not guarantee that. We could outlive them or they could grow up hating us."

"Come on," Riley says, "who could hate us?"

"Any kid who found out we had him just to get a job. That might be the worst thing you could do to a child." Paige leans forward and crawls toward the edge of the bed. Riley knee-walks, left, right to join with her.

"Worse than appearing in gang-bang porn during your third trimester?"

"Remind me to put filters on your internet access," Paige says.

"We've got to do something, babe," Riley says. "Just think about it."

"Okay," Paige agrees, "and you think about this: Even if you knock me up tonight..."

"Should I ditch the condom?"

"No!" Riley flips Paige to her back. "All I'm saying is that if I got pregnant, it's still nine months till we can join the mommy and daddy club. We don't have nine months of money left. And even if your cockamamie plan was the least bit viable, there were no infants at that party. Oh, god." She's getting close. "We don't need a baby, my friend." (Closer) "We need..." (Closer) "a" (and she's crossing the finish line) "Fully... formed... child!" Riley holds still as Paige's torso convulses.

"That sent you over the edge?" He asks.

"You have about ninety seconds till my body loses interest," Paige warns. Riley's not concerned.

"And thirty seconds to spare."

Sixty seconds later, Riley falls to his back beside Paige. His chest heaves and his mind races until he lands on an idea. "I may have figured it out." Paige is sleepy.

"That's nice," she whispers with eyes closed. Riley turns off the lights and stares at the ceiling, stuck on her orgasmic phrase, 'fully-formed child.'

Two days later, Riley sits on the toilet, vaping. He's off cigarettes completely, but Paige doesn't know about the vape pen. He's trying to wean himself off the nicotine using oils with less and less, in increments.

Paige pounds on the door. "Riley!" she calls from the hall. Riley jerks and drops the pen into the bowl. "Come on. We're ten minutes late."

He rolls up a sleeve and retrieves the pen. Then he dries it on a face towel and slips it into a small box that also holds spare oil cartridges. Last, he stashes the kit into a vanity drawer, before opening the door.

"How many times a day can you do that?" Paige asks, assuming he was pooping.

"How many times can you forget to buy flax oil?" he counters.