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“Honey, your dad doesn’t fuck me properly.”
As an opening act to one’s day, this one surely takes the prize.
Only it’s not the first time my mom has done this to me. Her only daughter. She never thinks of the marks she’s leaving. I’m traumatized for life.
“Mom, I don’t want to know if Dad is good or bad in bed, okay?”
“Oh, honey, if he was good, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Sometimes I wonder how we manage to have you. He barely plays with me beforehand, and doesn’t even check if I’m moist before—”
“Mom. Stop.” I’m not feeling so good. I might puke.
“You should find a man who can satisfy you sexually, baby. And if one is not enough, then more. Sex is important.”
A burning flush spreads over my face. “Can’t you give me any normal motherly advice, Mom? You know, to start my day?”
Instead of advising me to do the one thing I want but shouldn’t want? She’s very cool for a mom, granted. Maybe a bit too cool. But there are limits to what a girl can take first thing in the morning.
“Okay. Motherly advice.” She sounds uncertain. She’s on shaky ground here. “Um. Here goes. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m taking notes. You can speak anytime now.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to eat your breakfast. Most important meal of the day, except if you wake up late, of course. Then you can skip to lunch. Oh and eat fiber, it’s good for bowel movement.” A pause. “How am I doing?”
“Awesome,” I sigh and close my eyes.
At least we’re not talking about my dad’s sexual prowess—or lack thereof—anymore.
Win.
***
A shitty morning is a fitting start to a shitty week, as I discover. Book shipments arrive scrambled, the books torn and bent—and they are by Cynthia Sax, Stephanie Witter and JA Huss! This sucks so bad. Readers will be so sad.
Donna is in a craptastic mood, and I don’t know if it’s PMS or menopause—asking her will probably not improve anything.
Plus, Jethro hasn’t sent an application for the job—shocker, right?—and Joel doesn’t return.
Pretty crappy, all in all.
The good news, though, is that my blog is getting more and more views and comments than ever. Guess my latest super-hot boy-on-boy scene did the trick.
As I sit at my computer after work, I wonder how many girls masturbate daily, compliments of my blog. I should charge them for this.
Smirking at the thought, I log off—only to find Brylee sitting across from me, on my bed.
“Aarrrgh!” I jump off my chair, sending it crashing to the floor, my heart pounding. “Shit. Bry! God!”
“You serious right now?” She scowls. “I scared you that much?” She pats her hair. “Is it the new style?”
“Crap. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That much is obvious. You’re lost in a fantasy instead of living in the real world.”
She really seems to take personal offense at that.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Come out with me.”
