Saturday, June 9, 2007

Erotica - Not for the Weak.

As a kid I couldn't see the big deal. My brother was always talking about sex, and he would literally sit on me and tell me all about the things he and his friends read in magazines that had nasty pictures in it. I couldn't wiggle out from under him easily because he was a great wrestler, and when I did he'd swear to beat me if I told my mom what he and my other brother Mike were telling me. First of all, none of it made sense, and even if it eventually did after I started really looking at the Barbie and Ken figures, I didn't believe him anyway - my parents didn't do that. He was lying!

What I guess I mean is, my parents really DIDN'T do the things Michael was talking about. Girls did those things with other girls - boys did those things with the girls when they were doing those things, and NO, my dolls didn't think that way because I didn't think that way. Oh, but there were those weird times I'd find my Barbies all huddled up in the back of the yard with several undressed G.I. Joes, and let me tell you, I told Mom all about that - if only to see my two brothers get their ears pulled off.

It's all coming back to me. I was about 20 - still a virgin, that's the way I rolled - and my good friend Kathy (who couldn't possibly be explained in just a simple blog) was into reading erotica to her boyfriend - don't ask me why. At that age I was still thinking it was pretty lame - but at least I wasn't wondering where to put the parts anymore. She'd have me over when Larry wasn't around, and we'd drink hard liquor and smoke cigarettes as fast and furious as we could in a matter of 10 minutes time, eating Dunkin' Doughnut "holes" and stuffing our faces with those really cool pink and white frosted LARGE, full-sized animal crackers. Remember those? Anyway, after we had the feast as she called it, she'd begin reading erotica to me - from the old stash of magazines she got at a recent garage sale. Cheap and nasty, and we were stoned so it was a great deal funnier at that point.

The rules were simple: If you laughed you had to drink another shot. Needless to say - I lost that game. I didn't have a chance - she had years of experience on me, and she had a real boyfriend. I just sat there and giggled myself to oblivion and went to sleep on her couch. The next day was hard to explain, but could probably be expressed best by a good puke. They say your sins come back to bite you - and they do.

My littlest is a writer. She's a dang good writer too, but she - at 17 - although still a virgin - has a much better grip on how NOT to giggle - she writes the stuff. When I asked her once why she ever got involved in reading it because it made me blush all sorts of purple at 17 - she said something that just blew me away. "Mom", she said "the adjectives are incredible in this stuff". She's right too - they'd have to be in order to keep your attention - sex can be really mundane if you think about it - too much, I mean. Too much thinking.

I'm glad I'm mature now. I never drink when I read that stuff anymore. But I do laugh - out loud and turn a little pink cheeked now and then too.

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