…PLEASE REFER TO PART ONE FIRST…
Holy crap. This guy suddenly looks like he’s ready to go right then and there. I immediately scan his crotch in search of a spontaneous boner, my bad, but it’s as flat as a pancake.
“You’re sure I’m gonna wanna…” I finish by gesturing the same humping motion because, at this point, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose here.
His eyebrows go up and down as though he’s trying to dislodge something from his forehead and he grins at me. He sets the bottle into my sweaty palm and I wrap my fingers around it like it’s some kind of treasure.
But wait, out of the corner of my eye I see his other hand reaching towards my right breast.
Did this mean I still had it? Did he get all worked up by my push, push, groin thrust? Was I hot to him? Were my girls turning him on?
I instantly react with the speed of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. I intercept his approaching paw with my best jiu-jitsu move and my do-jo cry–Keyah. I give him the evil eye!
He steps back and rubs his wrist. As close as we’re standing I can see a red welt rise where I’d just smacked him.
He stands there in complete shock, complete disbelief! His eyes fill with fear.
He takes two more steps back from me then raises his shaking hand and points at my right breast.
I look down and see there is a rather large ball of white thread sticking to my black sweater. It probably came loose from the coat I’d been wearing earlier.
“You got shit on your shirt lady,” he says in his defense.
“OMG…I’m so sorry!” I say as I pull the straggler off and toss it to the ground.
“Maybe you need hormone too bitch…help brain relax,” he says making his move towards the cash register.
I’m thinking this guy must be fucking telepathic because I had run out of estrogen. I’d been out of it, and out of my mind, for nearly a week because I’d forgotten to order it.
I try to hand him my credit card.
“No lady, you set card on counter, I pick up myself.”
I try to gather what’s left of my brain and defend my action but the second I try to speak his shushes me.
“You pay me, get out,” he hisses at me. “You no come back.”
He rips my card a new asshole through his machine and tosses it back on the counter, then sets the sales slip down so I can sign it. As I reach for the pen he steps back as though he knows what my arm span is.
“Can I have a bag?”
“Okie dokey then.”
I hang my head in embarrassment and do as I’m told. As I head towards my car I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. I know he’s watching through the slats of the window blinds to make sure I’m really leaving and I’m pretty sure I hear the clank of a lock being engaged.
But then I thought to myself, who cares, I’m about to get my horny on. I’m about to get my mojo back. I’m going to be that sex machine I once was. The boner goddess. The MILF! I may actually find that spontaneous orgasm. Whehaw!!!!!
I get in my car and nearly have to pry my fingers off the bottle so I can read the label.
I look at the main ingredient and burst out laughing.
‘Horny Goat Weed.’
It’s then I realize I probably could have just as easily gone to the local feed store to get this shit.
No one’s home when I get there so I crack the bottle, tip it towards the light so I can inspect the pills inside.
Was I supposed to swallow these things or were the suppositories? I have panic attacks when I have to take those little Advil tablets, how was I possibly going to manage these? I look at the label and read the instructions.
Take one daily for maintenance and up to four two hours before sexual activity. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my brow.
OMG! Now I was going to have to get anxiety medicine just to be able to swallow these suckers.
But I was on a mission. I’d just have to bite the bullet, literally, and down these horny goat weed suckers any way I could.
Flash forward one week.
I wasn’t feeling the sex thing yet but one thing I did notice immediately was that whenever I was driving, my attention kept wandering towards the long tall grass that runs parallel to the freeway. I’d start to feel hunger pangs followed shortly thereafter by the urge to pull over and graze.
I even started noticing barn yard animals in the most odd places. In Los Angeles proper it’s pretty rare to see anything other than a cat or dog.
I found myself wanting to visit a friend of mine’s ranch up in the Santa Monica mountains because I’d recently attended a woman’s horse retreat there and had a vague recollection of a very handsome billy goat wandering about.
I started answering questions and responding to statements in an odd way.
My son came bursting through the door after school one day so he could tell me a joke he’d heard that day. It was one of those really sick jokes if you know what I mean.
All I could say was “Eweeeeeeeeee,” followed shortly by a few “Bah, bah, bah’s” as his warped humor wrapped around my brain.
I’d catch myself late at night staring down at my front lawn from my bedroom balcony.
I ordered every version of “Grazin In The Grass Is A Gas” from iTunes.
One day my husband came home and I was laying face down in the tall cool green grass.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Mowing the lawn,” I said.
“Why is your hand down your pants?”
“I got an itch.” I respond.
What? Wait a minute!
Maybe it was starting to happen. Maybe it wasn’t just an itch. Maybe, just maybe, my vagina was finally getting the message.
I looked up at him staring down at me and cocked my eyebrow.
“Kids aren’t home yet. Would you like to step into my office?”
Oh yes, the world we live in, the world I live in, is a far better place when we can chemically alter it!