Page 47 of The Fed Sex Man

Tyson

“Explainto me why you’d say something like that? It didn’t even make sense,” I complained.

I was surprised that Shawn’s comment in the restaurant about Jo being the librarian didn’t raise eyebrows. He often said things for the sole purpose of getting a reaction out of someone, not taking time to consider the potential repercussions of his actions.

He sipped his beer. “Made sense to me.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t ask you what the fuck you were talking about.”

“If she would have, I’d have told her.”

“That’s the fucking problem. I know you would have. You need to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

He gave me a look. “I’m not going to lie to her.”

“I’m not asking you to lie to her. I’m asking you to keep your stupid comments to yourself.”

“There’s nothing stupid about her being a naughty librarian.”

“What if she said, ‘What do you mean, I’m the naughty librarian?’” I asked. “What would you have said?”

He slid his bottle of beer to the side and met my gaze. “I would have said, ‘You look just like the sexy-assed librarian we had in high school’.”

“Do you think hearing that comment would have made her happy, or sad?”

His looked as if I’d asked him to explain quantum physics. “How the fuck would I know?” he exclaimed. “I don’t know that chick.”

“You. Don’t. Think. That’s the problem. You just yap, yap, yap, like one of those little barking fucking dogs. You need to think about what you say before you say it.”

“Okay, Dad,” he said in a snide tone.

“Fuck you,” I said. “Just forget it. I know you’re not going to change. I’m just glad she didn’t say anything.”

He reached for his beer. “I’m guessing you’re not going to tell her she looks like Garber.”

“Fuck no, I’m not going to tell her.”

“Why not?”

“Because no girl wants to think that she reminds a guy of someone else.”

“If I told that big-tittied cowgirl that she looked like Britney Spears, she’d probably give me a blowjob. A blowjob and a pat on the back. A fuckin’ attaboy pat.”

“If you told her she looked like Britney Spears, she’d probably slap the shit out of you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she would. That Jenny chick is about twenty-five years old, max. Britney Spears is forty, and looks like death.”

“She’s not forty,” he snapped back.

I picked up my phone, typed her name into Google, and grinned. “Sorry. She’s thirty-seven. Thirty-seven and looks like she’s forty.”

“Doesn’t matter if she’s thirty-seven or fifty-seven. In my mind Britney Spears will forever be singing Baby One More Time in the hallway in that schoolgirl outfit. Sexy little Catholic schoolgirl lookin’ bitch. I’d eat two miles of her shit just to see where it came from.”

“You’re an idiot. I can’t even make a point with you.”

“Stop beating around the bush and say what you want to say.”