Youre On With John

(Revised 11/15/2023 with some tiny touch-ups.)

This tale began as an attempt at one of the 750-word challenges, but we just couldn't make it fit. We had too much fun with the idea of exploring an alternate life as we approach the ages of our protagonists.

Other than

It Is Quite a Challenge!,

this tale, at only 2,000 words, is our smallest submission yet.

This was really just a fun tale written in one day. We hope you enjoy it!

"Our next caller has chosen the pseudonym

Precarious Position.

Go ahead⁠—oops, thank goodness I caught myself. I was about to use only the initials because two syllables are quicker than seven. Go ahead, Precarious. You're

on

with

John,"

I spoke into the studio microphone.

I glanced quickly at the CRT in the broadcast booth which displayed the relevant details my screener had gathered, including the basics of the question the caller wanted to ask. It'd been months since the indicated topic had been brought up, a near-eternity in talk radio.

"Long time caller, first time⁠—sorry, I got it backwards. Long time listener, first time caller."

I chuckled. "It happens to the nervous. Simply relax and tell me what you would like to talk about."

"I'm twenty-six years old. My⁠—um … my wife … well, she just turned twenty-two, and I think she's sleeping around on me. I don't know what to do."

"How long have you been married?"

"A little more than three years."

"And what's giving you the suspicion that she's become unfaithful?"

"I don't know how to say it so you won't disconnect me."

"Try your best to avoid the

verboten

but say whatever you need to say. Super-Max will cut anything that'll make the FCC blush," I said, looking through the soundproof window to the engineering booth where my screener flashed me the

okay

sign.

That particular part of the job was probably more difficult than mine. A call screener for a live broadcast listens to the calls in real time in one ear, and the tape-loop machine's added delay in the other. Every word is evaluated for on-air "safety," and if an inappropriate one is heard, a bleep is overdubbed before the loop is broadcast. Max had been doing the job for me since I started the show three years earlier. The on-air name of Super-Max sort of came to life on its own.

"I love giving her … um … the

cee

word," the caller said. "I always have, and she's always enjoyed it. But the last three or four times I've done it to her, she⁠—uh … she … didn't seem the same. I'm hoping you know what I mean."

"I'm thinking you're saying you are, quite literally,

facing

an unfamiliar bouquet or palate?"

"I'm

what

?"

I choked the chuckle off. "Unfamiliar scents or flavors, Precarious."

"Oh. Yeah. What should I do?"

"First, given your love of spelunking, I'm presuming you've noticed that such piquant things change throughout your bride's monthly rhythm. Is that a safe assumption on my part?"

"I don't do that dur⁠—"

"That's fine," I interrupted. "My suggestion is for you to talk to your wife and tell her that the scents and or flavors you've enjoyed and to which you've become intimately familiar have become

unfamiliar

. Ask her to visit her doctor. Your concern could certainly be due to any number of medical conditions of which she might not yet be aware."

"You think?" the caller asked.

"Give her the benefit of the doubt," I answered. "If she seems hesitant to visit a medical professional based on your observations, you should patiently urge it. If she becomes defensive or deflective, it might be an indication that you aren't the only individual spending intimate moments with her, in which case you should consider voicing your suspicions. If that is, indeed, the outcome, there's always marriage counseling as an avenue."

"Thank you, John."

"In the best of circumstances, you'll be her hero for catching something clinical and immediately treatable. Good luck, Mister Position.

"You're listening to WCQD Baltimore. It's 11:56pm, and you know what that means. It's the dreaded

loooong

break. The stroke of midnight is upon us, so stay tuned. I'll take the next caller right after these messages."

I looked through the window to see the hand signal indicating we were off-air while the station played ads to earn three hundred twenty dollars during the four-minute pause in programming.

"You know you called him

Mister Position

, John," said Max.

"What you put on the screen said he was a male."

"Missed her position," Max repeated with a humorous chuckle while making slashing motions with a hand dividing the words.

I laughed. "Well, maybe he did. Three-to-one odds he'll be back in position 'dining at the wye' if he does what I suggested." I air-quoted the innuendo.

I removed my headset to take the brief opportunity to relieve myself, keeping an eye on my watch to ensure I could be back in my booth before the Fedelipac machine's final cart played out.

The voice of Maryland and our neighboring states, this is Clear Channel Sixteen Ten AM, WCQD Baltimore. You're listening to Doctor John Clancy, registered sex therapist and relationship counselor, live and in studio. It's time once again to … Get On With John!

"That's right, we're live, with fifty

thooousand

watts of broadcast power, and I am, indeed, your host, John Clancy. Give me a shout at 1-800-555-9273 with your concerns or questions," I spoke into the mic as the station ID bumper cart completed.

Looking at the CRT on top of the console, I humorously rolled my eyes at Max.

I unmuted my mic and said, "Our next caller has picked a fun name because I adore candy of any sort, but I have a special place in my heart for those whose name you've chosen. You're on with John. How can I help you, Joo Joo Bee?"

"My husband would kill me if he knew I was calling you, but he's been having a bit of a problem of late. He's no longer amorous in our bedroom. I try to get things started, but he becomes frustrated and asks me to put modest clothes back on."

I'd written with a black Sharpie a note in large words on a page of my legal pad which read, "They're spelled Jujubes!" with a smiley face and held it up so my screener could see.

"Juju, how long have the two of you been married?"

"It'll be twenty-nine years come February."

"Oh, that's tremendous. Do me a favor. On a scale of one to five where one is poor and five is fantastic, how would you rate the relationship between you and your husband?"

"Huh. I'd have to give it a four, John."

"Do you mind telling me how old he is?"

"He turned fifty-five last weekend. I wanted to celebrate that milestone with a gift … you know,

that

way, but … it didn't happen."

"Okay. First, I want to remind you and all of the listeners out there that I am

not

licensed to practice medicine. Like the caller before the break, I would suggest you ask your husband to visit his primary care physician for a consult. My worldwide web place, doctor clancy phd dot com, has guidance on bringing such a conversation up with a doctor. Yeah, this web thing is still new to me, so it might look a little rough with my weak grasp of HTML and whatnot, but⁠—"

"John!" I heard Max bark in my headphones through the talk-back channel which isn't broadcast.

"Sorry. I started chasing a squirrel, but I'll begin by telling Mrs. Jujube as well as all of our other ladylike listeners something. When the purpose-built appendage can't rise to the occasion, when the army refuses to march, when the flag doesn't proudly wave, it can be devastating to a man. And I do mean

devastating

because it's quite often perceived as a loss of masculinity. An inability to

pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd

can be a tremendous, cruel mock to a man's psyche.

"Encourage your husband to visit his doctor. Sure, it can be a bit of a sore spot for men to tell a doctor that an ability he's had his entire life has gone AWOL. Men don't like to admit anything even approaching a sign of

wrongly

perceived

weakness

.

"There's a brand-new drug which was recently approved by the FDA. I won't mention its name because I don't want to be pegged for advertising it, but any qualified GP or urologist … even ordinary folks that've been paying attention to the news have heard about the sky-blue tablet I'm referring to.

"It's a crazy story worthy of the news it's been receiving. It began its life as an investigational treatment for pulmonary hypertension. That's high blood pressure, specifically in the lungs. Not a good thing! Again, I'm not a

medical

doctor, but a statistically significant percentage of men noted a particular side effect during trials that they and their intimate partners found quite fulfilling," I said, deliberately over-emphasizing the first syllable instead of the second.

"So … something as simple as a

pill

might help?"

"It very well could be that simple, though his doctor may suggest a testosterone study first. There's new treatments for low hormone levels for men, too. Yeah, you men out there, our sugary and spicy counterparts aren't the only ones that can have hormonal imbalances that wreck physical intimacy in yonder years. It's a real thing, men.

Manopause

is, indeed, a hot topic of recent research, hence the value of new male-only pharmaceuticals."

"Thank you, John. I'm glad I got on with you," the lady said.

"Right back at you, Juju."

"A quick thirty second break before we take our next caller," I announced after I disconnected Juju's call. One of six commercial carts I put in the machine played.

"How could you expect me to know Jujube was spelled that way?" The person on the opposite side of the glass laughed through the talk-back.

"Because you, of all people, should know that's one of my favorite candies!" I chuckled. "Never mind. You're good."

"I

know

I am."

"Our next caller is⁠—well, I can't say

that

. Here's our next caller. You're On with John. How can I guide you?"

"

John

? Yes!

Fuck, John

! I

definitely

want to get it on with you!" the caller spoke as I made the

dump it!

sign on my hands. "I want you, John! I want your cock⁠—"

"Four seconds to refill the loop," Super-Max said from the adjacent booth.

The call was disconnected, the tape loop was bypassed, putting only my voice on the air in real time. The loop would have to be refilled before taking another call. To the listeners, it sounded only like a sudden few seconds of dead air.

"That's gotta set a record for the longest time into the show when a caller was tossed." I laughed. "Apologies, my friends, but that person got a wee bit spicy, and Super-Max sent the whole thing to the can.

"Our next caller to On with John is … Oh, this name has

never

been used before. How can I help you,

Cunning Linguist

?"

I think my screener and I fielded between ten to a dozen calls in the final hour which ended at 1:00am.

The host of the following program, "Late-night With Mother Trucker," arrived about ten minutes before I signed off at 12:56am.

Max and I exited the building. We both climbed into the brand-new laser-red 1998 Mustang SVT Cobra Convertible I'd been gifted.

The radio was tuned to 1610kHz.

"You're listening to Tammy on WCQD Baltimore. It's 1:02 AM, so let's get America's trailers rolling! Give me a ring at 1-800-555-9273 if you're willing to shell out cash on mobile minutes, or toll free on a payphone from wherever you're parked. A shout out to Big Mama Bear⁠—"

I turned the radio off.

"People actually listen to her show?" the person in my right seat asked.

"They do! It's crazy, isn't it?" I answered. "I, for one, have absolutely

no

problem believing she's a long-haul trucker."

My passenger softly kissed me.

"Can

I

get on with John?"

"Absolutely, and as soon as the little blue pill I popped a few minutes ago goes to work."

"I love you, baby. I have for every one we've been together. Happy anniversary, John," she said, reaching across the center console to fondle my not-yet-awakened but still-sensitive bits.

"I love you too, Maxine. The time has absolutely flown by, hasn't it?" I asked, kissing the woman I've loved and been married to for thirty-five years.

"Make this gorgeous car fly as fast so we can celebrate," she grinned.

I left some rubber in the parking lot as I sped into the night-vacant streets of Baltimore.