MM and Her Toys

--E

Just to get you in the spirit of the post, click play (with headphones only).



This weekend, after I bought myself the Dick in a Box, it reminded me of my very first encounter with sex toys--the time when I found my mother's Dick in a Box.

It's no secret that my siblings and I are sexual individuals; when two people as horny as MM and Dad fucked like rabbits on a regular basis without adequate birth control, their seven kids were bound to inherit the obsession soon as the sperm fertilized the egg. Whether they tried it Doggy-style, MM on top, Scissors, The Wheelbarrow--there was no knocking out the sex gene.

In an attempt to quell our budding sexuality, MM enrolled us in Catholic school, also known as "Death to a Healthy Sexual Outlook."

In addition to this oppressive p.o.v. toward sexuality, I was also not allowed to enjoy masturbation. My cousin, Jailbird 2, taught me how to use bath time to my advantage when I was 10, but there had been many times when MM would bust me while auditioning the finger puppets. My endeavors weren't confined to the shower, either; I'll never forget the time I got caught with the ladybug "back" massager hidden inconspicuously next to my bed. That took a lot of explaining.

Catholic school taught me that while masturbation and sex before marriage were sins, I also learned that dressing like a slut makes you a slut, so I was consistently reprimanded for rolling up my skirt and wearing makeup. I learned that saying "Goddammit" in front of Mr. Sepanski, the Religion teacher (also known as Mr. Spank Me), was not approved of.

In an attempt to offset the Catholic Schoolgirl Phenomenon, St. Joe's instituted "Family Life" classes once a quarter in Religion class that served primarily to address interpersonal relationships, human growth development and sexuality, responsible personal behavior and building strong families--conveyed through poorly-drawn illustrations that unequivocally and artlessly stressed abstinence as the only means of birth control, and reproduction as the only reason for sex. The Family Life program looked down on sex before marriage and everything else related to intercourse--road head, anal, and even threesomes were prohibited in the Family Life curriculum. Sixes would probably have been kicked out of St. Joe's by third grade, riding crop and purple prostate eater in tow.

Despite what we learned in Family Life class, the boys I dated were teaching me other things-- that I could just give head instead of having sex; that "just the tip" wasn't sex, either. They taught me how to minimize teeth, the art of using two hands, and that if the guy pulls out it's not really sex and the girl is still a virgin (one less sin to confess before Easter, and YES, I seriously considered myself to still be a virgin for like, four years after that event, thx bro). After I finished eighth grade, I left St. Joe's, much to the dismay of Sister Mary Judith, I'm sure (PS: Detention accomplished nothing, so I hope you rot in hell, you fucking cunt).

My freshman year of high school, I had a serious boyfriend and showed with my mouth just how serious I was about him. Unfortunately for me (and my siblings, who, after that incident, were not allowed to have members of the opposite sex in their bedrooms) I made the tactical error of leaving the bedroom door cracked--so that I could see MM coming. Of course, I was precockupied with someone else's coming, and didn't hear her. She only saw me on the floor next to him, dick in hand. After that, I got a lecture about how I shouldn't fool around with anyone before marriage, blah blah, I could end up getting pregnant like Aunt J and have an abortion, blah blah. Lesson of the day, kids: blowjobs lead to abortions, so make sure to use cherry-flavored condoms when giving head.

MM watched me like a hawk after that, but quickly became distracted when she & Dad divorced and she found fresh cockmeat sandwiches. This proved to be a wonderful opportunity for me to let loose my inner harlot--as MM started dating, she was around less. My boyfriend and I would tag along with the family in the Suburban to Chief & Boss's Pop Warner practice. While MM and her boyfriend, the Nazi, would get to know each other in a way that was acceptable in public , I'd get down and dirty with my boy in the backseat across the field.

At some point during their courtship, MM's hypocrisy became obvious to me. Maybe it was the point at which Number 2 and I were sitting downstairs in his bedroom/Dad's workshop and could see the ceiling tiles shaking from a mid-afternoon romp above us. (Number 2's retaliation to this incident will be detailed in a later post.)

But yeah, that was one instance in which I learned MM liked to fuck.

Another incident occurred post-Nazi, when MM was on Match.com and went out one date with a dude; the next date, he came back to our house. I came home from waitressing one night to find Bee in my bed. Confused, I gently roused her:

E: Why the fuck are you in my bed?
Bee: MM said Rich was going to sleep in my room, so I had to come sleep down here.

MM didn't raise no fool, unfortunately for her and Rich. From the bottom of the stairs I could hear OH OH OHHHHH AH AH OOOOHHHH and was fucking pissed, for a number of reasons:

1) MM could fuck [a guy she barely knew, let alone a stranger to us], but I couldn't?
2) More importantly, I had to sacrifice my bed so that her hypocrisy could be kept quiet.

FUCK that, I thought, and marched up to her bedroom, banging on the door.

MM, breathless: WHAT???
E: Just to let you know, the whole house can hear you.

Rich left before breakfast the next morning. And I got a fucking earful about fucking interrupting someone and making those fuckers feel uncomfortable (while fucking).

Luckily, Bee shared my thoughts and was equally pissed. And when we told the rest of the family, they also agreed: MM was not allowed to tell us not to fuck before marriage and yet do it under our roof, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

However, that she had been found out did not stop her from telling us we couldn't have boys/girls in the bedroom. Once again, unfortunately for her, she made another mistake in her course on sexual education.

Number 2 and I were at home one day when the doorbell rang. UPS had a package for MM, and since neither of us had a credit card, she had been buying a lot of things for us, so we opened it assuming MM had finally ordered us the pair of shoes we asked for, like, three years ago. We brought the package up to her bedroom, figuring the worst case scenario was that MM ordered a birthday present WAY in advance, but since that was so uncharacteristic of her, we figured opening the box was safe.

It was not.

The following marks one of the most victorious moments of my sexual life--the beginnings of organizing a coup against MM's sexual tyranny.

I stuck my hand into the plastic peanuts and pulled an object out with my thumb and index finger: a pink Rabbit about eight inches in length and three inches in girth (MM did have seven kids, mind you--the average penis size for all you insecure boys is only six and something inches).

I immediately threw the dildo at Number 2, who promptly vomited.

Not only was finding a dildo bad enough, but she'd also bought a porn with it! I refuse to believe this was a package deal; MM wanted to get her penile pleasure pursuit on without waking up the rest of the house.

The hardest part was trying to explain to MM why her box was open (all puns intended). We told the truth, trying to stifle our laughter and the awkwardness of the situation. To which MM explained with a freshly-fucked flush, "Oh, it's for Jeanette [my lesbian friend/coworker]. She's feeling...lonely."

"Yeah, okay Mom" is what I'm pretty sure both of us said to her face. It didn't help that two weeks later when we were INNOCENTLY (for once in our lives, free of other motives, STG) helping her out by changing her sheets at her request--that we found said dildo and porn in the most obvious of hiding places: underneath the mattress.

Did you honestly think no one would find it there, Mom?

I learned more from MM on this particular occurrence than I ever learned in Family Life, Cosmo, or all the boys combined: more important than practicing what you preach is perfecting the art of good hiding places.

Note: my Dick in a Box is not as good as it appears to be. While BMW is satisfied that his piece looks just as big off his body as it does on it, the thing gets the smell of rubber everywhere and doesn't feel so hot. That being said, maybe MM's Dick in a Box was a better idea, after all.