Page 25 of Wrong Number, Right Valentine

I was on the floor of Reg's apartment, surrounded by boxes. We’d decluttered, tossed, donated, and sold some of my things. To save money, we’d done the packing ourselves, and we were hiring a truck to transport our possessions to our new home.

But I’d made a spreadsheet of Reg’s kitchen equipment and utensils. He had an ice cream scoop and so did I.

“Yes. One for ice cream and one for when we make meatballs.” Reg’s eyes lit up. “And we should buy a third for cookie dough.”

I groaned. It had taken long enough to declutter my stuff, and we had to be out of his place by tomorrow morning. I refused to take junk to our new home, just to sift through it and toss or donate things.

What arrived at the new house were things we loved and wanted.

“No to three. We can wash the one and only scoop we have, and it can have multiple uses.” I placed it in the toss pile cause it was old and the handle didn’t work well.

“Let’s take a break.” Reg plopped onto the floor as we’d already made one trip with the furniture we were keeping, and a new sofa was being delivered to the house in the morning.

But I had to be the hardass and urged him to keep going. Staying up all night arguing about a set of measuring spoons or glass containers wasn’t part of the plan.

“What is this?” I was holding something that appeared to be a giant crayon.

“A pancake pen.” Reg took it off me, and his wide grin suggested he was proud of it.

“What does it do?” I peered at the wider end and before checking out the pointed tip. It reminded me of a large baby bottle, but a kid would have to be enormous to get through that amount of milk. Unless Reg enjoyed playing daddies. I’d be into that.

“It’s for if we have children.” He explained that it was easier and safer for kids to manipulate than plopping a ladle full of pancake mixture into a hot pan.

I couldn’t argue with him about his gadget, though I’d have given it away to the neighbors and bought another one if and when I got pregnant.

I rummaged through the box where I’d dumped all my mate’s kitchen gadgets and wondered what other weird and wonderful things I’d find.

“This looks like an object of torture.” I waved an orange object at Reg. It was used for squirting something because of the spray nozzle at one end.

“A citrus sprayer.”

“Oh, of course. They’re invaluable.” I suppressed my laughter, but my mate knew me well enough and elbowed me. A guffaw burst out of me.

“Liar. You’ve never heard of them until now.”

True. I used an old-fashioned squeezer when I wanted orange or lime juice. But maybe Reg could convert me.

Even though we had hours to finish the packing, I was on a mission to find my mate’s most quirky utensils and gadgets.

“Let me guess what this is.” It was an easy one. “A lid to something and you’re missing whatever it fits into.”

“No!” Reg sighed. He pulled the so-called lid apart. “Guess again.”

I studied the two sections. “Got it. It’s for making cookies so they’re all the same size.”

“Almost. It’s for burgers. But you were close.”

“We have to keep it because heaven forbid one burger was slightly bigger than the other.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

We were running out of time, so I dumped the rest of the kitchen items in the box, vowing to do what I said I wouldn’t; go through it again when we unpacked.

“This is a trick one.” Now that I was done with the guessing game, Reg had taken my place. “Guess and there’ll be a blow job in your future tonight.”

Normally I’d do anything for his mouth on my cock, but we’d be sleeping on a mattress in our new place tonight and we’d be exhausted. I doubted there’d be a blow job in my future.

But I was intrigued by what he showed me. It appeared to be an electrocution device though it was so small, perhaps it was for a hand or foot.

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