herpes, butt plugs, and my mom
On one rare occasion I was awake and sitting in the passenger seat. We drove through a capital city (I forget which one, sorry). The capital building was being renovated or re-gilded. Consequently, it was covered in a big white sock.
“That looks like a condom” my mom giggled.
I examined the three tiers of girth. “Actually, I think it looks more like a butt plug.”
“Eww!” she squirmed.
I apologized, explaining that our boundaries are currently so malleable I’m not always sure what is over the line. Then I dropped it. We drove in silence (minus an awesome mix cd) for five minutes.
“You know, those things can give you hemorrhoids.”
I looked at my mom. “Actually, not if you use them correctly, with plenty of lube and proper hygiene.” I then went on to mini-lecture her on the joys of anal play and the importance of lube and listening to your body. “Sex is not supposed to hurt. If it hurts, your body is telling you to stop. Or at least slow down.”
“And how do you know all this?”
I deflected to my great deal of academic research, citing Anal Health and Pleasure by Jack Morin and The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women by Tristan Taormino.
Sometimes I love my mom. Later she referred to her herpes acting up that week. I looked surprised, as she had never openly discussed herpes with me. Apparently, she’s had some major sores inside her cheeks lately. Understandable, considering her even higher than normal stress level. It was great that she referred to her herpes by name. Not cold sores. Not cancor/cankor sores. Herpes.
Rock on mom.