Page 24 of Ripe & Ready
Embarking on a relationship right before the man you love is set to start a prestigious master’s program in another state isinsane work, but since I apparently answer the call of adventure now, it was something I easily agreed to.
Well. “Easily” might be a stretch.
There was a lot of smiling and nodding while my internal monologue screamed long distance never works, you’ll implode by month three, your love life is built on jungle fever and lies. But Derek kissed me in the middle of the airport parking lot and said, “We can do this,” and suddenly all my worst-case scenarios went on mute.
So while he’s in California I live back home. Same town, same apartment, same barista who still spells my name “Andie” with a heart over the i. Except this time, I’m doing it with a slightly bolder spine and a boyfriend who FaceTimes me from a library where I’m pretty sure at least one book is cursed.
We do our best to carve out weekends here and there, but between his schedule and my mild (okay, moderate) agoraphobia, syncing up is harder than it should be. Add in flights, deadlines, and my deep personal vendetta against airports, and we don’t always make it work.
Luckily, Christmas is one of the few times he has no excuse not to be here with me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager about… anything,” he says, caution etched into his annoyingly handsome face. “Except maybe Taylor Swift conspiracy theories.”
“You’re stalling,” I chuckle. “Open the box, Derek.”
“The aggressiveness with which you’re demanding I enjoy this Christmas present has me nervous.” The laugh that follows has a little edge to it.
I’m sitting on my knees a few feet away, where we’ve taken up residence under the tree. I shuffle closer.
“Who would’ve thought Derek Bannen would be the nervous one in this relationship?” I murmur, reaching for his hand. Ithread my fingers through his, guiding them to the absurdly oversized bow I tied on the box.
We each grab an end and tug, eyes locked, tension thick as ribbon between our fingers.
His gaze shifts darker, more focused. His pupils widen with that look I know now by heart. The moment turns molten.
We peel the wrapping away slowly, deliberately, our eyes locked the entire time. The heat between us builds with every tear, something electric crackling in the air, and then, with one final rip, the paper falls away?—
Derek is the first to break.
His gaze drops to his lap. There’s a beat of silence, and then he howls. Full-on throws-his-head-back, doubled-over, shoulder-shaking laughter.
He stares at the box, his eyes all wide. Disbelief and curiosity etched all over that handsome face. He turns it over in his hands still struggling to catch his breath from laughing. “It’s called The Velvet Peel?”
Yes… Yes it is.
It’s a banana-shaped sex toy. No metaphors, no subtlety. A full-length banana with the peel pulled back dramatically to reveal a silicone shaft in the shape of a very anatomically optimistic penis. The peel itself? Lined with buttons. Power, thrust, and what I assume is the “destroy me” setting.
I’ve long since retired the days of using an actual banana in my hole.
Honestly, I expected an infection but somehow, I survived Derek’s wild idea. Banana chunks and all. His first time fucking me, and I walked away mostly intact.
Mostly.
I mean, I can’t look at a banana the same way anymore. Hell, I can’t smell one without getting hard. Thanks, Africa.
Gwen Stefani is right. That shit really is bananas.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
The Velvet Peel felt like the safest possible compromise.
Derek doesn’t even hesitate. He rips it open and peels away the plastic like he’s been waiting for this his whole life.
He presses a button, and the damn thing comes alive. The banana starts thrusting out of its peel. Back and forth, slow at first, like it’s warming up. But with every click, it gets faster. More aggressive. Until it’s outright jackhammering the air.
“This is absurd, Andy.”
“Absurd would’ve been passing up the opportunity to own it,” I say, smirking. “You haven’t even met its travel case yet.”
