Page 181 of Property of Necro
He reaches over and taps the side of the jar. "I was doin’ this.”
“Why did you keep it?” I ask, even though I probably shouldn’t. The answer is obvious. But I need to hear it anyhow. From his lips to my ears.
“They’re my trophies. Well, yours. I’ll put it with the other one on the shelf.”
“What other one?” I ask, confused.
“The dick Necro cut off last year. The one that… you know…”
Wait.
The guy I threatened.
“You kept it?”
Coffin nods and crosses both arms across his chest. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we have?”
“Because it’s weird.”
“Any weirder than collecting vaginas?” Rot flashes Coffin a smug smirk.
“They’re not vaginas,” Coffin and I grumble in unison, frowning at Rot.
“Meh.” He shrugs. “Tomato, tomatoe. Close enough.”
That isn’t close enough.
A uterus and a vagina might be female anatomy, but they are not even close to the same thing. Ask a man if he likes fucking a uterus and see what he says.
Wait.
Never mind. I take it back.
Don’t ask that.
From my experience, most men will fuck anythingwarm, wet, and half-willing. They’ll fuck a teddy bear as long as it makes their dick feel good.
Alright.
That’s enough of that.
I’m stalling with all this icky dick fucky talk because… apparently, I’m getting married today to not one but three men.
Three.
When you’re a little girl, picturing your dream life with your white picket fence, a dog, and a library full of books like Belle with her growly beast, there is always one prince in the dream. Unless you were into Snow White and her dwarves—If you were, go on with your bad self. But for me, it was a single man. He would treat me well. We’d live happily ever after. Nowhere in that dream were there three men, a church, chickens, dead bodies, and severed dicks in jars. Yet, here we are.
And…
I couldn’t be happier.
Wait.
What is it that Elizabeth says to Mr. Darcy? “You may only call me Mrs. Darcy when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.”
That is me.
With them.
