|Photo by Craig Bender|
I think I discussed enough gay sex yesterday to keep me sated for a while.
Why are you looking at me like that? This is what passes for solid mother/daughter time these days. She drives, I ride, we chat. About things.
And the eleven year old in the back seat of the car? She's kept deaf and dumb by the clever pumping of Top 40 Radio into the back speaker at ear-splitting levels. When she did show the temerity to lean forward and inquire if we were discussing sex, we shushed her and turned the volume up another notch.
Actually, I tried to play dumb. Who me? Know something about anal sex? The difference between being the Top and the Bottom? Lube? Listen, sister, I've had sex three times. Missionary only. Never on a Sunday. And I made point of not enjoying it by silently reciting some passage of Faulkner while I endured it. Hear me and hear me now - sex is gross. Yuck. Never do it.
And then I slipped up because I became distracted by a text message from one of the kids' therapists and mentioned that were I a gay male, I would probably get bored with giving blow jobs eventually because I'm good for about three minutes that way and I'd probably learn to like taking it up the butt because I'm a people pleaser. Except not with your dad because what he didn't get in height, he got in the trousers and I'm rarely ever so drunk that it doesn't hurt a little.
The nice policeman who filled out the accident report said her car should be fine. Any body shop worth its grease would be able to knock out the lightpole shaped indentation in the passenger side door. I wonder now if she tried to kill me.
It's funny how our children think they can shock us. What silly games we all play.
And yes, it's true, I am not a gay man nor do I think I'll ever be one unless reincarnation works, And golly do I hope it does. But that's because I fear death and wish for another chance to do things right. Or to at least have tall, good-looking skinny genes. And if that means I'm a gay man? Cool. Going with current standards of stereotypes, I can count of having good fashion sense for a change, too.
Anyway, listening to Chloe talk about gay sex was interesting and all, but what it really served to do was remind me of a time when it was all before me - that future thing. It's a strange connection, I know. But here are my precious and her friends with the madcap sex adventures and new ideas and they're so young and ready to pounce on the future and I think, dang....where did the time go? My time, not theirs. They can worry over their own crows feet and gravity morphed bits and bobs when they're forty-four.
And then I heard the Smiths on an episode of Gavin and Stacey after someone with a new blog address posted it on Facebook. Ah, the music I listened to when I was their age. And I thought it really is flying by. As Ferris says, life moves pretty fast....I may not be nineteen anymore, but with the genetics I do possess, it's likely I have another forty years. Better stop and look around a little bit before I miss any more of it.
And you, my straightlaced friends? What are you playing dumb about these days?
Oh, one more thing. I may be fooling around a bit with those new blogger templates. If you come back and don't recognize the place, now you know why. Someone's been rearranging the furniture again.
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine...