It’s been a while since I’ve written a little piece just for my own sheer entertainment, and with the recent Kentucky Derby and all the talk of Pony Play on the "Dungeon Crawl", the beaters in my mind started to mix. This actually is a true story, and I haven’t changed any of the names to protect the innocent. In my life, everyone is fair game. Just so you know.
Two years ago, we were invited to a party to watch the Kentucky Derby; I was asked to wear a hat and bring a batch of my homemade brownies. For those of you who don’t know what I look like, I am 5’2” with a very small head. I look absolutely ridiculous in a large hat, and was hoping the homemade brownies would make up for that. They did. In full disclosure, it is a recipe of Ina Garten’s, from the Food Network, and almost every day someone pins it from my “Pinterest” page. But since most of you don’t know my real name, I will leave the recipe at the end of this post. Trust me, you’ll want it. Here’s why.
At the party, a friend of mine, JoAnn, asked if I could supply her with a pan of brownies as a gift for one of her customers. Of course I said yes, and we chose a date, officially sealing it with a hug. About a month later, we decided to meet on a Friday night at a convenient location. She already had dinner plans with her family, and we were meeting Doug and his wife, so when we got to the restaurant, I just dropped the brownies off at her table without much ceremony.
The four of us trotted out to the patio, and as usual, the drinking commenced. Doug and his wife both ordered a glass of wine; Mike and I chose to toast the end of the week with vodka. After two glasses of Ketel on the rocks, with the juice of one cranberry and a fresh lime in each, I spotted JoAnn coming out onto the patio with an envelope in her hand, which I assumed was a gift card for me. As I stood up to hug and thank her, she whispered in my ear.
“Where are the brownie edges?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked innocently tilting my head to the side.
“There are no edges on any of the brownies. They are Guy’s favorite and the best part. Come on, Shelly, they’re chewy, fudgey and delicious, everyone knows that. Where in the hell are they?”
“No one ever gets my edges, JoAnn.”
“Nope. I bag and freeze them for emergencies.”
“Whoever heard of a brownie emergency? I can’t believe it. I was really looking forward to them.” She was seriously unhappy. It actually occurred to me that she might pull her gift card from my hand.
At that point, Doug was practically sitting on top of me. Naturally, he was dying to hear what was going on, for a man, he’s such a yenta. I turned toward Doug and then looked at JoAnn. Let the record show, I never made eye contact with Mike. There was really no point in lying.
“Okay, the truth is … when Mike wants a blow job and I’m not in the mood, I feed him brownie edges.”
“You’re joking.” She looked at me in disbelief. I wasn’t sure if she was shocked that I was talking about a blow job in public, or trying to get out of one.
“Jesus.” Doug’s ears stood up straight like a German shepherd, and I knew what he was thinking.
“That’s why I’m stingy with the edges. I keep a batch in the freezer at all times; you know, in case of an emergency.”
“That’s the brownie emergency?”
Well, we all had a good laugh (except for Mike) and the next thing I knew, we were being served brownie sundaes, sans the edges, courtesy of the chef. So it took everyone’s mind off my big mouth …for the time being, of course.
As a punishment for my indiscretion, Mike decided that I should give Doug the bag of stored frozen edges. Do you have any idea how long it takes to fill a bag with small pieces like that? Not that I don't enjoy a good blow job now and then, but those little delicacies are like a “Get out of Jail Free” card. Stop booing out there … everyone can’t always be in the mood.
Fast forward two years later … here we are again at the same Kentucky Derby party and I am showing up in another ridiculous hat. JoAnn wasn’t there, but my friend, Diane, once again asked for my brownies. As usual, I siphoned off a few for Mike, but since everyone already knew my secret (after two years, who in the state of Pennsylvania didn’t know), I decided to leave most of the edges on. What I don’t do for friends.
“I left edges on most of the brownies for Ray, so bag as many as you want, and throw them in the freezer.” We were standing in her kitchen, so I went into the drawer and took the liberty of pulling out a large Ziploc bag.
“What are you talking about, Shelly?”
“Really, you don’t know about the edges?” I whispered, looking around the room like double-knot spy.
She shook her head.
“The next time Ray wants a blow job and you aren’t in the mood, pop a few of these in his mouth. They’re guaranteed to satisfy, trust me; it’s an instant channel changer.”
She stood there stunned with an open mouth as I walked away.
A few mint juleps later, Doug and I were discussing blog hops and, to be polite, decided to include an innocent bystander into the conversation. Since it was a Kentucky Derby party, I asked if he knew what pony play was … you know just to show off a little (and managed to work in a few author names … you never know who might buy a book). In minutes, a crowd had formed around us, and Mike watched from across the room with a look of horror on his face as I educated a small group of interested vanilla men in various role play areas (pony, pet, age, etc.).
“Is it my imagination, or am I hearing my name across the room?” I asked Doug without moving my lips.
“It’s not your imagination, everyone is talking about you. But not in a bad way, I don’t think. You make for interesting conversation, sugar pop.”
I decided that maybe it was time for a quick getaway, before I got myself in any more trouble. I thanked Diane for dinner and drinks, and she thanked me for the brownies.