Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2004 June
2004 May
2004 April
2004 March
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
|
| Mom and Dad |
| 04.05.04 (5:38 am) [edit] |
Dad wasn’t very experienced when he met Mom. He blamed it on his parents. “The closest I ever came to the obligatory sex talk was hearing my father cackle about the Jezebel’s in the new Macy’s catalog,” he says.
“Them whores are everywhere these days,” my grandfather would say as he leafed through the catalog. ‘Watch out for them whores Bobby; you’ll catch diseases!”
So Dad watched and watched… and had only a few compulsory sexual experiences before he met Mom. “I lost my virginity when I was nineteen,” he says. “Well, almost. I was so scared that, uh, I couldn’t get it up.”
After that first experience, he was afraid to seal the deal for quite some time. Then he met Jane. She was a virgin but didn’t want to be. So they smoked some hash, shared some compulsory life experiences, and got down to business. “I finished the job that time,” he says. “But I could have done it much better alone. She was a mummy. I felt like I was raping her.”
Mom wasn’t nearly as sexually repressed as Dad. Some even called her promiscuous. “She loved that saddle,” Dad says. “That’s all I’ll tell you.”
“She slept with at least fifty or sixty guys before me,” he continues. “I always wondered if she thought about them when we were… you know… doing it.”
Mom and Dad married when she had just finished college and he was still in Rabbinical School. “Married life was everything I had imagined it would be…for the first forty-eight hours,” Mom says. “But then your father got weird.”
What he lacked in sexual experience, Dad evidently made up for in uninhibited imagination. And he assumed that if Mom had opened herself for so many guys she would also be open to, well… so many things. Mom was open… but not like that!
“He asked me to handcuff him, put him in the closet, lock the door, and leave him there for the day,” Mom says. “I just couldn’t do it. It was our honeymoon for god’s sake.”
Who can blame her? She had been planning that trip since she was a wee little girl. “It was supposed to be perfect. There weren’t supposed to be handcuffs…or whips, chains, rope, or any of the other things he packed in that perverted little suitcase.”
“Oy,” I say.
“That was the first sign,” she tells me.
Despite the sign, they stayed together for four years. During that time Dad refined his rabbinical craft and, naturally, his sexual imagination. Yet, though he supplicated and sermonized in earnest, Mom refused to put that metal equipment on. “I just couldn’t do it,” she says… again.
So she went out into the pastures and rode at least three different colored stallions. She didn’t need to, per say, it was just so, well, natural.
He eventually found out, and he was very upset. “How could she do such a thing?” he wondered.
“It’s easy,” she told him. “You just ride until they get tired. They always get tired… eventually.”
He was furious; he felt like strangling her. He knew, though, that violence doesn’t solve marital problems. So he did the next best thing. He went to the house of the only stallion whose name Mom divulged, and punched nails into each of the wheels of his tow truck. “I needed to vent,” he says. “That was all I could think to do.”
A few months later, they divorced. “It just wasn’t meant to be,” Mom says.
|
|
|
| |
posted by: Heather (reply)
post date: 04.05.04 (10:34 am)
Amazing
|
|
