by Tara Sivec
Oh, is that all?
“Well, I’m kind of a connoisseur of sex toys, if you will. I like to keep myself informed for the ladies. A happy vagina is a happy life,” I tell her with a smile.
“Eeew, that’s disgusting,” Liz complains. “I can’t believe I was actually thinking about giving you a job.”
Gavin’s face lights up and he turns to face her. “Seriously? Aunt Liz, that would be awesome! Finally, something better than that stupid clothing store.”
I gasp, placing my hand over my heart. “That hurts, Gavin, that really hurts. Have you ever taken off all of your clothes and curled up in a box of cotton blend t-shirts? It’s like floating on a cloud.”
“Forget I said anything,” Liz mutters, turning to walk away from us.
Gavin grabs her arm, forcing her to stop. “Wait, Aunt Liz, just hear me out. Tyler might be an idiot, but he really does know a shit ton about our products. He could recite the specifications for everything we carry in his sleep.”
Liz raises an eyebrow and looks at me.
“It’s true. I’ve been known to talk about twirling beads, rotating shafts and cock rings during a night of peaceful slumber,” I admit.
“Oh my God, this is the worst idea in the history of the world. I must be high,” Liz mutters.
“Hey, what a coincidence, so am I!” I tell her with a smile.
Gavin punches me in the arm and I scowl at him.
“I cannot believe I’m actually considering this,” Liz sighs. “Here’s the deal. I just found out that our guy who usually gives the tours won’t be coming back. He hurt his knee pretty bad in the accident and he’s not going to be able to stand for the long periods of time that tours require. Right now, I just need someone to fill in until we make a more permanent decision. You have to be friendly, informative and you absolutely CANNOT have sex with anyone on the tour.”
“Fuck it, I’m out,” I complain.
That earns me another smack from Gavin. Seriously, does he really expect me to work in a sex toy warehouse, playing with toys all day long and not have sex with anyone? I wonder if that includes myself. It better not include myself, that’s just wrong.
“He’ll take the job,” Gavin answers for me.
And just like that, I’m a working man again.
“YOU DID WHAT?!”
I realize my voice might be a little high when my mother winces and covers her ears. But seriously, she must be joking.
“Please tell me you did NOT hire Tyler to work at Seduction and Snacks. Are you insane?” I ask, abandoning the email on my iPhone announcing a seventy-percent off sale on Coach purses that I should be writing a blog post about right now. Only something this insane could tear my eyes away from the new coral colored Peyton leather satchel.
It’s so pretty I want to pet it.
“According to the doctors, no, I am not insane. Borderline, with homicidal tendencies towards my children, but that’s understandable,” she replies with a smile.
Before I completely lose it and start throwing a hissy fit, I should probably warn you that my mom, Liz, is not like other moms. She says whatever she thinks and has no filter. We have an unconventional relationship in that she doesn’t hesitate to call my sisters or me assholes and my sisters and I are content to continue acting like assholes just to get her riled up. Sometimes it’s fun to watch my mom lose her shit. She’s obviously determined to turn the tables today.
It’s no secret that my mother doesn’t really like Tyler, which makes it even more alarming that she actually hired him to work for her company. I don’t even like Tyler. I’m still trying to figure out why in the hell I ever slept with him in the first place. And then repeated that mistake. Eighteen times.
“You have to fire him. Immediately. Tell him you made a mistake or something,” I beg.
There is no way I can go to work at that place every day knowing he’s going to be there. It’s bad enough he shows up unannounced all the time to hang out with Gavin; this would be much worse and make me hate that job more than I already do.
My mom rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “If you’re going to continue sleeping with him, he needs a better job than folding sweaters at the mall.”
“I am NOT sleeping with him!” I argue, stomping my foot and putting my hands on my hips.
Technically, I’m not lying. I’m not sleeping with him right this second.
“Oh, please. I heard barnyard animal noises coming from your room the other night and someone shouting ‘Pull my reins, bitch!’ I realize you’re twenty-one-years old and theoretically an adult, but if I have to hear that shit one more time when I’m trying to sleep, I will beat you like a red-headed step child,” she warns.
Did I also mention my mom is sort of the coolest mom ever and has never threatened my life the many times she’s caught me having sex? She’s always been of the opinion that telling us not to do something will just make us want to do it even more. As soon as my sisters and I got our periods, she marched us down to the doctor, put us on the pill and gave us a lifetime supply of condoms.
Still, knowing she heard Tyler and I having sex makes me feel dirty.
“That must have been a movie I was watching in my room. I’ll make sure to keep the volume down from now on,” I tell her, attempting to lie.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. “Really? A movie? So you’ve taken up watching horse porn now, have you? Actually, I think I’d rather you were watching horse porn than sleeping with Tyler.”
I ignore her and walk over to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee.
“Mom, you can’t be serious about hiring Tyler to work at Seduction and Snacks. He never shows up for work on time and he’s got no work ethic,” I complain.
“And yet, I hired you, didn’t I?” she asks with a laugh.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.”
She’s right, but it still sucks to hear it. How can I possibly show up on time and be expected to work when I don’t care about what I’m doing? Shouldn’t you be passionate about your career? The only thing I’m passionate about is spending my paycheck on a new Coach purse.
Just then I hear the front door open and a shout from my sister, Charlotte. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
“We’re in the kitchen,” mom yells back.
Charlotte walks in the room and gives mom a kiss on the cheek before walking up to me and taking the coffee cup out of my hand. “What’s up, skank?”
“Nothing much, twat. I spit in that coffee, by the way,” I inform her as she takes a sip.
“So that’s why it tastes like rotten vagina,” she tells me with a smirk.
“There’s so much love in this room I almost can’t stand it,” mom adds, standing up from the table. “I have to run some errands. Play nice, you two. No fighting, no biting and no hair pulling. I still have bruises from the last time you two were alone in the same room together.”
I love my sister, but we have a tendency to butt heads a lot. We always make up right away and never hold grudges against one another, but we’ve been known to break a few pieces of furniture and one of us usually ends up bleeding. My mom says we’ve been that way since we were old enough to walk. Our very first fight happened when Charlotte was five and I was two. Charlotte handed me a cupcake she’d made out of Play-Doh and told me to eat it. Being two, I did it without question and promptly puked up the Play-Doh cupcake all down the front of my favorite princess costume. I walked right up to Charlotte and kicked her in the cooch wearing my tiny, black patent leather Mary Janes. I’d seen my Uncle Carter do it to my Uncle Drew and it seemed like it hurt pretty bad, so I figured it would work on Charlotte. My mom said she thought two cats were eating each other’s faces off by the sounds of the screams coming from our bedroom.
“So what’s new with you? Still sleeping with Tyler the Turkey?” Charlotte asks with a laugh.
I made the mistake of telling Charlotte a little secret about something Tyler does whenever I’m giving
him a blow job. Tyler is a talker in bed, and when I’m going down on him, it’s even worse. He likes to coordinate said talking with whatever holiday is closest. The blow job in question was right before Thanksgiving. Tyler really got into the spirit of things, gobbling like a turkey while I had his dick in my mouth and yelling out “Yeah, baby! Suck on those giblets.”
Do you see now why I kicked him out of my bed the other night? How can I possibly continue to sleep with someone who refers to his balls as turkey organs?
“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again? And no, I’m not sleeping with him anymore. I gave him the boot and told him to never come back,” I tell her, pouring myself another cup of coffee.
“Didn’t you tell him you would never sleep with him again after he told you to lick his little pumpkins on Halloween?” Charlotte laughs.
“Fuck off,” I mutter. “Change of subject. How’s married life?”
Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Shut up. We’re not married.”
“You’re living in sin and finish each other’s sentences – close enough. It’s cute and disgusting all at the same time. He’s probably going to propose on Christmas.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Oh, my God. Do you think he will? No, there’s no way! It’s too soon! We’ve only been living together for a few months. Holy shit, what if he does? What should I wear?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. She’s so giddy and in love that it makes me want to punch her in the throat. I’m happy for her and Gavin, I really am. They have been friends since birth due to the fact that our parents are best friends and we all grew up together. A few months ago, they each decided it was time to admit their true feelings about one another. They both went about it the wrong way, making a list of ways to prove their love to each other instead of just coming right out and saying it. Charlotte’s gay best friend pretended to be her boyfriend and Gavin pretended he was dating some bat shit crazy ex-girlfriend of his who wound up beating the shit out of a dude in the bar one night and calling him a Vaginaman. It was a hot mess, but it all ended well. They’ve been shacking up for the last few months and they work at Seduction and Snacks together. It’s so perfect I want to gouge my eyes with a fork.
I’m woman enough to admit that I’m a little bit jealous. My only prospect for love is a man who lights his farts on fire and has a membership to a porn-of-the-month club. I really need to get back into the dating world and forget about Tyler once and for all.
“I’ll take you shopping for the perfect proposal outfit, and I’ll even buy it for you if you help me find a man,” I tell her.
Even though Charlotte and I fight a lot, we still have one thing in common – our love of shopping. Her eyes light up at the idea of going to the mall and she holds out her hand.
I grab onto it and we shake, making a deal.
“Done. I have the perfect guy in mind for you. Don’t make any plans for tomorrow night. Do you have something slutty to wear?”
She looks me up and down, focusing on the tight, low-cut shirt I’m wearing that barely contains my boobs and the short, pleated skirt that stops right below my ass that I paired with black, knee-high stiletto boots.
“Never mind. I see you’ve already been shopping at Sluts R Us.”
She leaves me no choice but to wrap my arm around her neck and put her in a choke hold.
“Goddammit, cut it out, asshole!” she yells at me as I bend over, taking her down with me.
She begins smacking my legs and I start pulling her hair, both of us screaming and cursing.
“STOP BEING SUCH A BITCH! I CAN’T BELIVE YOU-hey, is this the new Mossimo Pointe Stripe jacket?” I ask, pausing to pull the tag out of the neck of Charlotte’s coat.
“Yes! I got it on sale at Target. Isn’t it cute?” she asks, her head still down by my waist as I read the tag.
“You should have paired it with some skinny Seven jeans and those black Steve Madden pumps you wore to the DMV in August,” I tell her, finally releasing my stranglehold so she can stand.
She smoothes down her hair that was mussed during our tussle and stares at me like I’m crazy. “How is it that you can precisely recall what I wore three months ago but you can’t remember how to use the photocopier at work?”
I shrug, turning away from her to grab my keys off of the counter. “It’s not that I’m incapable of remembering how that machine works, I just choose NOT to remember. It’s boring.”
“What was I wearing when we went to the Pink concert?” she asks.
“September 23rd? You had on a black Max and Mia drawstring waist dress with nude, Valentino couture bow platform pumps,” I reply as I head out of the kitchen and towards the front door.
“October 15th?” she asks, following me outside towards my car.
“J Brand skinny stretch jeans, black Stuart Weitzman knee boots and a fitted, emerald green Donna Karan ¾ length t-shirt,” I rattle off easily as I unlock my doors.
Charlotte stands next to the passenger side door, staring over the top of the car at me in awe. “Jesus Christ, you’re like the Rain Man of fashion. Why the hell are you working at Seduction and Snacks? You should be taking over Nordstrom’s.”
I roll my eyes and laugh as we both get into the car.
“Believe me, if I could find a way to make money talking about clothes, shoes and purses, I would be all over that shit.”
As we head towards the mall, I try not to think about Tyler or how much I hate my job. Charlotte is going to set me up with a new guy and maybe my life will finally start looking up.
Dating world, here I come.
“I’d like to thank the Academy for this illustrious award,” I speak into the mirror in my room, straightening my imaginary tie. “I’m humbled that so many of my peers thought I was deserving of the Dapper Dildo Award.”
Do they give out awards at Seduction and Snacks? Eh, if they don’t now, I’m sure they will after I’ve been in their employ for a few weeks.
I can’t contain my excitement as I think about the fact that I have a real job. A real, honest to God job that I can be proud of and brag to people about on the street. I mean, The Gap was a pretty good gig - all the sweater vests I could handle and plenty of hot pieces of ass hitting on me every day. They were all gay dudes, but whatev. They appreciated a good thing when they saw it.
I’ve been trying to get my foot in the door at Seduction and Snacks ever since I found out Gavin’s family owned the business. I make sure to keep myself current on all things sex. I’ve committed to memory the name, cup size and favorite sexual position of every female porn star of the last decade. I’m an expert on all things fetish, from sacofricosis and ederacinism to mucophilia and oculolinctus. I’ve even volunteered on more than one occasion to be a human guinea pig for new Seduction and Snacks products. I have the organic plaster they were tinkering with for penis molds to thank for the fact that I couldn’t grow hair on my balls for three months. A few months of shiny, smooth balls were well worth the third degree burns I sustained on my taint when I tried to use a hair dryer to remove the plaster, especially if sacrificing a few pubes led to Liz realizing my full potential.
Maybe now that I have a good job, Ava will stop being such a bitch and sleep with me again. Grabbing my cell phone off of my dresser, I decide to shoot her a text and deliver the good news.
Hey there, loose labia. Wanna carpool in to work tomorrow? I’ll let you give me a blow job in the parking lot.
Satisfied that my news will thaw a little of the ice in her veins, I toss my phone back on my dresser and head upstairs to look for a good copy of my birth certificate.
Yes, I live in the basement of my parents’ home. I get twenty-eight cable channels, access to all the porn my dad still has on VHS and meatloaf every Thursday night. Seriously, why would I leave?
Opening the door at the top of the stairs that leads into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks when I see my dad sitting up on the counter with his feet in the sink and my mom stan
ding next to him shaving his legs.
“Oh, hi, sweetie! Do you need the sink?” my mom asks, smiling brightly as she squirts some extra shaving cream on my dad’s shin.
Alright, maybe there’s at least one reason to move out and get my own place.
“Mom, seriously? I just ate lunch. Do you want me to puke all over the floor?” I ask disgustedly as I avoid looking directly at them.
“Tyler, studies have shown that a man and a woman who share simple, every day experiences like this will have a long and fruitful sex life,” my dad says, looking up from what my mom’s doing and pushing his glasses up higher on his face.
“I shaved your father’s balls for the first time when we were twenty-one and look at us now! We’re still going strong twenty-six years later and our love making is more passionate than ever,” my mom tells me with a smile.
Shaking my head at them, I keep my eyes averted as I head over to the built-in desk on the other side of the kitchen.
“I like the feel of smooth legs. I totally get why women have been doing this for centuries,” my dad adds.
Really, their behavior shouldn’t come as any surprise to me at this point. My parents, Donna and Nick Branson, are sex therapists. There was a time when I attributed my love of sex to their constant discussion of the topic, but now I worry all this “sharing” is going to one day seriously effect my ability to keep it up. Last week when I got home from work, I found them in the living room practicing their climax yells. Fully clothed, sitting on the couch, legs crossed like they were attending church services, screaming each other’s names in different pitches to see which one sounded the best.
Ignoring my parents’ giggles on the other side of the room, I dig through the desk drawers, tossing papers aside as I go. I grow more and more frustrated as I open drawer after drawer, and my parents’ laughter gets more and more intimate. I know if I don’t find what I’m looking for and get the fuck out of here, vegetables from the fridge will soon be added to the mix - and they won’t be used for tonight’s salad.
