Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Red Shoe Diaries turns the long post-lunch workday afternoon into a late night at your creepy uncle's house

(Via)

Softcore porn will always have a soft place in my heart.

At around age nine or ten, my parents would drop me off with my uncle for a weekend once a month, to give me time to spend with my cousins as well as time for themselves to be alone (which I later learned, was alone separately). While my uncle's sons were outright tools (one occasion they thought it would be funny to put a cherry bomb inside of a teddy bear cookie jar that was given to me- assholes), he was always nice to me and bought me little gifts like I was some sort of daughter he never had, but always wanted.


He was divorced (I never got to see the mother of the demon spawn) but every so often on those weekends, he'd have a girlfriend he was seeing at the time come over, and somehow the three of us would end up spending time in the kitchen making some sort of warm, sweet concoction as we baked all afternoon (the boys were too busy blowing up neighbor's doghouses or toilets to ruin the fun, thankfully).

But after all the baking was done and the boys were busy playing video games or preparing for their industrious futures as members of Maury's "That ain't my baby" pants off dance off, my uncle and his girlfriend would let me stay up with them watching television late at night, even though it was way past my mother's suggested bed time. And at the time, it was kinda exciting. I was a "grown up" hanging out with grown ups doing grown up things like watching television late at night while the silly kids played in their rooms.


I was a grown up lady woman (who just happened to enjoy her grown up-ness adorned in pink pajamas) and they treated me that way. Even if it meant watching the full blown softcore porn of the Red Shoe Diaries right in front of me. With no hesitation. Or concern for my mental well being.

It wasn't completely creepy, sorta. My uncle and his girlfriend didn't mess around or do anything explicit right in front of me. But they would often giggle or share knowing glances. Sometimes my uncle might pinch his girlfriend on the bum or she might playfully shove him, right while I was sitting on the couch next to them. The television would moan, and the silly (even my Hello Kitty-fied mind at the time thought it was silly) instrumental music would purr, as David Duchovny or some other token boring white guy or girl or both or more at the same time would grind and massage and fake sex themselves into fake ecstasy.

Years later, my uncle and his evil sons would move away to Nebraska. He eventually got married to another nice lady, but never once did we ever talk about those nights nor did I ever tell my parents. It was our little secret. It was also all really well, gross.

But in the end, we made some darn good brownies back then. Which is all my mind wants to remember. No matter what my therapist says. Mmmm.



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