The Sunday sun was rising, its morning rays invading the room as Rebecca Hayes stirred. She reached over to touch her husband but found his side empty. Not even warm. Probably working in the garage, she thought. Again.
As if on cue, the sounds of grinding metal rang through the bedroom along with grunts and the occasional cursing. Yep. What was it that he was making in there? Another sculpture, she knew, but he said this one he said was special. He would allow no clues or hints as to what it was or what made this one different. All she had known for the past month of its construction was that her husband, Michael, had seemed distant, driven by a purpose and deranged with affection when he considered his work done for the day. She couldn’t get him off of her.
For a year now they had been trying for a baby with no success. After several months Rebecca had finally convinced Michael that they should see a professional who could pinpoint the problem—There is no problem, Michael would say—or maybe, hopefully, steer them in the right direction. As far as the doctor was concerned she could find no medical reason that Rebecca could not get pregnant. Everything appeared to be in good working order with her and her husband. His prescription was to keep trying. So they did, vigorously. Still the Hayes’ could not conceive.
Over the past month, however, Michael had been inspired. It struck him in the middle of the night like a hammer and he hadn’t stopped working since. Endless hours he had poured into this project without giving his wife the reassurance knowing of what he was working toward. She could take a guess at what it was he was creating in there, but every single one would turn out to be wrong. She even tried to sneak a peek once and was severely reprimanded. Not doing that again.
After a few minutes of lying in bed, Rebecca decided to make breakfast. She put on a gown and fired up the kitchen. As the eggs were scrambling with the ham – his favorite – she caught a glimmer in her peripherals; something shiny, something big. She stared out of the window for a moment and noticed something was… being erected? What on earth?
She turned off the stove, tied her gown and rushed outside. The morning light blinded her at first, and then the giant structure was set in place and shielded her eyes from the sun. She didn’t know what to say as her eyes focused and tried to accept what they were seeing. A steel pole that stood approximately seven, maybe eight feet tall and three feet in diameter. A leather strap was tied around its center connecting it to a little crane he was using set it up. Not to mention the loose dirt around the bottom. He’s been digging. Great! The pole appeared to have faces, female faces extending up the thing and… breasts?
“What do you think, babe?” Michael could not conceal the smile on his face. He seemed immensely proud of himself as he stood there leaning on the pole and fondling a boob.
“Pretty nice, eh?”
“What, what is it?”
Rebecca could still not quite believe what she was seeing. The damned thing has tits, for crying out loud.
“I call it ‘Scrotum Poll!’ It’s like a totem pole except…”
“It has tits,” Rebecca interrupted.
“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t it?”
Rebecca stood there for a minute taking it all in. A Scrotum Pole had just been raised up in her backyard. Should she be proud of her husband? After all it was a beautiful sculpture, the faces delicately molded and seamlessly blended with the base. Even the breasts were quite attractive. She tightened the sash around herself.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she screamed. “What made you think it was a good idea to dig a hole in my yard and set up this damned thing?”
“Scrotum pole, babe.”
“I don’t care what it’s called! Have you taken into account what the Home Owners Association will have to say about this? Probably not. Why couldn’t you just leave it in the garage and sell it like you do with everything else? And what’s with all the tits?”
Michael calculated his response.
“This isn’t for sale, hun. It’s for us. And as for the tits, well babe, I designed it to get you pregnant.”
He thought this last comment would cheer her up.
She couldn’t accept that what she was hearing was real, let alone accept that a Scrotum Pole has just been erected on her watch. This has to be a dream she thought. Has to be. She pinched herself to make sure.
“You’re not dreaming, babe. Allow me to explain.”
He took a deep breath.
“You haven’t gotten pregnant this past year and we were running out of ideas, right? Kept trying, and trying, and praying, and trying, but nothing was working, right? So one night I just get this idea. Make a Scrotum Pole and the spirits will bless us.”
He ran out of breath as he finished his sentence and Rebecca just stood there.
“You’ve lost it. You’ve really…”
Something else caught her eye, some glimmer of recognition. She leaned in closer to the pole.
“Are these faces your ex-girlfriends’? They are your exes! What the hell, Mike? Why are… Is that my face? Why am I at the bottom?” Rebecca was becoming hysterical, so Michael needed a good reason why his wife was at the base of the pole, and fast.
“Because… You’re my rock, babe. My foundation. Without you there is no support.”
That should do it, he thought. Damn you’re a clever one, Michael. Good save.
“And what’s with all the tits?”
“Well, babe,” Michael started. “Spirits like tits.”
Rebecca’s mind was racing in a thousand directions at once like sheep with no shepherd. She knew her husband could be eccentric at times but always chalked it up to plain ole goofiness. That was one of the things she loved about him. He could always make her laugh. This, however, was beyond amusing. This was insane.
“What?” Michael asked. “You think it needs more tits? It needs more tits. I’ll go make some more tits.”
Michael turned to go back into the garage when his wife grabbed his arm prohibiting him from making more breasts to add to the Scrotum Pole. Why did he have to name it that?
“No! No more tits,” Rebecca stated firmly. “Please. Take this thing…”
“Scrotum Pole,” Michael interjected.
“This Scrotum Pole down. And fill in that damn hole you dug. Please, I beg you.”
“Babe, I’ll take it down as soon as you’ve got a baby brewing.” He said this with such calm that it scared her. He grabbed her shoulders and placed a consoling kiss on her forehead. “I love you, you know that.”
At least he keeps me on my toes, she thought.
“Now, if you don’t mind, babe, I’ve got more work to do. Can you make me some coffee please?”
Rebecca nodded and turned to go back inside the house.
“Oh, babe. Can you put some rum into it please? Thanks.”
She stopped and faced her husband.
“We don’t have any rum. And since when do you drink rum?”
“Since I bought some this morning and placed it under the sink behind the cleaning supplies. Thanks, dear.”
“Would you like some sugar and cream with that,” she said sarcastically.
“I’ll take some coconut milk if it’s not too much trouble.”
“We don’t have…”
“I bought some coconuts too. You’ll have to crack em’ open, though. Oh,” he said as if he’d had a moment of brilliance. “Put the coffee in the coconut and some salt around the rim. And don’t be cheap on the rum. I’m feeling frisky.”
He gave her a wink.
Oh, Lord. What did I get myself into?
“And put a little umbrella in it too. They’re in the pantry above the fridge.”
Rebecca went into the house but just as soon came out again. Something else caught her attention. A water bowl, a food bowl and a…
“Why is there a goat tied up next to the house? Michael?” Rebecca turned around to see her husband was admiring his creation while fondling the breast again. Was he talking to it? And then it occurred to her. If I know my husband like I think I know my husband…
“You are not sacrificing a goat!”
“Whoa, babe. Calm down. Ole Billy there is a willing participant. And I’ve got it on good authority that he’s a virgin. The spirits love virgins.”
“Where did get a goat from? You know what? It doesn’t matter. Take it back. You’re not killing a goat.”
Michael raised his arm in Rebecca’s direction and shouted, “In the name of fertility I demand your cooperation!”
“You take that goat back to wherever it is it came from and take down that goddam pole!”
“Scrotum Pole, babe! It’s a Scrotum Pole!”
Michael looked around and noticed something that the spirits might also like.
“We need Tiki torches.”
“Are you planning some sort of séance?”
This keeps getting weirder and weirder, doesn’t it?
“All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”
“That doesn’t even make sense in that context,” Rebecca said. “You really have gone crazy. I’ll be a good wife and make your stupid coffee with rum and coconuts and everything. I’ll even wear a grass skirt and go topless if you want me too, but I want that goat and your damn Scrotum Pole gone by noon. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
She walked back into the house and slammed the door. She felt good about how she handled the dilemma. She’d asserted herself in the situation, made her stance crystal clear. She nodded in assurance.
“Time is of the essence!” Michael screamed from outside.
That put a smirk on Rebecca’s face. That husband of mine.
By the time she located the coconuts and devised a way to crack one apart, the back door burst open. Startled, Rebecca turned around to find Michael standing there naked and fully erect, his penis covered in blood. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely, clutching a sullied knife in his hand.
“Let’s make a baby.”