Guilt-ridden and embarrassed by the psychological damage he had caused, Sidney offered to renovate the pool house. I’ve had the misfortune of walking in on them in compromising positions more than once. My mom and Sidney-my stepdad-had recently tied the knot. In my freshman year of college, I threw out the idea of moving into an apartment close to campus. However, she has a great deal of difficulty with the concept of personal space. Instead, I toss my vibe into the nightstand and make a stop in the bathroom to wash my hands.Īt twenty-two, I should be able to maintain some distance from my mother. For three seconds I contemplate finishing what I started, but there’s no way I’m going to come with my mom tooling around in my kitchen. She backs out and closes the door, leaving me in peace. “That’d be great.” Any reason to get her out of my room is a good one, but a fresh pot of coffee is more than welcome. My mom loves to be useful, and while I’m annoyed, I don’t want to hurt her feelings in spite of the inconvenient interruption. “Oh, sure.” Her dejection is blissfully short-lived. Her arms fall to her sides, her shoulders dropping with her smile, which would make me feel bad, except she’s let herself into my home and barged into my bedroom unannounced. I need five minutes before we have a conversation, okay?” “You should be out of bed already! I have something for you!” She waves her hands around in the air like the crazy inflatable balloon guy on TV. “How many times do we need to have this talk?” “Mom!” I slump further under the comforter. It’s the female equivalent of blue balls. The door to my bedroom crashes open as I shut off the vibe and pull up the covers. My refuge from my crazy awesome, albeit super-inappropriate mother.

Technically, it’s on the same piece of property, but it’s supposed to be my private space. I moved out more than four years ago-into the damn pool house. Here’s the thing I don’t live with my mom.

She must have let herself in again, as is typical. My muscles are tight, fingers moving at a furious pace, the vibrator-God bless the damn vibrator-is hitting the s-s-s-spot, and everything is about to go blissfully white.Īnd that’s the moment my mother’s shrill voice breaks all orgasmic magic, destroying my morning jill-off. Every nerve ending is on fire in the best way possible. I’m right there, teetering on the brink of heaven. My day is always better when I start with a shot from the orgasm bottle. Just because I don’t sport the obvious signs men do, such as morning wood, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of my personal needs before I hit the shower. Women everywhere should take a page from the man manual. It’s 6:51 on Thursday morning, and I’m thirty seconds away from an amazing orgasm.

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