A Birthday Surprise

A Birthday Surprise

So it's official, I'm now completely without balls!

What other explanation can there possibly be for standing outside my girlfriend’s apartment while she and her ex are both inside, doing God only knows what?

How else can I explain the overriding impulse to slink guiltily away, before somebody notices me lurking like a peeping Tom in the pre-dawn shadows?

It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t just felt the hood of his car; the cool surface providing evidence enough that it, and therefore he, have been here all night. I didn’t want to touch it; I knew I wouldn’t like the conclusiveness of my test, but still I looked on in helpless surprise as my arm reached out, hovered above and then came to rest on the metallic blue paintwork. I wish sometimes that we shared 99% of our DNA with ostriches rather than Chimps; it would make us more prone to bury our heads when faced with such unpalatable situations.

I think this whole debacle would hurt a little less if it weren’t her 24th birthday and, despite my meticulous forward planning, my chance of being the first person she sees today is now as deflated as my ego. But the worst thing of all? I’m standing here like a prize moron with a dozen roses in one hand and a shiny ‘Happy Birthday’ helium balloon in the other. I don’t think I could feel more vulnerable and stupid if I’d woken up to find I’d sleepwalked, naked, into the living room and the assembled ladies of my Mom’s book club.  Again.

I’ve been planning Gina’s surprise breakfast in bed for weeks and this morning I woke at five a.m. to make sure everything went smoothly and my girl’s 25th year started off as I hoped it would continue, with me proving to her that I love her beyond measure. But this? This is an eventuality I hadn’t anticipated.

My stomach has been doing somersaults since I rounded the corner and saw his flashy little car parked in the street and now I’m shaking, too. The next thing I know I’ll start crying and, with the exception of growing a pair of pert 36 C’s, my transformation from ‘Danny’ to ‘Danielle’ will be complete. Although if I do grow some breasts they may prove useful, considering my luck with the ladies! I’m fairly certain that a man with his own boobs will never be bored. I don’t mean ‘man-boobs’ though, I mean proper girly-bumps. I can’t see ‘man-boobs’ generating more than a few days of fun.

If I was any kind of man, with or without breasts, I’d storm in there, kick him in his stupid head, call her a cheap little tart and walk out again. I could hold my head up high and my pride would be intact. The only problem is I’ve never really come to see myself as the primary love interest in Gina’s story; Mark has always held that position.

The fabulous Mark Brown, a.k.a. ‘Skid’: her first, her last, her everything. Or so she thought until last year when she walked in on him screwing her best friend. She’s told me a few times that ‘nobody’ - and I assume by that she meant me - would ever take the place he left in her heart. Nice eh?

Okay, to be fair to her, it’s not as if I didn’t know she was on the rebound from a five year relationship when we met, and if I’m totally honest, I did exploit that vulnerability just the teensiest little bit. But it was with the intent of getting into her heart as much as her pants. Back then I had self-belief; I knew I could convince her I was the better option.

Where has that confident guy gone?

The living room curtains twitch and my panic rises again. Should I stay and confront this, or run away? Could I come back later and pretend I knew nothing of her overnight guest?

Are ostrich genes available on the open market? In pill form? I couldn’t inject myself.

The window slides open slowly, as if the person inside is trying not to make a noise. The butterflies in my stomach are reaching crescendo but rather than Gina, it’s her sister Michele who appears, and I breath easy again. She’s wearing one of those baby-doll type silk nightdresses and her hair looks messed up but sexy in a ‘just-woke-up’ kind of way that she’s been perfecting for years. Michele is the stunning version of Gina, who is a beautiful woman in her own right. They both have jet black, curly hair although Michele’s has a bit more of a shine to it. They both have dark brown, almond eyes but Michele’s are a little softer and darker. They both have great figures but somehow, even though she’s three years younger, Gina’s boobs show signs of saggage whilst Michele looks as perky as when she blossomed.

And boy, do I remember that year! Michele and I were ‘friends’ long before she became this Venus in a nightdress now standing – or more accurately, leaning - seductively out of an open window before me. One of the most painful moments of my adolescence, and there were more than a few train wrecks among them, came when she told me she loved being with me because we’d been friends for so long that she didn’t have to worry about me trying to get fresh with her.

Looking back, I think I may have been able to fight my way out of the ‘harmless’ category – populated mostly by her male hairdresser friends – and into the potential mates group. But there I would have been just one of many and, to be honest, it would have taken a lot of work on my part. I went for the easier route – the younger sister – and so now it really is too late for Michele and I. But I still sneak a peek at her boobage whenever the chance presents itself.

“Danny?”

“Hey ‘Shel.”

Her eyes jump from my arm full of flowers and the balloon to Mark’s car and the smile that was forming freezes on her face. She looks angry and for a split second I’m afraid it’ll be directed at me, though I don’t know why.

“Is that little shit still here? I can’t believe this bitch…” She spits through gritted teeth before ducking back in through the window. A second later she pops back out again.

“God, I’m sorry Danny! She’s such a selfish cow! Wait there, I’ll be right out.”

The window slams shut and I’m again left standing here feeling like a fool. The pity in her eyes is not what I wanted to see. It tells me so much more about what’s going on in there than I wanted to know.

Muffled, angry shouts precede the opening of the front door, which reveals Gina in her robe, looking not sheepish and embarrassed as I’d imagined – and hoped - but actually rather pissed off!

“Look, Danny. I was going to tell you but…I don’t know. You’re just so…so intense! I never seemed to be able to find a good way to do it. I didn’t want to hurt you…”

“And this is how you protect my feelings? Rather than tell me what’s going on you decide to let me stumble on the truth early one Friday morning?”

She shrugs and gives me that stupid pursed mouth expression of hers that says ‘So sue me’.

“I didn’t plan it Danny. I didn’t know you’d come lurking around my apartment at dawn.”

“Lurking? I’m your fucking boyfriend!"

Michele opens the window again and leans out once more. “She knew, Danny. I told her last night that you were coming and that she’d better not let Mark stay. She’s a little slut!”

“Go inside, Michele, and grow up!” Gina’s pissed off now and I know that won’t help me at all. Just like the Hulk, we don’t like Gina when she’s angry.

“Me grow up?” Michele coughs. “That’s a joke. You’re a…you’re…oh fuck off Gina! You don’t deserve somebody as nice as Danny anyway. I wish I’d never introduced you two.” She slams the window closed again and gives her sister the finger before the curtain drops.

“Come on Gina, please?” I hate the whiney, needy sound of my voice but it’s too late now. “I can’t believe that after everything you told me about him, about all the crap he put you through…I can’t believe you’d just go running back to him!”

She looks at me, emotionless and folds her arms across her chest.

“Don’t do this, Gina, please don’t…”

“I have to, Danny. I’m sorry. I have to give it another chance…”

“Go home Danny! I’m only reclaiming what you stole off me in the first place.” Mark interrupts, suddenly hovering behind her. I can’t believe he’s making a face at me! He’s pushing his lower lip out with his tongue and crossing his eyes. I just can’t resist. I jab my fist out over her shoulder and punch him in the mouth. Wiping the stupid look off his face with my fist almost makes the whole morning worthwhile and, as if by magic, I feel my balls drop back into place. My testosterone levels also begin to rise once more and I realize that I AM a Man! I AM.

“Danny!” Gina begins but I cut her off with a glare and refocus my attention on Mark.

“You know what, Mark? If you ever even look in my general direction, ever again, I’m going to knock your goofy teeth down your throat. Got it?”

He pushes Gina aside, ready to fight me, but before he can, I punch him again. This time I get him squarely on the nose. The crunch of gristle and immediate flow of blood scares me. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. I think I broke his nose. He cups the bleeding proboscis in his hands and runs, actually runs back into her apartment. I turn smugly to Gina, who’s looking at me dumfounded. I have to get her while she’s still in this state of shock because when that fades, as it surely will, and is replaced by her ire, I’m screwed.

“Gina, you do realize he’s only ever wanted you because somebody else had you, right? He’ll get bored again now he’s got what he wants, just you watch. And you can never trust each other again, can you? He cheated on you and you cheated on me with him. There’s no honesty in your relationship, you’re just a couple of sluts. Actually, you probably do deserve each other!”

“Go away, Danny. It’s not as if I never told you…”

“You know what? You’re right! I was the idiot for believing I could make you see there’s more to a relationship than infidelity and the occasional slap round the face. I was a moron for treating you better than any guy before me and now I’m just getting what I deserve. Goodbye, Gina.”

I turn as dramatically as I can and start to walk away, imagining her watching me, with her eyes filled with tears and her heart filled with regret. The door slams, crushing my theory.

Screw it. I might as well go out on a high. I creep back to her front door, bite a hole in the helium balloon, take a deep draw on the gas and start singing in a high-pitched cartoon chipmunk voice.

“Happy birthday to you,

happy birthday to you,

have a crap life you SLUTFACE,

and your gay boyfriend too.”

© Copyright 2006 Mike Davis

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