Harlequin Romance
I went to visit my grandparents in Cleveland a number of years ago when my grandfather was still alive. When would this have been? During college? Or grad school? Somewhere during that period of time. They still lived in their ranch house on Parkwood with the glassblock windows and shower door with a frosted swan imprinted on it. The basement was a shrine to Woody Hayes and the bar had every kind of booze you could possibly want.
While I don't remember when or why I was there, I do remember sitting and talking to my grandmother during that visit. That might have been the time that she talked about her first husband, my mom's natural father. And it might have been the time when she told me about going to Cuba before Castro. And it might have been the time when she told me about my great-grandmother making fun of my mother's training bra in front of a roomful of old women while my mom was coming down the stairs. I know I've heard all those stories. But I can't remember if I heard them during that trip.
Why? Because I only really remember one thing about that trip. The question about the book.
We were sitting in her breakfast nook, the place we only ate breakfast and, occasionally, lunch. Where she used the Currier & Ives dishware. Where she used to stand, washing the dishes and exchanging verbal barbs with my grandfather, all 5'2" of her going at it with the man who once made me cry because I ordered steak instead of prime rib and was, therefore, a spoiled brat. Good times.
There was a shelf behind the bench surrounding the table on two sides. On the shelf was a book.
"So I've been reading this book from the library," she starts, reaching behind her and grabbing a trade paperback that looked reasonably well-thumbed.
"Is it any good?"
"Well, yes. But I'm a little confused. I wanted to ask you about it."
"About what?"
She puts on her bifocal glasses and begins thumbing through the book.
"There's this sex scene in the book."
Thank God she's looking at the book and not at me.
"Mmmmm hmmmm."
"And they talk about the woman ejaculating..."
I start to slowly slip down on the bench, hoping I can slide under the table and escape as I used to do as a five-year-old. Unfortunately, my body no longer works that way.
"And I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I mean, actually ejaculating like a man does. Outside of the body. Can women really do that?"
What, pray tell, is the correct answer to that question? Yes, Grandma, I know all about female ejaculate. Let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT!!! BECAUSE I HAVE SEX ALL THE TIME. I've been having sex for years and years and years. I've lost count, frankly. AND I EJACULATE ALL THE TIME. Tell you what, let's call Mom on speakerphone and continue this conversation. At length. Because there's nothing more fun than discussing sex with one's mother and grandmother. I only wish Mom were here to experience this with me.
"Ummm, well, I think I might have read about that somewhere."
While I don't remember when or why I was there, I do remember sitting and talking to my grandmother during that visit. That might have been the time that she talked about her first husband, my mom's natural father. And it might have been the time when she told me about going to Cuba before Castro. And it might have been the time when she told me about my great-grandmother making fun of my mother's training bra in front of a roomful of old women while my mom was coming down the stairs. I know I've heard all those stories. But I can't remember if I heard them during that trip.
Why? Because I only really remember one thing about that trip. The question about the book.
We were sitting in her breakfast nook, the place we only ate breakfast and, occasionally, lunch. Where she used the Currier & Ives dishware. Where she used to stand, washing the dishes and exchanging verbal barbs with my grandfather, all 5'2" of her going at it with the man who once made me cry because I ordered steak instead of prime rib and was, therefore, a spoiled brat. Good times.
There was a shelf behind the bench surrounding the table on two sides. On the shelf was a book.
"So I've been reading this book from the library," she starts, reaching behind her and grabbing a trade paperback that looked reasonably well-thumbed.
"Is it any good?"
"Well, yes. But I'm a little confused. I wanted to ask you about it."
"About what?"
She puts on her bifocal glasses and begins thumbing through the book.
"There's this sex scene in the book."
Thank God she's looking at the book and not at me.
"Mmmmm hmmmm."
"And they talk about the woman ejaculating..."
I start to slowly slip down on the bench, hoping I can slide under the table and escape as I used to do as a five-year-old. Unfortunately, my body no longer works that way.
"And I was wondering if you knew anything about that. I mean, actually ejaculating like a man does. Outside of the body. Can women really do that?"
What, pray tell, is the correct answer to that question? Yes, Grandma, I know all about female ejaculate. Let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT!!! BECAUSE I HAVE SEX ALL THE TIME. I've been having sex for years and years and years. I've lost count, frankly. AND I EJACULATE ALL THE TIME. Tell you what, let's call Mom on speakerphone and continue this conversation. At length. Because there's nothing more fun than discussing sex with one's mother and grandmother. I only wish Mom were here to experience this with me.
"Ummm, well, I think I might have read about that somewhere."
posted by Miss Head at
9:35 AM
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