My mom officially knows I masturbate. Well, she has probably known that for a long time… we are pretty honest with each other and there have been enough slightly awkward jokes over the years to really bring that point home. Plus, who DOESN’T masturbate? To those who say they never have, I’m not even sure how to wrap my head around that. Please, do it tonight. It’s amazing.
Anyway, she knows, and has known for quite some time and we have the kind of relationship where we can talk about sex and it’s not weird or awkward. But let me be the first one to tell you… even if you have the kind of open relationship I have with my mom, nothing prepares you to be caught going to town on yourself with your Magic Wand. While having phone sex. Oh, did I not mention that part? Let me set the scene for you.
The story takes place about a year and a half ago. I was recently back in my own condo after having lived with my parents the month following a rather painful shattered ankle and subsequent surgery. I was so excited to be on my own again, and have some real privacy – when you are sleeping on a recliner and can’t move on your own, privacy takes a back seat. I should probably mention at this point I was seeing someone who lived in Maryland, and with me being in California, we were very, um, verbally expressive with each other since physical contact wasn’t on the table.
So I had reached a rather frustrating crossroads and desperately wanted to be in my own room, spending some quality time with myself. And my vibrator.
With that in mind, I announced my decision to go back home and my parents helped me pack up and get settled, with the agreement that my mom would stop in to check on me regularly and help me out with cooking, cleaning, etc. All the things I still couldn’t do while on crutches. And she already had a spare key so that made things easy. Are you starting to see where this is going?
One evening, we discussed having lunch at my condo the next day, but since my mom works different Weight Watchers meetings, she wasn’t sure when she would be available. We left the conversation with what I considered soft plans – I assumed she would call once she knew if she could make it. And when 2:00 rolled around and I hadn’t heard from her, I figured she wasn’t going to make it. And I got a call from Maryland. What’s a girl to do? Take a break from work and catch up with the East Coast, that’s what.
So there I am on my bed, pants strewn somewhere on the floor, “catching up” with both Maryland and my Magic Wand. Bedroom door open, since I’m in my condo alone and closing doors behind you on crutches is a real drag. And it was good, let me tell you. Weeks and weeks of build up and frustration finally coming to a head. Literally. I was so close I could taste it when I heard a noise that sounded a lot like my door opening. I froze, my lady boner disintegrating instantly. And then I heard the distinct sound of my door closing and my mom’s voice.
To be fair, I had just chastised her the day before for ringing the doorbell before coming in – I had a broken ankle, did she think I was going to get up and come answer the door?? Apparently she had finished up with her meeting and had taken our conversation to mean we had lunch plans for whenever she finished up and remembering my comments from the day before, had just decided to let herself in without knocking or ringing the bell.
None of that was consolation to me as my orgasm dissipated and the mortification of the situation started to wash over me. OK, so she came in the back door of the condo which doesn’t have a direct view into the bedroom at least but I was fully naked from the waist down, spread eagle on my bed and flustered from the lack of blood in my brain. And still on the phone with Maryland, who, I’m fairly certain hadn’t missed a beat on his end.
The logical next step here would have been to call out to my mom, tell her I was naked or changing, or ANYTHING else. But instinctively I tried to avoid the horror that is your mom walking in on you like that, so I sprang out of bed, leaping across the room to close the door, forgetting for a minute that I had a broken ankle. I remembered mid-air though and essentially tucked and sprawled to protect my ankle from any contact, and laid myself out across the floor and into the door, slamming it closed with my head essentially, phone still clutched in my hand. I screamed in pain or panic or both, and I could hear Maryland on the other end interpreting that as a sign of orgasmic bliss and an invitation to join me.
And my poor unsuspecting mother is now pounding on the door, demanding I let her in since she can hear me howling on the floor and is convinced I’ve fallen and hurt myself again and is probably mapping out the fastest route to the ER in her head. And I’m just babbling at this point and can’t put together a cohesive statement. At some point I hung up the phone and rolled away to let her open the door. So there I am, naked on the floor, bawling, with my mother asking me what the hell happened, trying to figure out why the fuck I’m on the ground.
As she is peppering me with questions, I’m trying to stop crying long enough to form sentences and I just didn’t have the wherewithal to even lie. I probably should have. But through a strangled breath I finally gulped out, “I WAS MASTURBATING! I’M SORRY!!”
She laughed. I mean, how could you not? Once she realized I wasn’t really injured and hadn’t just cracked my head open or broken another bone, she laughed her ass off. I wasn’t quite so ready to laugh about it. I was still naked and had a broken ankle, so I had to ask my mother to bring me some pants so I could get dressed and really assess whether I had hurt myself while hurtling my body across the room.
A few minutes later as we were sitting on the couch and had determined the only thing that was injured was my ego, my mom just looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I wish I could tell this story to everyone. It’s so funny.” Thanks Mom.
I’ll tell you one thing though… she ALWAYS knocks before coming in now.