The Over-Educated Nympho

Last week my parents decreed that Saturday be a family day. This wouldn’t be a big deal if my brothers and I didn’t live all over Texas, which is one big-ass fucking state. We are all driving to the city where Big-Little Brother lives and spending the day together. It would be as lovely as a field of sequin-covered leprechauns except for the fact that I’M TRYING TO GET LAID. Tonight, specifically.

It has been seven months of diddly fucking squat plus two weeks of playful teasing, and I refuse to let a game of Monopoly with my family jeopardize my shot at multiple orgasms with a guy whose tongue is capable of uncanny ability.

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It is always awkward to watch anything sexual on tv with my parents, but it’s hard to avoid unless the only thing you watch is The Cosby Show. It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke, two people kissing, or a full-on sex scene, my ears turn bright red and I stare up at the ceiling.

It has been this way since I was ten. Back then it was because oh my god the lady on tv just said the word penis IN FRONT OF MY PARENTS. Now it is more out of horror that my mother may have to ask me what a t-bag is, or worse–that she may already know what it is. Or what if–shudders–she not only knows what it is they’re talking about on tv, but has actually done it?

The whole realm of sex becomes mortifying. My mother is not allowed to know what double-dildos are for.

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In a sad attempt to make my life sound more interesting than it really is, here is a multiple-choice quiz about my weekend. Which of the following are true?

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My family is coming into town this weekend and they have the nerve to be STAYING IN MY APARTMENT OVERNIGHT. All four of them. Because no one wants to spend $150 on a hotel room, and the friends my parents stayed with last time are out of town. That is one full-size bed, one couch, five people, two dogs, and one huge bottle of tequila.

Oh bloody hell. Here we go again.

It was bound to happen one day. Every time I see Big Little Brother (i.e. he’s the older of my two younger brothers) he is taller, broader, has a stronger jaw, more facial hair, and smells better.

It didn’t occur to me when we were younger that he could ever be attractive–he’s my brother, for fuckssake. In my mind he is forever ten years old and has a potbelly. I guess the little bastard was destined to grow up eventually–but into someone hot? Seriously? Is it not enough that he’s really good at math?

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I have hardly done any Christmas shopping for my family. I come from a long line of procrastinators. Every year since I started college, my brothers and I go to Best Buy on Christmas Eve and buy each other stuff. Like “Hey, Vix, I want this DVD.” “Okay. I want these headphones.” “Okay.” It’s great. Since we already know what our presents are, no wrapping is required other than attaching a twice-used ribbon thingy on it and writing someone’s name in permanent marker across the box.

On Friday I emailed all my family members asking what I should get them for Christmas. This morning I came into the office and had four emails saying “I don’t really want anything. What do you want?”

I WANT YOU TO WANT SOMETHING! FOR UNDER FIFTY BUCKS! JACKASS!

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My parents came into town over the weekend. At first I thought they’d be actually visiting my apartment (which would require massive clean-up and censoring), then they told me they wouldn’t be coming by (what relief! now I don’t have to hide naughty-naughties or clean!). Then Friday afternoon I received an email from my father saying that they would be coming by after all.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkk.

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My parents are coming to town this weekend to visit family friends. They will be “stopping by” my apartment before we all go to a dinner party. This means serious parent-proofing needs to be done.

They’re not ready to see any of the normal things lying around my apartment, like books called Jane Sexes It Up: True Confessions of Feminist Desire and The Hungry Wife [VINTAGE erotica! you can’t buy this on the internet! I should know, I picked it up at a dodgy street fair on Avenue A for a quarter], the vibrators in my dresser, the stack of Maxim magazines [crucial research, people!], and the two shelves of journals full of highly incriminating evidence. I have to protect my parents from the fact that I’ve grown up into a huge raving pervert.

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This weekend is the family reunion.

[Please excuse me, I need to take a moment to groan, roll my eyes, let loose a motherload of a sigh, and throw up a little in my mouth.]

But if anyone asks, I love my family. Really. Hell, when I lived fifteen hundred miles away my family was downright awesome.

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My brother came to visit a couple weekends ago. It was two days of sitting on our asses watching movies and eating junk food. When I asked him “want to go to the store for beer and cookies?” he didn’t bat an eye. See? We get each other.

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On Saturday my father and brother moved me into my new apartment. When we first arrived I took them on a tour, which included the pool.

As we approached the pool gate, my eyes quickly passed over the many people there in favor of one male figure in the distance. He had just emerged from the pool–tall, dark hair, lean, ripped, tan. My heart skipped a beat and The Pussy came to attention. This guy was nothing short of pure Adonis. He glistened.

May I remind you I was with my father when I saw Adonis. MY FATHER. Continue Reading »

Last weekend I went to visit my family for Easter. I was nervous as fuck because I planned on telling The MOM that I want to be a writer.

I fear the wrath of The MOM. You probably think I’m exaggerating The MOM, don’t you? Nuh uh. I speaketh the truth.

Chuck Norris fears the wrath of The MOM. He tried to roundhouse kick her and she stopped him with a sigh.

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