Mushy Stuff

“No mushy stuff!,” my parents would insist whenever I told them I was going on a date. I figured it was what parents had to say. No one wants to think about their kids having a sex life. Just like how kids don’t like to think of their parents having one.

So I went on my dates. And they were great. Lots of fun, countless good times, and yes, plenty of sex. Plenty of “mushy stuff,” as my parents were wont to say as I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

Like any kid, I did my best to hide it from them. I was always careful. Protection was always involved – although with my most recent girlfriend, we sometimes took risks. Passion is a hell of a thing.

I’d met her at work and it was love at first sight. Whenever we were alone, I just couldn’t help myself. I’d like to say we started off slow, but that’d be a lie. We were physical from day one.

Sadly, our romance was short lived.

Only a couple days after we’d met, I learned that she’d been transferred from the home where I worked to another location across town. My heart broke. I didn’t have a car. I walked everywhere. The news was devastating. I did my best to gather my thoughts, then I made a plan to sneak out in the middle of the night to visit her. She didn’t know it yet, but it’d be our last time together. I couldn’t take the risk of getting caught.

Around 11 p.m., I told my parents I’d be going out. “Don’t forget the curfew,” they warned. I nodded and left. After a long walk, I arrived. A little while later, I embraced my girlfriend, then held her shoulders and stared into her eyes. I took a deep breath and told her what was bothering me: I said I couldn’t see her anymore. It was too risky. I couldn’t traipse all the way across town in the middle of the night. My parents would kill me. I think she took it okay. It was sad, though. I really cared for her. I cuddled her for a while, then we made quiet, passionate love.

After we’d finished, we spooned and enjoyed the afterglow. Then I checked my watch. It was almost 3 a.m. I was two hours late for curfew. Where had the time gone? I swore and got up and began running. I made it home in twenty minutes. All the lights in the hours were on. They’d been waiting for me. I was fucked.

I walked in the front door, filthy, disheveled, and stinking of the acts I’d been engaging in all night.

“You’re late!,” my Dad yelled. “How many times have we told you – no mushy stuff! And look at all the dirt you’re tracking in!” I looked behind me. I’d left a trail from the front door all the way to the living room.

My parents lectured me for a half hour. They were cruel and asked invasive, offensive questions. I didn’t answer any of them. I just got madder and madder.

When they realized they were getting nowhere, they just got up and went to bed. My mom told me how disappointed she was in me. One parting blow to make me feel terrible.

I ran up the stairs to my room, closed the door, and collapsed, sobbing, on my bed. When I finally calmed down enough to breathe properly, I turned over and stared at the ceiling. I thought about my girlfriend. I thought about the good times we had in our short relationship. After a while, my tears dried and I even smiled a little. I sighed and got up. Maybe I’d see her again. I’d have to wait a while, but it wasn’t impossible. Things could be good again.

I looked down at myself and sniffed the air. I obviously needed to take a shower. My mouth and cheeks and fingers and crotch were still covered with mushy stuff. Life would be so much easier if we lived closer to the graveyard.

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