Slap & Tickle

Happy Anniversary, Your Son’s A Pervert!

So, my sister and I had my parents over for dinner to celebrate their 49th wedding anniversary. We made some lovely hors d’oeuvres and had a nice dinner. As we were sitting around talking, the subject of a trip my sister and I are taking back East came up.

We talked about a bunch of different things and then my mother mentioned our wills. Just because she is in her 70’s she thinks that everyone is thinking about death. However, she pointed out there are stocks and other items to be distributed, which made me think of what would happen if I were to die suddenly and they were to have to go through my room.

Now, my sister knows where to go if I were to die: The Drawer. The Drawer is that one special place that everyone has in their home where you don’t want anyone to know what’s in there. It’s usually personal devices of some type or another—vibrators, if I may be so bold. My Drawer is actually several drawers (and trunks, and those plastic bins under the bed—all containing various types of sweet, sweet porn. There are videos, magazines, DVD’s and CD’s (don’t ask) all containing massive amounts of hot man-on-man action.

I once tried to figure out how much I’d spent on porn throughout the years and stopped when I was looking at one of my trunks-O-porn full of video tapes—none of them costing less than $50—such a huge expense; so many happy times…

So, I mentioned to my mother that should my sister and I die on the trip, that she is not to go into my room until I’ve had several friends go through it first. “Why?” I wanted to mention The Drawer that she must have had (everyone has one, certainly she would too, right?) Then I realized she didn’t have one. In fact, it would never occur to her that anyone would have him—especially her own children. Those drawers were for perverts [cut to a shot of a marquee in large lights: “Pervert! Starring Chris”]

Regretfully, I pressed forward, “There are certain things that I don’t want my nieces and nephews rummaging through my room for…”

“You don’t mean… pornography?” She spewed the word ‘pornography’ like it was an arachnid culinary selection from Fear Factor.

“Yep.”

“Christopher!” She only shouted “Christopher!” when she was shocked at my behavior or beliefs. She says “Christopher!” a lot… My dad usually just sits there—not wanting to comment, because that would continue a conversation he doesn’t want to have. My father doesn’t say a lot to me.

“It’s not like it’s a ton…” I lied, “but, I don’t want the kids rummaging through and finding that stuff.”

“They can find it now…?”

“It’s well hidden… but once you start digging…”

“Oh, my God…” she said with her head buried in her hands.

The subject changed, we moved on to other things and my father began to speak again. I just hoped my mother had stopped thinking about my vast (and by vast, I do mean infinite) collection of hot, beautiful gay porn.

After dinner, we were sitting around and I was talking about an old friend of mine. “So I Googled Yves the other day…”

“What?!”

“I Googled Yves… Zsutty.”

“Christopher!”

“What…?” I asked fully knowing her mind was now back on my immeasurable collection of pornography

“I Google all the time…” adding just the perfect light-sleaziness to Google.

Her head was buried in her hands, but I swear I could hear her muttering “Oh, my God” over and over. My father was completely silent. I’m not sure if he was holding his breath or not, but there was no movement whatsoever.

“Mom, EVERYBODY Googles… Alix Googles. I know Vicki and John Google all the time.”

“But their married…”

Getting ready to trap her dirty little mind, I questioned her, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, married people… I mean… you know.”

“Mom, what do you think Google means?”

[blank stare]

At this point my sister walks out and can immediately sense something is up. “What did he say, now?” pointing at me, as if it were all my fault.

I smiled, “We were just discussing Googling…”

My sister smiled, relieved I was not talking about my porn collection and sat down. “Mom thinks it’s some thing dirty…”

“Christopher!”

“You do! You keep acting like it's something awful when it’s only a search engine on the internet."

"What's a search engine?"

"It helps you find people and things on the internet.."

"Oh... 0-0-0hhhh," she sighed as the color came back into her face.

I looked at my father, who appeared to be breathing again and was smiling as he ate his spinach salad. My father muttered “internet” a couple of times and stayed very interested in the salad.

My mother just sat there for a second and then looked at me and in a serious tone said, “You really need to make sure you have your wills before your trip…”

Apparently, the subject was now officially dropped and we were moving back over familiar, and hopefully, non-threatening territory.

I love family dinners.