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oral fixation: exploring my world mouth-first

May 2, 2007

i won’t put just anything in my mouth . . .

. . . but i’ve come bloody damned close.

 

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back in our younger days, when we were still young enough to be living with our folks but old enough not to be carted off to every out-of-state family dysfunction,

my brother liked to invite people over and party when the rents were away.

this often got him (sometimes us) into a lot of trouble. but as they say, practice makes perfect and my baby bro pretty much became a master of this game.

::

coming up, we were just two steps north of *dirt-floor poor*

our dad left us shortly after my brother was born (i was only 4) and our mom raised us by herself

but when i was 16 mom finally remarried and the second income resulted in better housing, better opportunities, wide screen tv, hot tub, etc . . .

. . . let’s just say without parental supervision it made for a gooooood *party environment*

so i’m home from my first brief stint in prison and the folks go away.

baby brother is still living @ home and still up to his old trix. he invites some kids over and the evening pretty much follows a predictable pattern ::

girls in the hot tub hitting on anything that moves

kids getting wasted around every corner

cans and bottles everywhere

so, anyway, i stick around and and mess with people for awhile . . . (i loooove to f*ck with people when they’re high-i know, hard to believe about me, huh?) and crawl off to bed.

not my party. not my problem.

amazingly enough, baby brother got things cleaned up before the rents came home @ 10 o’clock the next morning.

he only missed one bottle

it was enough to send my mom ballistic

funny thing was, it was just a coke bottle; filled about half way to the top with what looked like water. my mom, however, was sure it was vodka.

so i am roughly awakened to her dulcet screams just outside my door.

i wait a few minutes until i’m fairly sure the screaming is not going to end on its own then shamble out and take the bottle in question from my mother’s hand.

it’s water. it’s mine. i was too lazy to go upstairs and get a glass, so i just filled this from the sink.

for the sake of theatre, i take a long pull from the bottle and my brother’s eyes got wide as saucers.

*sHrug*

i figured i had about a 50/50 chance it actually was vodka (i was confident of my ability to keep a straight face if it was), but my money was on it just being water, probably belonging to one of the skinny salad-scarfing femme-bots from the night before.

the taste was just left of licking the devil’s own @sshole, but i kept a straight face.

my mother seemed less than convinced, perhaps suspecting a trick (who, me?), but after a moment of looking into my bland and sleepy face she apologized to my brother and went back upstairs.

by this time, baby bro had somehow pulled his eyes back into their sockets

i glared at him and asked ::

okay, what the hell did i just drink?

he still looked mildly astonished

bong water

i nodded, grimacing

you owe me bigtime

 

::

::

::

come to think of it, i still haven’t collected on that one.

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