Coitus Interruptus (Err...me.)

I’m sitting on the hood of a car. It’s boxy, like a Cadillac. My hair is loose and wavy around my shoulders and I’m wearing a light blue, calf length dress that buttons all the way down the front. It’s made of a thin material that billows in the slight breeze and the top few buttons are undone, the material gapped to expose the lacy edges of my bra. I’m leaning back on my elbows, bare feet propped on the grill and legs slightly open so that the dress pools in a V between my thighs.

He walks toward me across the full parking lot, smiling in anticipation. I smile back. We both know what happens next.

Stopping in front of me he slides his hands over my knees and up my thighs. The dress rides up his wrists, stopping with his hands at my hips. He pulls hard and we’re suddenly against each other. Lips brush my ear, my neck, my collarbone. One hand grabs my hair and pulls while the other gathers the back of my dress in a tight fist. He bites the top of one breast and I grab him and pull his lips to mine.

As we kiss his hands fumble with the button on his pants. I pull away and lean back to allow him time. We stare at each other while he pulls down the zipper. He smiles, opens his mouth and says,

“MAMA! I WANT COFFEE!”

I tilt my head in confusion, hearing but not really understanding. “Hmmm”, I say.

He opens his mouth again and says, “MAMAAAAAA! I. SAID. MAKE. ME. SOME.COFFEE!”

His form wavers in front of my eyes before completely dissipating into darkness. I hear an insistent tap, tap, tapping near my head. Light starts to seep around the black edges as my eyes flutter open. I squint, my dry contacts rejecting any attempt to open my lids further.

The kid is standing by my bed in her pale green Tinkerbell pajamas. Her hair is stuck to one side of her face and she’s peering at me in irritation. “Mom! I need you to turn on the TV and make my coffee.” She taps the bedside table with her plastic Tinkerbell wand, emphasizing each word. She presses a button on the handle and it makes a “brrrrrriiiiing” noise, giving off a feeble flicker of light in its clear, star shaped tip. The batteries are almost dead, thank gawd. So much for getting laid, I think as I force myself up and out of the bed. Interrupted.

*******

Alone time is not something I take for granted. Alone time means sex – whether it’s with myself, just a dream, or, miracle of miracles, with another person.

As most of you know, I moved back in with my family when I had my daughter almost five years ago. That means that at any given time there are four other people, two cats, and a dog always encroaching on “me time”. When I was seeing the fireman, and by seeing I mean banging, it wasn’t really an issue. For about four years I would stay over at his place, have marathon sex, then go home and bask in a few days of post coital bliss. Rinse and repeat.

However, now that I’m not seeing anyone, and by seeing I mean banging, things are a bit more stressful. And when things are stressful and there are no sexy time opportunities on the horizon, my hand and/or ‘piece de resistance’ and I become infinitely more acquainted.

There was a time when I would never admit that to anyone, stranger or best of friends. Masturbation was a dirty, dirty word and if people knew you were doing it they would make an “ew” face and act like they’d never once tried it themselves. Liars! Hypocrites! Baptists!

Anyway, so now that I’m on a penis sabbatical I’m all about the (whisper) masturbation, dirty dreams that won’t fucking quit, and sometimes the phone sex. This is fine. It doesn’t really bother me. Except for one thing...

Bitches are always interrupting my groove!

Take the intro to this post as the first example. If I had a nickel for every time in the past few months that someone (mainly the kid) has interrupted my dreaming at an inopportune time, I could pay a hit man to put me out of my misery.

My family doesn’t understand the meaning of the word “privacy”. If my door is shut, they bang on it and fire questions like missiles, or worse, just walk right in. If I’m in the shower, they pry the locked door open and sit down to chat. If I’m on the phone, there’s another onslaught of questions: “Who is that, what are you talking about, are you going to be on the phone all night, are you sleeping with him, what’s his name, is it a girl, are you a lesbian, how much motherfucking wood could a woodchuck chuck before you went ape shit and stabbed us to death? Huh, Al? Huh, huh?!”

It’s like they’re all conspiring against me, plotting to keep me and myself apart.

The other week I stayed home sick. Alone on the couch, I decided to pop in one of my favorite movies: Unfaithful. Diane Lane getting raunchy with Oliver Martinez never fails to make me hot.

When my favorite sex scene came on I was sitting cross legged on the couch, leaning forward and clutching my pillow, ready for it. I bit my lip and happily watched while he nailed her in the public bathroom stall, glad that I didn’t have to look like I wasn’t very interested. Had anyone else been home, I would have smoothed my face into one of relaxed disinterest.

I clutched the pillow harder, wiggling with excitement. Suddenly there was a loud TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP by my head. I whipped around to see my little cousin standing in the window right behind the couch. He gave me a big thumbs up and pointed to the door, signaling me to let him in.

And come in he did...and he stayed for two hours, yapping my ear off about stupid teenage girls. By that time my sister had made it home with the kid. Sigh. No getting off that afternoon. Interrupted.

The most recent incident was just last night.

After work I had a few errands to run on the opposite side of town so mom agreed to pick up the kid. I got home around 5, settled on the couch and started watching a movie.

Around 6:45 or so, I realized I hadn’t heard from anyone. I called my sister and it turns out all of them decided to go out to dinner and they were just sitting down to eat. I was ecstatic. Having the house to myself is a luxury.

I happened to be texting my friend when I found out about their delayed arrival. When he asked what I planned to do, I invited him to join me for the phone sex. The first time that late night whispering wasn’t necessary.

It took a bit of time and playful banter before we got down to the business at hand. Sometimes he can be a bit shy.

I’d guess maybe 10 minutes had gone by and things were at that point. You know, eyes rolling back in the head, legs jerking kind of point. By request I was in a...precarious position, when three sets of car lights flashed across my darkened bedroom window. FLASH FLASH FLASH.

“Oh gawd!”

He made a noise of agreement.

“Shit!” I tried to get off the bed, but somehow ended up tangled in a sheet and toppling to the floor. The phone went across the room and I jumped up, trying to pull on my pajama pants. Car doors slammed and I panicked, trying to stick both feet in the same pant leg and falling over again in the process. I managed to flick my light on and yank my pants into place right as the front door opened and my mom’s boyfriend walked in. (My bedroom door is right by the front door.) Interrupted.

He looked at me, the expression on his face clearly saying, “What the hell are you up to?”

My shirt and pants were twisted, my ponytail halfway falling down, and my eyes squinty due to going from semi-darkness to bright ass interrogation lights. I immediately looked down at my phone to avoid confrontation and went directly to the bathroom.

After dumping contact solution in my eyes and straightening myself, I walked back out. The rest of them were coming in the door when my phone rang. I answered, told him to hold on, and said hello to everyone. Then I went outside to explain.

Lighting a cigarette, I told him what happened, unable to keep from laughing. “Did you get off”, he asked.

“Yes”, I said, but I tried to explain that it hadn’t exactly been ideal because at the moment of euphoria, I was toppling off a 5 ft. high bed, terrified that my mom’s boyfriend would find me with my bare ass in the air. He laughed at my relayed antics, but I still detected a note of bitterness there because I finished and he didn’t. Poor thing.

“Maybe I can do it while you talk normally...about the weather or something”, he said.

I laughed. “Yeah. I could talk about big, fluffy, sexy, white clouds.”

He laughed too, thank goodness, and I promised to call him back later.

When I walked back in the house mom was standing at the kitchen counter in her short, hot pink nightgown with big black stars all over it, glaring. “What are you doing”, she asked.

I gave her my practiced look of relaxed disinterest. “Nothing”, I said innocently.

Her eyes narrowed further. “Humph”, she said as I walked away. Always suspicious, she’s the Masturbatory Gestapo. I can picture her in a suit made of bubble wrap, clutching a bottle of disinfectant and muttering, “Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, I’ma catch a bitch with her pants on the ground...”

So...I’ve been looking for my own place for a few weeks now. I’m working hard so I can (hopefully) move out by the fall. Fingers crossed. Because this shit has got to stop.