Passion & Ponies
Page 11
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In between whimpers of pain, I watch as Ava gets up off of the couch and storms around the living room, picking up random objects: a shot glass, an empty bottle of vodka, the remote control and a huge jar candle. She cradles everything in her arms and then stalks over to me.
“I don’t think Charlotte and Gavin expect you to clean up the living room,” I groan, pushing myself up from the floor gingerly and wincing when it feels like my nut sack is going to explode.
“Oh, I’m not cleaning up. I’m going to shove these things up your ass and see how you like it,” she tells me.
“I told you I was sorry,” I remind her, using the edge of the couch to push myself up from the ground.
“We are never having sex again!”
I laugh and, with my hands cupping my balls, I start walking down the hall to Gavin and Charlotte’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. I’m definitely too drunk to drive back to my parent’s house. Hopefully Gavin and Charlotte won’t mind if I crash here.
“You said that last week, Ava. Admit it, you can’t get enough of me.”
I hear her curse and I can’t help but laugh as I use a wad of toilet paper to remove the condom and throw it in the trash before hobbling into the bedroom.
This day started off shitty and even though I can almost feel my balls up in my throat after that kick Ava gave me, it still ended on a good note. I kind of, sort of popped my anal cherry. Technically, I guess I popped her anal cherry, but semantics…I feel like I should tell someone about this. Is this the type of thing you post on Facebook or send out a mass text about? If not, it should be.
Tomorrow, I’m going to think about the fact that the man I grew up with isn’t my father and pray my parents aren’t hurt when I tell them I need to find out who he is. I have to know where I came from. Not just because it’s imperative that I have an official birth certificate, but also because I need to know if my dad was a turkey baster or some ass**le who slept with my mom and then never spoke to her again. When I do find out who he is, I’m going to beat his ass.
Climbing into bed, I slide my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.
I have no idea who my father is.
I just had anal!
But I have no idea who my father is.
ANAL, MOTHER FUCKER!
Shit, I hate being so conflicted.
Chapter 7 – Ass Captain
As soon as the photo loads to the page, I do a quick preview of my blog post and smile. Something Charlotte said to me the other day when we went shopping struck a chord. She called me the Rain Man of fashion. Ever since I was a little girl I have always been obsessed with clothes and shoes, purses and jewelry. I would take playing dress-up to the extreme, reorganizing my mom’s closet and putting outfits together for her for an entire year.
Everyone has a blog nowadays. They talk about their lives, their kids, and whatever else they have going on and it’s all the same boring crap day after day. I’ve had a blog for a while and I rarely post on it. When I do, it’s always about an outfit I wore or a sale I found at the mall and I always get a ton of hits, so I’ve decided to test something out and see where it goes. I’m starting an official fashion blog. I’ll keep people up-to-date on current trends and where all the good sales are and post photos of myself wearing certain items so they can see how I pair things together. It’s not something I’ll be able to make a living doing, but at least it’s something I’m excited about.
I hit ‘publish’ on the blog post and, while I wait for it to go live, my cell phone rings. When I see that it’s my mom, I groan before answering it.
“There better be a damn good reason why you called off of work today,” mom says, not bothering with ‘hello’.
Letting out a little cough, I make my voice sound as weak as possible. “I’m really sick, Mom. Like, really. I think it’s the flu.”
She sighs through the line and I watch with a smile on my face as the views on my blog post already start adding up within seconds of it going live.
“Bullshit. You’ve been on your computer since dinner last night. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to work the Internet. I just saw your blog post go live. Did you seriously call off of work to play around on your blog? You’re messing up a perfectly good career opportunity, Ava. Even though I’m part owner of the company, I can’t continue to cover for you when you do stupid shit like this,” she complains.
I feel the butterflies of excitement about my blog post die a quick, painful death in my stomach when she calls what I’m doing ‘stupid shit’. I love my mom, but she’s never understood the fact that I don’t want to be part of the family business, that I have other likes and interests apart from hers. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I have to squeeze them tightly closed to keep the tears from falling. No matter what I do, I just can’t make her understand how important this is to me.
“I expect you to be back at work first thing tomorrow morning,” she adds. “And for God’s sake, call Tyler. He’s decided that every time you ignore one of his voicemails or texts, he’s going to forward them to me. Remember that song ‘Accidentally in Love’ from Shrek? Well, there is now a five-minute voicemail on my phone of him singing it, but he changed the lyrics to ‘Accidentally in Your Ass.’ I really do not need to know what that is about. Make him stop.”
For right now, I decide the best thing is to just agree with my mom. If I try to explain to her once again how much I hate working at Seduction and Snacks, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“I don’t think Charlotte and Gavin expect you to clean up the living room,” I groan, pushing myself up from the floor gingerly and wincing when it feels like my nut sack is going to explode.
“Oh, I’m not cleaning up. I’m going to shove these things up your ass and see how you like it,” she tells me.
“I told you I was sorry,” I remind her, using the edge of the couch to push myself up from the ground.
“We are never having sex again!”
I laugh and, with my hands cupping my balls, I start walking down the hall to Gavin and Charlotte’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. I’m definitely too drunk to drive back to my parent’s house. Hopefully Gavin and Charlotte won’t mind if I crash here.
“You said that last week, Ava. Admit it, you can’t get enough of me.”
I hear her curse and I can’t help but laugh as I use a wad of toilet paper to remove the condom and throw it in the trash before hobbling into the bedroom.
This day started off shitty and even though I can almost feel my balls up in my throat after that kick Ava gave me, it still ended on a good note. I kind of, sort of popped my anal cherry. Technically, I guess I popped her anal cherry, but semantics…I feel like I should tell someone about this. Is this the type of thing you post on Facebook or send out a mass text about? If not, it should be.
Tomorrow, I’m going to think about the fact that the man I grew up with isn’t my father and pray my parents aren’t hurt when I tell them I need to find out who he is. I have to know where I came from. Not just because it’s imperative that I have an official birth certificate, but also because I need to know if my dad was a turkey baster or some ass**le who slept with my mom and then never spoke to her again. When I do find out who he is, I’m going to beat his ass.
Climbing into bed, I slide my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.
I have no idea who my father is.
I just had anal!
But I have no idea who my father is.
ANAL, MOTHER FUCKER!
Shit, I hate being so conflicted.
Chapter 7 – Ass Captain
As soon as the photo loads to the page, I do a quick preview of my blog post and smile. Something Charlotte said to me the other day when we went shopping struck a chord. She called me the Rain Man of fashion. Ever since I was a little girl I have always been obsessed with clothes and shoes, purses and jewelry. I would take playing dress-up to the extreme, reorganizing my mom’s closet and putting outfits together for her for an entire year.
Everyone has a blog nowadays. They talk about their lives, their kids, and whatever else they have going on and it’s all the same boring crap day after day. I’ve had a blog for a while and I rarely post on it. When I do, it’s always about an outfit I wore or a sale I found at the mall and I always get a ton of hits, so I’ve decided to test something out and see where it goes. I’m starting an official fashion blog. I’ll keep people up-to-date on current trends and where all the good sales are and post photos of myself wearing certain items so they can see how I pair things together. It’s not something I’ll be able to make a living doing, but at least it’s something I’m excited about.
I hit ‘publish’ on the blog post and, while I wait for it to go live, my cell phone rings. When I see that it’s my mom, I groan before answering it.
“There better be a damn good reason why you called off of work today,” mom says, not bothering with ‘hello’.
Letting out a little cough, I make my voice sound as weak as possible. “I’m really sick, Mom. Like, really. I think it’s the flu.”
She sighs through the line and I watch with a smile on my face as the views on my blog post already start adding up within seconds of it going live.
“Bullshit. You’ve been on your computer since dinner last night. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to work the Internet. I just saw your blog post go live. Did you seriously call off of work to play around on your blog? You’re messing up a perfectly good career opportunity, Ava. Even though I’m part owner of the company, I can’t continue to cover for you when you do stupid shit like this,” she complains.
I feel the butterflies of excitement about my blog post die a quick, painful death in my stomach when she calls what I’m doing ‘stupid shit’. I love my mom, but she’s never understood the fact that I don’t want to be part of the family business, that I have other likes and interests apart from hers. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I have to squeeze them tightly closed to keep the tears from falling. No matter what I do, I just can’t make her understand how important this is to me.
“I expect you to be back at work first thing tomorrow morning,” she adds. “And for God’s sake, call Tyler. He’s decided that every time you ignore one of his voicemails or texts, he’s going to forward them to me. Remember that song ‘Accidentally in Love’ from Shrek? Well, there is now a five-minute voicemail on my phone of him singing it, but he changed the lyrics to ‘Accidentally in Your Ass.’ I really do not need to know what that is about. Make him stop.”
For right now, I decide the best thing is to just agree with my mom. If I try to explain to her once again how much I hate working at Seduction and Snacks, I’ll never hear the end of it.
