When I was about 6 years old, my mother began dating a man who wasn’t quite a hoarder, but the hover method of peeing was definitely recommended at his place. After wearing him down and withholding her lady prize, he finally caved and allowed her to sterilize his shit box. I was ordered to stay outside and play while she steam cleaned his baby shit shag and snooped for porn.
What’s his face had acreage and being the conscientious gentleman that he was, he placed his filthy death trap of a swing set roughly a block away from the house; presumably to muffle the cries of small children.
The swing was molded plastic with leg holes and a little tray that came down and rested on top and I was a solid 6X with no concept of my girth. I quickly learned.
I sat in that thing for close to two hours and even managed to rip the plastic on one side before she ran out of carpet shampoo and decided to check on me. The fire department took almost as long, but eventually I was freed. Afterward, I refused to wear clothing that was in any way restrictive; undershirts, panties, slips, etc. Frankly, I still struggle with panties.
I had completely forgotten about the swing until Sunday night. If you had told 6 year old me that one day I’d be blindfolded, bound, collared, and strapped naked to a Tempurpedic, 6 year old me would’ve kicked you in the dick. Yet there I was, wondering if my boobs looked okay and trying to remember my safe word. What followed was nothing like I thought it would be.
Someone once told me to get comfortable being uncomfortable and until just recently I thought I was pretty comfortable. I have hard conversations, I don’t own a filter, and I crave the rawness that comes with being real. This is different. Somewhere between the Jameson and hot wax I recognized the freedom that comes with exposure. There is nowhere to hide, but there’s also no pressure.
I let go.
I have the patience of a toddler and I’m stubborn as fuck, so my thighs would tell a different story, but I got there. Eventually.
Remind me thank Sleeves for the epiphany. If it weren’t for him, my awkward interaction of the day would have been small talk with Droid after very clearly banging his father.
Doesn’t matter how old they are, the morning after with kids is weird.
Hangover- Jameson is death