On different roles, a subterfuge post

by f

I’ve been really bad at this, but I’m getting better, I promise.

This weekend was a very interesting one. W came over our house while my mother was out touring the globe. Yes, that’s right — my mother tours the globe for a living, and she’s very good at traveling. D calls her “the professional tourist”. Good times had by all.

This moment of subterfuge was brought to you by a perfect storm of events and the letter “sex”.

My brother was away overseas and it was just my father, W & I at home. W came over this weekend because I asked him to; most of the time he doesn’t listen to me, pleading work and other such problems, but this week I was determined. I told him that I would make it worth his while, and I think I did. While my father putzed around the house trying desperately to keep in touch with the various detached legs in the family, we made out in all corners of our house. We made out on the washing machine, the dryer, near the piano, on top of the other piano. Fucking around was never an option because at any time we could have been interrupted & at any moment we could’ve gotten found out either through the windows or because my father is a consummate wanderer and his legs take him all over the house while he’s on the phone.

I have to say that when God* created bodily functions, He made sex a mostly compact activity. I have to say, it could be easier. Or God could’ve removed the necessity for clothing. I mean, was all of that Garden of Eden shame stuff necessary? Did they need that fig leaf garbage? If everyone just walked around naked this subterfuge would be so much easier … but I digress. Anyway, I had my period and my life was a sea of so much blood and a thousand volts worth of cramping. I couldn’t fuck my way out of a bowerhouse if I wanted to. That sounds delicious.

So though I could not fuck, we did just about everything that we could in the house while my father was upstairs, delicately pursuing the Week in Review.

The weather outside was atrocious. It rained, was cold, and the sun never peeked out of its cloud-choked corner to say hello in the afternoon, like I’d hoped. And I still didn’t give a shit because the non-sex was so awesome.

Foreplay tip: Always talk dirty, even if it doesn’t make sense. After a while, you lose track of the English language or any other language. When I said this morning, “you make me feel dirtier than this morning’s garbage” I didn’t mean it. Nor did he think that I meant it. It’s just that anything sounds sexy when someone’s blowing hot things into your ear while threatening to blow that other happy thing downstairs.

*does not connote actual belief in God.

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