Yes, yes. Having a parent/sibling/other relative walk in on you whilst engaged in the wonderful act of teenage copulation is quite awkward. So is walking in your parents/siblings/other relatives while they are engaged in the not-so-wonderful act of relative copulation. Though, I can think of at least one thing that is a tad bit more awkward than either of these:
Being the cause of your girlfriend's parents' divorce.
That's right, I broke up a marriage. A second marriage for each party involved, but a blessed, lawful union of marriage nonetheless.
I was 16, nearing 17. I was dating a girl named Amanda, and had been for a few months. She was blonde, blue eyes, a tad shorter than me. She danced, so she had a tight little 16 year old body with a great set of perky C's that would grow to become even perkier DD's that I had the privilege of ejaculating upon a few years down the road, but that's a different story altogether. What can I say, she developed early and I was more than happy to assist in her sexual development.
During this time, I was still involved in the Punk Rock "scene" in downtown Richmond, VA. I fit the stereotype: spiked hair that changed colors weekly, tight black t-shirts with band logos, bondage pants, cammies, or tight jeans bloused neatly in my USDOD-Issue Altima's. Spiked belts, studded bracelets. A chain-and-padlock Sid Vicous-style around the neck. I had my black beanie and studded, patched, and painted leathers for the winter. The start of sleeves and a few (non-visible) piercings. You can probably tell that I wasn't exactly the best guy to bring home to your uptight yuppie parents.
Her parents hated me from the start, before I had even met them. Even after I met them and found that I had lots of stuff in common with her step-dad, they still hated me. I kept prodding Amanda to tell me why, and she later revealed to me that she hadn't been entirely thorough washing the cum out of her hair one afternoon, and still had a sizeable spurt stuck in her locks when her parents returned home that evening. Now THAT's awkward, right? WRONG.
A few months pass. We've practically written the book on teenage lust, going so far as to be caught in the middle of a hand-lotion-lubed hand job in the schools Assembly Hall during a pep rally. We should have been suspended for five days, but even then I had pull with the administration, and the Discipline Slip was promptly destroyed. So that's gotta be the most awkward thing to happen to us, right? MUTHAFUCKIN' WRONG!
By now word had leaked to her parents about my constant journeys down her Ol' Country Road, and they had forbidden her to see me. Of course, being young and stupid, this didn't stop us. We kept quiet in public, but much debauchery was taking place behind the scenes. At every opportunity, we would meet somewhere rather private and seek shelter in the back seat of my '88 Crown Vic LTD (with Burgundy Velour interior, mind you. Jesus, thinking back, I remember how horrible the back seat looked covered in various stains from our romps. I pity my sister having to ride back there everyday to school. "Of course Amanda gets the front seat, I'm trying to get laid.").
A few weeks pass, and Amanda's pulling the "I want to date him and you can't tell me what to do with my love life and I hate you and I'm gonna slam the doors and yell and scream" bit at home, to keep the illusion that we're separate going. Eventually her mother gives in or realizes the error of her ways or gets tired of the door-slamming, and tells Amanda she has no trouble with her seeing me, so long as her step-father approves.
Of course, her step-father disapproves. This begins a rift between the two parents that will never be repaired. Her mother secretly decides "Fuck him, she's my daughter!" and begins covertly helping arrange meeting locations and times, convincing her step-father to go out at night and leave Amanda home alone (always with a wink and smile towards Amanda), buying her condoms, helping her on to birth control, and eventually going so far as to book us a hotel room on the night of the Sophomore Prom AND purchase a "special outfit" for Amanda, complete with crotchless panties and garter belt.
The period of time after this was amazing. I was having the greatest (parent assisted!) sex I'd had in my 3 years of sexual activity. I was under the impression that both of her parents didn't mind us dating again, as her Mom would constantly drop her off to meet me where I'd be waiting in full view. She'd give a smile and a wave, mouthing the words "Be careful!" What I didn't know was that at home, things were hell. Amanda's mother had kicked her step-father out of the bedroom. He was now relegated to sleeping on the couch in the basement and using the bathroom down there. A few years later, I would learn that during this time Amanda's mother had at least three affairs in her third story bedroom while Amanda's step-father was living in the basement. So, as you can tell, things were going downhill quickly.
I'm hanging out in front of Twister's one Saturday evening, waiting for whatever show to start when Amanda rolls up to the curb in her mom's Caddy. "My parents decided to try marriage counseling, so they'll be gone until about 11." Cue a big smile on my face, and I dash towards my car.
So of course, sex. And lots of sloppy foreplay. And a spot of anal, too. It's only about 8:30 by now, so we decide to wander down to the living room and watch some TV, eat something, and regain our strength and composure before going at it again. I think we were watching COPS, I was eating a delicious grilled cheese sandwich and she was enjoying a Hot Pocket. Oh, did I mention we decided NOT to get dressed? Yep, we were buck-assed-naked sitting on the living room couch. She began to rub my thigh, my attention directed towards the poor, non-English speaking Mexican that was being harassed by LAPD's finest. Her grip began to tighten a bit, and that's when I noticed the unmistakablesound of female masturbation. I looked over, and she was staring at me with THAT look in her face, and her shoulder was moving vigorously. I traced her arm down, and, sure enough, she was three-fingers deep in her twat.
This flipped the Fuck Switch to the "on" position, and soon enough we were fucking on her parents extravagant home furnishings. Her on top, me on top, from behind, from above, just about every position possible on a living room set was performed.
I gave her the warning ("Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum!"), and like the little Porn Star trainee she was, she hopped off my cock and assumed the classic mouth-open-tongue-out facial pose. I get in position, she assists by cupping my balls and stroking my cock, and the blinding pleasure of orgasm sweeps over me right as her step-father drunkenly kicks open the front door.
Yeah, I came. On her face. Big, thick, chunky strings of splooge were blasted all over her face. That is, until she turned her head to see who had busted the door down. That's when it went in her eye, ear, and hair. Her step-dad just stood, or rather, swayed in the doorway watching me splatter his step-daughter's face with my hot seed. I collapsed on the couch, and she jumped up and spun quickly, causing the shoestrings of cum dangling from her face to splatter on the entertainment center and television, and hauled ass into the bathroom.
I'm not quite sure if her step-dad was 100% sure of what just happened, or if he just figured "this fucker and my step-daughter were naked, they must have been fucking!", but he knew something was up. He walked over and sat down in his recliner, which was facing the couch I was still sitting on, buck-fucking-nekkid, and with a bit of cum still dripping from my shrinking cock. My head was still swimming from the load I'd just blown combined with the sudden appearance of Drunken Step-father Who Hates Me at the precise moment the first shot of cum hit his willing step-daughter on the cheek. To be frank, I was probably at my worst, mentally.
He begins to speak, and the second he opens his mouth I can smell the scotch. "Frizzle," he says "I just want to let you know that it is entirely your fault that my wife is leaving me. She even brought it up in counseling, right before I walked out and headed to the bar. Fuck you, Frizzle." He then calmly got up, wobbled a bit, and walked to the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table, and began to cry. By now, his step-daughter had washed the splooge off of her face and had put on her clothes and brought me attire. I pulled my pants on and, reluctantly, headed into the kitchen. I grabbed two of his beers from the fridge, popped the caps, sat down at the table across from him and held out a beer.
"Sorry?" I asked. He slowly looked up at me with tears in his eyes. His face changed from amazingly sad to homicidally insane. My inner monologue was saying "Oh fuck." over and over again. Suddenly, his face changed from homicidally insane to kinda happy. He had a half-smile. He reached out and snatched the beer from my hand, looked at me funny, and said "Boy, you got fuckin' balls to do that. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe you ain't so bad after all. Apology accepted." We clinked, and I downed the beer and left.
Her parents still got divorced. I was even cited in the court papers and called to testify in court. Her mom kept flashing smiles and winks at me. I just figured she was happy to finally get away from this guy. Flash forward 3 years. I was walking through the grocer's when I heard an oddly familiar voice calling my name. I hear it getting closer and closer and closer behind me, so I turn around. "Holy shit, who is this hot piece of a
The Remains of Bidet (James Ivory, 1993)
We might find we have more in common than we think if we just stop fighting long enough to combine our bodies into a singular organism.
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