The Warm N Fuzzy Stories

WARM N FUZZY I
© Copyright, by Cupideros, Friday, October 06, 2006

I am ten and a half years old and inquisitive. I think I got this way because of my Dad. For a short time, he did journalism work. He tells me, “Son you always have to check your facts, if you want to be a journalist. Check and double and triple check’em.” In addition, my Dad encourages me to learn, to watch, to listen and to question my sources. Right after I make this career decision, a subject comes to my mind to investigate—sex.
I decide to approach three reputable sources, my Mom, my older brother, Pete, and my Dad. You could say Louise fueled my drive to become a journalist. I’ll tell you about Louise later.
My strategy: Approach each person when they are alone. I desire their full truth-telling attention. Mom is alone on the couch in the living room reading a Woman’s Wear Daily, a fashion magazine. She used to model before marrying Dad. I went in. I sit on the wicker chair beside the couch. With a casual air, I threw out my question, “Mom what is sex?”

My mom’s opinion:
“Son you’re ten years old. I assume the girls want to kick, hit and pinch you; steal your lunch box and so forth or you wouldn’t ask what you’re asking?”
“True.” I learned journalist don’t answer with many words, unless absolutely necessary. This keeps the conversation focused on the person you’re questioning.
“I think girls view intercourse differently from boys.” And my Mom paused, her face, blonde hair and blue eyes an elegant Mona Lisa update. “I know on the PTA, we talk about our girls—“
I scoot forward on the chair’s edge.
“The boys don’t understand how girls view sex—“
I slide to the back of the wicker chair. An awful silence fills the living room. Dad always told me, “Son, never fill in that conversational silence that arises. Something important always surfaces.” So I wait.
Mom closes her magazine and begins squeezing it mighty tight. I could hear the 8 x 14 newsprint crumbling under the pressure. The quiet is so clear, I hear the ants outside walking and marching to and fro in the afternoon sun doing their work.
Mom’s eyes lit up. Then, after I wouldn’t fill in the silence. Her eyes caught my eyes in a vice grip. Her eyes narrow, real mean like.
“Men are beasts! They only want sex from girls. They think that’s all girls are good for, S-E-X! Men think girls are horny nymphos. I can’t tell you how many times Superintendents of our Mason School District have tried to asks me out over the years . . .”
She is going on and on. Under the fury of her explanation, I continue to push backward into the wicker chair, which begins making impressions on my skin underneath my shirt. I am afraid the guys at school will think I get into tattoo branding. But I am still confused as Mom testifies on the uncontrollable impulses of men. Often her female friends say, “A woman’s work is never done.” Is this what they mean—having sex?
“I swear, I think men must have their periods twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They have to stare at girls, act like they want them, want them all, then and there!”
I interrupt, “Mom! Only girls can have babies?”
“Yes . . . But no. No girl wants to have babies every time she has sex, Jeffery. You just don’t understand.”
“Why did you marry Dad, if he’s a beast? And am I a beast? Or will I turn into a beast when I grow up?” Questions flooded out. I am unable to stop them.
“No . . . No . . . No. Son . . . come

Imprint

Publisher: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Text: Cupideros
Editing: Cupideros
Publication Date: 11-01-2012
ISBN: 978-3-95500-589-4

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