The best about sex

The best about sex

Bruno Buttercup has the wrong name.
He is one of the rare people who would get stuck in the door opening if they don`t enter sideways AND duck their heads.
Bruno is the navigator and the full crew in person on board of the "Olga", Captain Hansens fishing boat. Hansen doesn`t need any more men.

Last Saturday we sat, as always, in the "anchor" and drank our beer, silently. The silence is the reason why people think us coastal dwellers are unsociable and taciturn, but that's not true. That is just a rumor people from Rheinland are spreading about us.
So, Bruno and I were sitting together at one of the scrubbed wooden tables and studied the smoke coming from our cigarettes. We just had our sixth beer in progress, when he suddenly put his big paw on my arm and looked at me with his watery - blue eyes.
"Jan", he said.
"Hm?"
"You're my friend, right?"
"Jap."
"Jan, my friend, shall I tell you something?"
"What?"
"I happened to find out something."
"Uhum."
He took a big gulp, as if he was in need for some dutch courage. Then he scratched his chin.
"Yeah," he said, "Do you actually know what is the best thing about sex?"
"Hä?"
"I asked you, do you know what is best about sex."
The conversation at the table next to us became much quieter and I felt completely taken by surprise. I tried not to show a too stupid face and shrugged my shoulders.
Bruno turned around to the others at the next table. "If you heard me anyway, then you can perhaps answer my question."
"What shall we answer?"
Bruno made a sweeping gesture and his beer spilled all over the pants of Karl Martens, our crab dealer.
"I want to hear from you, what is the best thing about sex, you flukes!"
Martens took out his handkerchief and tried to dry his pants.

"Bruno man, don`t be silly. Just look at my pants. I am stinking now like a whole truck o`beer "
"That's all right, Karl, normally you smell like fish` s market”, Bruno got up.

He dodged the ceiling lamp and swayed over to Martens and the other men.
"I want to know from you ...", he said, raising his arm, "what is the best thing about sex!" He thundered his fist on the table. The content of the ashtray spilled over the spruce table and the men could only with difficulty save their glasses.
"Bruno, leave us alone. We're all married too long to be able to remember something like that, "said Bernd Claasen our Harbour Master, visibly upset.

The rest nodded in agreement.
"Well, I know ...", suddenly a thin voice was to be heard from the background. It was Fiete Osterhaus, our postman.
"What do you know?", asked Bruno.
"Well, I already know a little bit of ... of sex and stuff like ... I mean."
"Oh yeah?! Then tell us, what you know."
Bruno's finger pointed in Fiete `s direction.
Poor Fiete never had had a particularly healthy skin colour, but now he looked like a corpse that has layn in water three days.
He sipped bravely at his beer with lemonade and said: "Yes, that is to say … sometimes… for example, if the lass is quite nice actually… And it seems as if perhaps just happened behind the dike… or even in the barn… and if it is so nice and warm there and the sun and … perhaps even a picnic basket …"
"Nonsense!", said Bruno.
Fiete retreated behind his glass and for a moment there was absolute silence.
"Then I will enlighten you now", said Bruno. "The best thing about sex is, if something went wrong."
We were speechless. Even the oldest among us had not heard such nonsense ever before.
"The best thing about sex", he said," is, if something goes wrong, and after just two years… somebody is sitting next to you on the sofa and steals your cheese sandwich."

He ruffled through my hair, slapped me on the shoulder, and his grin was only stopped by his earlobes. He cast a questioning glance at the others.
“Man,” Fiete said, “Bruno is pregnant!”
"Oh my", said Bernd Claasen, "this is indeed` s thing."