The Dance of Romance

Well Romancers, here in the States our Thanksgiving feast is over and we are all perhaps quietly regretting having eaten more than we should have. (I know I am!)

Of course, it’s not uncommon to pack on a few pounds during the holidays, or even, over the course of a relationship. It is this very dilemma which brings me to the topic of today’s post. Let me explain what prompted me to not only give my opinion on the subject (Watch out!) but to ask everyone who reads this post to please leave their two-cents and help a fellow Romancer who asked to remain anonymous.

Over the weekend I received a DM from a fan who stated:

“The movie ‘Shallow Hal’ doesn’t begin to describe the men in the area I grew up in! I wonder if most men are this way or is this area an aberration?”

She further went on to say:

“…my husband hasn’t touched me in two years because he thinks I’m too heavy! So I live with this attitude! He has mentally destroyed my confidence over the years. So I may have a screwed up opinion of how men see it! I realize that all men are not shallow, that there are those who look beyond looks. I have just yet to meet them personally!”

Let me start by addressing the husband… Man up! I’m willing to bet you have a few undesirable pounds in places that rarely see the light of day. I bet if I look at the notches in your belt I could read them the same way a Forest Ranger interprets tree rings. The problem with men like you is that you never see a problem with YOUR weight gain and women have a tendency to be more forgiving of their partner’s few extra pounds. But make no mistake, when you’re sitting on the couch together watching Dancing With The Stars with your jaw in your lap, spittle at the corners of your mouth and breathing heavy, your wife is watching the men with their ripped bodies, swaying hips and sexy gazes, wishing you would look and act even a LITTLE bit like them. She just has enough respect and tact to keep those thoughts to herself; even when you beat her up over the way she looks.

I have to ask… Have you tried to help her lose weight? Offered to go walking with her? Surprise her with a family membership to the local gym and promise to work out together?

ANYTHING!?

I highly doubt it. Because over the years I’ve heard this problem from a lot of my female friends and in those cases I knew the husbands and they were all the same. It was about control. It was because the husband was dealing with his own insecurities and instead of aspiring to bring himself up he manipulates in bringing others down.

I’m not going to say this is an absolute truth in your case but in the other situations I’ve witnessed where the husband (or wife) hasn’t touched the other in a rather long time, they were having an affair. You should know there are a LOT of great men out there who will love, cherish and support your wife just the way she is right now. And if she decides SHE wants to lose the weight they will stand behind her 1000%; AND end up with the kind of woman you drool over while mistakenly believe you have a shot at.

Pay attention!  You have a sexy, vibrant and eager woman under your roof every night of the week. It’s not up to her to show herself to you. It’s up to you to provide an environment she’s comfortable enough in to let herself open up. Stop blaming her. You’re the one at fault.

Shame on you.

(Ok, off my soap box. Whew!)

Obviously, I’m a man. Last time I checked anyway, but I really want to hear the take of the women out there. I know I have a few men followers as well, so guys feel free to help out as well.

Does EITHER partner have a right to withhold sex because the other has gotten heavier? If this was your husband/boyfriend how would you handle it?

While I don’t know details of the marriage, kids, length of marriage, etc, Is this worthy of a divorce if he continues to belittle her?

Help me help her Romancers!  And THANK YOU to each and every one from the bottom of my heart for your support!

Weaving Wine & Words,

Before I let you plunge yourselves into the next installment of Quinn and Sabrina, let me take a moment to apologize. This post should have been presented last week but due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to do so. If you are a writer, you understand. If you’re not, I ask your understanding. There is nothing more I want on the face of the earth than to give my fans what they want, when they want it. Realistically, I’m a human, not a bot of some sort, so, bear with me. Please? Thank you.

I truly want to know what you think. So, at the end of the post, please give your response and hit the “flirt” button. If the button doesn’t work, let me know. It seems a bit fickle like the rest of us.

Let it be known that if you are reading this, I love and cherish each and every one of you and am proud to call you friend. There is a long journey before us and I hope you hang in there as long as I have committed to. Quinn and Sabrina’s story was one that was to be, at best, a three parter. I have the story written for well into the immediate future and I hope you are ok with that. If there is an author out there of ANY caliber who can sum up a partnership which is rooted in fate in under 800 words, I’d like to shake your hand, (and privately curse your existence as I walk away.)

Thanks again for taking the time to follow Quinn and Sabrina’s journey. I promise that the stories will come fast and furious in the coming weeks. I have some venting to do about the state of relationships and…well, I’m right and their wrong and you should know about it.

Please comment your thoughts. Good, Bad, Ugly and any other Clint Eastwoodian way you care to express yourself. It’s safe here and no one will judge. If they do, they’re automatically voted off the island without so much as a birthday balloon. Period.

Thanks again,

(Click to go back to the beginning: Part 1 )  (Click to go back to re-read the last installment: Part 4 )

     Sabrina hesitated for only a moment. She had heard what he said but didn’t care. He wasn’t the only one with a secret to share. Right now she wanted to do what she should have done the second they came through her doorway earlier, give of herself in a way that expressed in Quinn’s mind she was his. So with an aggressiveness she always yearned to find, she wrapped her mouth around the beginning of his confession and forced her lips to douse his worries.

At first she felt resistance when she kissed him. His hands gently pressed against her shoulders in an effort to bring distance between them. When she lustily slid her tongue inside his mouth and pressed her naked breasts against his chest he surrendered by dropping his hands to her waist and gripping her firmly.

In an effort to leave no doubt as to her true intentions, she twined her fingers in his hair and let out a sigh-full moan which was echoed back from Quinn’s soft, warm lips. He was succumbing and she sensed it. She wanted him to let it all go and be with only her tonight; not let anything he had to say concern him.

Slipping her hands between them she found his belt and began unbuckling it, desperate to eliminate the remaining barriers between their skin. She worked her way to the button on his jeans when Quinn pulled away and insisted, “Sabrina as much as I want this right now… we need to talk first.”

Even though he had pulled away, her hands still held firmly to his unbuttoned waistband. With a snap of her wrists she extracted all the teeth of his zipper from themselves.  This time when she pulled him back against her she felt his hardness she knew there was no going back. Sabrina gently shook her hair from her face, brushed her lips against his, slid the waistband of his boxers off his growing erection and whispered, “Are you sure, Quinn?”

He had never been as conflicted as he was at this very moment. Thoughts begat worries which begat more thoughts which gave birth to guilt, anxiety and lust all in the blink of an eye. It had been almost three years since he had been with a woman and she needed to know why but he was losing control of his senses.  He decided to turn over responsibility of what to do next from his confused head to his assured heart in a leap of faith he hoped he wouldn’t regret later. Or worse, lose Sabrina because of it.

She was beginning to worry that Quinn hadn’t responded in any way to her question when she felt his hands wrap around her wrists and yank her hands from his pants.   “What are you…” His lips were on hers, kissing her even more passionately than before. Quinn’s hands were now around her waist and he lifted her up as if she were as light as the cloud she had been riding since they met. He walked the few steps to the bed and, she was falling; he had tossed her on the bed and was now standing before her looking down at her.

Sabrina was unable to read the look on his face because the moonlight coming through the window only reached his neck. Panning her gaze down to his chest she could see he was breathing heavily.  He had a shallow network of hair that covered his chest which faded to bare skin over his trim, chiseled stomach. She watched as he grabbed the top of his jeans and slowly swayed his hips until they slid off and fell to the floor.  He crawled onto the bed and pinned her body against it with his; she felt every desire he had for her pulsing through his skin, throbbing from his groin and transmitting through his hands.

His mouth was on her neck and she could feel the heat of his breath. As he kissed his way to her shoulder he reached a hand under one of her legs and spread them open. She heard him moan, deep and meaningful and felt herself gush between her legs. In response, she wanted him inside of her and arched her back to let him know.

Firmly squeezing her breast in his hand she felt another urgent jolt of desire amid her wetness as he gently flicked her nipple with his tongue. She sensed he was holding back, not fully letting go and she wanted more. “Quinn, make love with me like this will be our last time together.” she demanded through her moaned whisper.

They were the words that sent him over the edge. It had been too long and he had fulfilled the promises he had made to himself before he would have even allowed an evening such as this to happen. He had to further trust his heart as well as Sabrina’s intentions.  Under the circumstances of the last few years his self-control was unwarranted. Sabrina was a gorgeous woman with not just the physical features he craved but the heart, caring, and character to hear what he had to tell  and see the potential in him. But for now, she was letting him know she wanted to be one to one with him, in her bed, in her house, with the rest of the world firmly locked away.

Feeling freed of his demons, Quinn firmly grabbed her hips beneath him and slowly traced the dripping tip of himself along her thigh until he could feel her wetness against it. Quinn stroked his shaft back and forth along her already drenched lips until he felt her clit against his cock. The passionate growl which came from Sabrina was almost more than he could take. He hadn’t even entered her yet and felt himself getting close. She responded by rocking her hips in rhythm with his when he felt her nails squeeze into the backs of his shoulders. With each stroke of himself along her clit he felt her nails dig a little deeper and her breathing grow a little faster. “I’m close Quinn, don’t stop!” she cried out. He didn’t want to admit it but he was on the verge of coming himself. The last three years had taken it’s toll and his body had been starved for far too long.

Sabrina’s body began to tighten and her fingertips were now firmly planted in his back. The carnal pain of her nails heightened his appetite for her and he felt the swell beginning to gorge itself at the base of his shaft. The sensation was overwhelming yet he wanted this to last.

“Quinn! Come with me!” Sabrina cried out.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled his hips back and just as she was starting to come, plunged himself deep inside her. When he did she cried out, wrapping her legs around him and squeezing his body tight.

He felt the fullness of himself inside her, let go, and continued to thrust with each pulse of himself below. Even in their current state of love-making he couldn’t help but wonder if he had just made a mistake. A mistake which would lose him the one woman he had longed to be with for the rest of his life from the moment he watched her pajama top fall off of her shoulder a few weeks ago. He had fallen hard for Sabrina. If her feelings for him were the same, he may have just made a mistake.

Quinn felt Sabrina’s grip on his shoulders loosen and noticed her legs had already fallen to the bed. Her hair was matted with sweat yet she had never looked as sexy to him as she did right now. He could still feel himself hard inside her and though the wetness between them was intoxicating, he had to know. He had to tell her. He had to know if there would be more nights like this or if he had just lost her forever.

Sabrina was still panting beneath him as he gently slid out of her. He got up on all fours, looked down into her eyes and with a controlled hesitation said, “Sabrina, I have to get this out. Ten and a half months ago, I was released from prison.”

Quinn forced his eyes to focus , focus on her face in the waning moonlight and try to make sense of what he saw. He couldn’t. Her face was masked by the shadows and all he had to rely on was the sound of her voice. Honing in on the one sensation he had left, all he apprehended was, “Quinn, I already knew.”

(Click here to go to Chapter 1)

Chapter 4

     Quinn killed the headlights on his Envoy as he rolled to a stop in front of Sabrina’s house. He decided against pulling in the driveway because he still wasn’t certain what he was going to do. It had been over an hour since he had left her standing in her kitchen, arguing with some character named Paul. The last thing he ever wanted to do was leave but there were circumstances in his life which didn’t leave room for jeopardy. Circumstances he hoped Sabrina could come to understand.

He removed his keys from the ignition and sucked in a deep breath while he regarded her house. When he left, he had blown out the candles he had lit. Now, the living room lights to the left of her front door were on and he could even see the flicker of what must be her TV. He briefly considered texting her, letting her know he was outside; all in a test to see if she would even let him in but she might have her phone off. Or worse still, ignore it completely.  A knock at the door was harder to brush off.

While shoving his keys in his pocket, Quinn opened his door. Then, after putting too much care into shutting it, headed up her lawn.  He was about to climb the few stairs of her porch when he noticed a figure who could only be Sabrina, pass by the backlit window to his left. As he tried to stop the free-fall his heart was experiencing, a second figure passed by the window, following her. Suddenly, his heart caught itself and now was beating with anger.

For a brief second Quinn considered leaving. He couldn’t let his rage take over but he needed answers.  He knew if he left without getting them he would regret it and considering everything they had experienced and shared during the past weeks, it was worth one final try.  But not before peeking in Sabrina’s living room window to gauge the situation.

As quiet as his leather soles would let him, he inched his way to her window. Even through the ambiguity her window’s sheers were expected to provide, there was no mistaking what he saw. Sabrina was sitting on the couch, her skirt was hiked up, and lying with his head on her thighs was Paul.

They were watching TV, he guessed, but he could tell she was running her fingers through his hair and it was killing him. There had not been a single moment when he heard her voice, saw her smile, or held her hand, when he hadn’t felt she was the one he was meant to be with for the rest of his life. Now, he watched as she stroked the hair of another man less than a couple of hours after she professed she felt the same way.  How could he have been so stupid!?

Quinn pulled away from the window and stepped toward the door. Without giving it another thought, he pressed Sabrina’s doorbell a little too firmly and followed it with a quick rap of his knuckles in case she wasn’t already in a hurry to answer her own door.

It seemed a lifetime before he heard the cast of the deadbolt finally being thrown. As she pulled the door open the first thing he noticed was she was in a rather sexy pair of pajamas. The skirt he had thought was hiked up was actually a pair of pajama shorts and her top criss-crossed her breasts like it had earlier but now, obviously, without a bra underneath. Crushed!

“Quinn, what are you doing here? I tried to call but you didn’t answer.” she spat.

“I tried to call you back and wanted to make sure you’re ok.” he offered, not before noticing Sabrina shot a look at her living room couch.

“I wish you would have stayed. Quinn, I need to explain what happened tonight.”

Trying to control his internal pragmatist, he still wished for a more logical explanation. “Ok, go ahead.” he offered while closing the door quietly behind him.

Standing in her foyer, they had a clear view of her living room. Paul was still lying on her couch, clearly passed out. Sabrina shifted her eyes back to Quinn, then, with a drop of her gaze confessed, “He’s my younger brother. Our parents died rather tragically a little over five years ago and he hasn’t been able to get himself back on track. Not long after their accident his wife divorced him. She couldn’t take his drinking and he had become violent. When my neighbor began renting out a small one-room apartment above their garage, I offered to pay his rent if he moved in and got sober. As you saw tonight, he’s still my work in progress.”

Quinn tried to take it in. He looked again at the lump of a man on her couch and tried to piece it all together. On a certain level it made sense but it also opened up so many questions he hadn’t thought to ask Sabrina.

“Sabrina, I’m a little overwhelmed by what happened tonight. This is not how I had hoped it would go and I have to leave in a few hours to catch a flight.” he confessed while shooting another look at Paul on the couch.  “I just didn’t feel right about how I left and I think you should know why.”

Taking a step towards Quinn and placing her hands on his chest, she whispered, “Let’s go upstairs and talk so we don’t wake him up.” She then immediately took his hand and gently guided him behind her up the stairs.

Before he knew it he was in the threshold of her bedroom. Sabrina gave a final tug to his hand  so he’d get out of the way of the door closing. It took a few seconds before his eyes adjusted to the moon-light emanating through her window but he could tell she was already taking her top off. There was a part of him that wanted to turn and run. It would be less complicated. Simple even. For all the words she put in his head tonight he still didn’t really know where he stood with her. He truly felt she was the one but if she just wanted him for a fling tonight, he wasn’t her guy. One night stands he had done, many times. Quinn didn’t see her that way and he was struggling with what to do. It didn’t help that he still owed her an explanation as to why he fled earlier. An explanation that would likely turn her away and make her severely regret anything that was about to happen.

Quinn felt her hands on his waist and with an unexpected strength she pulled him against her. She was completely naked now. He hadn’t noticed her slipping out of her pajama shorts. For as chaotic as his thoughts were right now, he found himself intoxicated by the smell of her and felt himself giving in.

She was unbuttoning his shirt and he heard her whispered demand, “Make love with me Quinn.”

As he felt his shirt being brushed off his shoulders he tried to compose himself. There was nothing more he wanted than to ravage her body right now. He wanted to own her and prove to her sexually, emotionally and physically what she meant to him. If Paul hadn’t shown up, he may have already done it. However, he didn’t believe in coincidences. He had been setting on something she should know about and it wasn’t right to go any further if his feelings for her were as true as he believed.

So, with a regret he had never experienced before, he wrapped his hands around her naked shoulders, took a step back from her and pleaded understanding when he said, “Sabrina, I have something I need to tell you.”

Chapter 5 coming Monday!

(I’ve been cleaning up a lot of things lately and came across some old writings. I had forgotten this one. After giving it some thought, I’ve decided to share it with you, Romancers. This was written two Father’s Days ago. I’m not a prude by any means but there is something comfortably wholesome in parents and I’m ok keeping it that way. Enjoy!)

In the scheme of chaotic things which make up my life, I need a constant that grounds me. Something to keep things in a certain perspective. For my entire adult life, this stabilizing force has been my parents.

For those who don’t know my parents, my Dad is a man’s man. Blue collar to the core and devoted to Mom. He’s never cheated, he’s never raised a hand and he’s never called her a bad name. All this yet he still frustrates her to no end. The only reason she never left him is because he is one of those men who swoops in and unknowingly does an absolutely perfect romantic gesture that buys him more time.

My Mom on the other hand is hard core German. Rough but fair. She doesn’t put up with much and I’ve never met anyone stupid enough to challenge the 300 pound personality she carries in her 80 pound frame.

They are proof opposites attract.

At this point there is a little more background needed before I can proceed. You don’t need the details, so I’ll spare you, but here are the highlights.

I lost my virginity at 10, yes 10. To a 14 year old girl in a hospital bed at Children’s Hospital. Much too young to realize what was happening. Yet when it was over I wanted to learn more, a lot more. Understanding I was conceived because of a similar act, I began scouring my parent’s bedroom for answers. It didn’t take me long to find out my Dad had a penchant for shotguns and Playboy magazines. Even at the rebellious age of 10 I listened to my parents and he always told me to never, EVER touch a gun.

He never mentioned what I should do if I came across a stack of Playboys.

I sat on the floor of my Dad’s closet and flipped through what had to be a few thousand pages of magazines. I never knew what a Playboy was before that day but I had heard someone say once, “I only read it for the articles.” There was a certain obligatory reaction that triggered inside me; I HAD to let that person know what they were missing!

I put the magazines away and stacked them in perfect order like my Dad kept them. Sadly, there was a part of me that wondered why he would look at these when he had Mom. I supposed that was an answer for later in life and closed my father’s closet doors.

Flash forward two years and I am in the grasp of puberty. Over the preceding 24 months or so, there wasn’t an issue of my Dad’s Playboys I hadn’t perused without my parents knowledge. I had even snuck a copy or two to the local bike trails for my friends to see.

One night, sitting in my parent’s living room watching TV, I hear that unmistakable tone between parents in which something serious is being discussed. I turned my ear away from the TV and attempted to listen in. What comes is in spurts, my Mom first, “…at that age. You have to do something.” My Dad next, “I know but…..”

Further whispered sentences were exchanged before I watched my Dad stomp down the hall to his bedroom. He closes his door then 30 seconds later opens it again. This time he is stomping towards me with an all too familiar brown, paper, slip-covered magazine. Uh-oh, he knows!

Always having a mischievous side growing up, I learned early on to wait and find out what they knew before I confessed to anything. This time certainly wasn’t going to be an exception. I watched as my Dad sat next to me, hands rolling the magazine in his hands nervously. He looked me in the eye and began with, “Hansel, your mother and I feel you are at an age where you need to know about certain things. Adult things.”

Looking down at his hands, he extracted a Playboy with a clichéd blond on the cover. He flipped through the pages and unfolded the centerfold. As he turned it to me, I could tell he was expecting a reaction. Seeing he wasn’t getting one yet, he decided to continue. Pointing to the model’s breasts, he started, “These are called, Breasts or Tits. Some people even call them Jugs, Honkers, or Bazoombas.”

I made a mental note to tell my friends we could start calling them “Bazoombas”!

He continued, “Women have breasts in order to feed their children soon after they are born.”

At this, a scream came from the kitchen, “Joseph, get in here, now!!”

Watching his invisible tail tuck itself as my Dad turned and headed for the kitchen, I was left with the centerfold in front of me. I looked back to the cover and was disappointed it was an issue I had already scoured.

No sooner had my Dad entered the kitchen, he returned, took the Playboy from my hand and returned it to his room. There was no further discussion regarding the pictures he just tried to show me, or sex, or birds and bees or what goes on between them. I was 12 years old trying to get the look on my face and the rest of my body to exude what I wanted him to know; I’m alright, Dad. It’s ok. I figured it out already.

In my early teen years, my parent’s bedroom was right above my basement abode. I heard EVERYTHING through the ventilation system. I knew what went on and continued to take mental notes on what seemed to work and what didn’t. Not realizing until much later in life, I should have covered my head with a pillow like the rest of the world does in such situations.

The rest of High School, College and beyond was, to me, pretty typical. It wasn’t long before the side of my parents which made them conceive my brother and I faded into obscurity.

Flash forward another 25 years to today.

I am at my parents for Father’s Day. He has not aged so well and even though he is just shy of 70, looks 80. My mother has had some very serious medical problems of late and I was sure she wouldn’t make it to today. We have a nice visit sprinkled with me telling them stories about the kids and work. I watch as my Mom winces when she thinks I’m not watching. My Dad seems to be breathing harder than usual and it concerns me. I wonder how much longer they will be around.

I had brought a card for my Dad, one I spent hours picking out for a change. He reads it and his stoic face actually wells a bit with tears. He thanks me, we hug and give each other the uncomfortable three pats on the back which I’ve been told between men stands for, “I’m – Not – Gay.”

We spend another hour or so following a conversational thread that has become our Sunday norm. I get ready to go and my Mom reminds me to take their Sunday paper they have finished. When I get home most of the coupons from the circulars will have been cut out but the remaining pages will be in a perfect stack inside the folded paper.

I walk out to the car and my parents follow. I have to walk slower these days in order to make them feel less self conscious. It takes me twice as long to get to my car and when I do I turn and my parents are still shuffling up. They don’t hold hands and I haven’t seen them with their arms around each other since my wedding 20 years ago. The last time I saw them kiss, I was 15 and they were alone on the patio, half-drunk and grilling midnight hamburgers after they thought I was asleep.

I stand inside my car door and take a long look at them as they come closer. Having been unlucky in love for a while after my divorce, I consider perhaps it is tolerance and compassion I should look for in a partner instead of a true connection and sexual compatibility.

My Mom leans in first as is her routine, steps on her tippy toes and kisses my cheek. I hug her but I don’t squeeze anymore, I haven’t in years. She is so thin and frail I’m afraid I’ll snap her.

I turn to my Dad to wish him another Happy Father’s Day and he startles, looks up at me like he forgot something and tells me to hold on before he heads back towards the house. I look to my Mom for an answer and she smiles with a neutrality which has left me guessing since childhood. She is not giving it up.

My Mom asks a few mundane questions to pass the time and after a few minutes my Dad comes back out to the car. In his hand he is holding what looks like a greeting card but it’s hard to tell. He stands behind my Mom as I answer her last question then says, “Look. We have something we want you to have.” He steps from behind my Mom and I glance at his hand. I can see where I get the ginormous hands everyone tells me I have because I can’t see anything but fingers, veins and a corner of card-stock.

My Dad has always been somewhat of a character. He will set you up for what I have always affectionately called, “The Whoopdie Woo.” He gets all serious then hits you with something comical, trying to get a laugh. Over the years I have been able to gauge ‘Whoopdie Woo serious” with plain old-fashioned serious. This was plain old-fashioned serious.

He brings his hand up and while looking me in the eye, says, “You can’t have this out when the kids are around.”

I glance at my Mom and she is still a statue, except this time, the corners of her mouth are turned up the slightest bit.

Looking back to my Dad, my mind is racing. In his hand the card begins to show itself. I can see large lettering at the top but it is still upside down. I can make out the letters “emo” and that’s it. Reversing them I try and find a word ending in “ome”. During my Dad’s next step I come up with: come, some, home, and for whatever reason, Metronome.

He pauses again for dramatic purpose as he does when the point he is about to make is to be taken seriously. At this point, I’m at a loss. No matter what it is, I’ll handle it. I’ll step up as I usually do and get them through it. After his pregnant pause he confides, “You know I’ve had a subscription to Playboy, right?”

All I can do is nod my head because my brain is throwing up Mayday signals right and left, trying to come up
with a cover-story to the few missing Playboys I snatched over 30 years ago.

I steal a glance at my Mom and she has not stopped looking at me but her smile has widened and her eyes are a little shinier.

“Well last month your Mom renewed my subscription and this came with it.” My Dad continues.

He turns the card around and as he’s handing it to me I can finally read it. Across the top in large letters, earlier hidden by my 69 year old father’s arthritic fingers, it reads, “Playboy’s Uncensored Home Videos”.

My world goes hazy for a moment. What the flying fuck is going on here!

“Your mother and I thought you would like to have it.” He gently moves it toward me like he’s handing me a family heirloom.

I’ve been in a lot of awkward situations in my life but this one has officially trumped them all. Or so I thought.

Until Mom spoke up.

“Which track was it, Joseph, where I thought the dark haired girl was Hansel’s type?”

WHAT?! NO!! My mind is actually convulsing. I can see sparks flying and smoke behind my eyes. This isn’t happening.

“I’m not sure, it was early on because we were still actually watching it.”

Did my Dad just wink at my Mom?

I force my mind to come up for air. There has to be a reason for this. Some pre-conceived joke I haven’t been let it on yet. Yeah, that’s it.

I notice my Mom looking at my Dad in a way I’ve never noticed. A way which makes me feel like an intruder. A way which makes me wonder if I shouldn’t give the local paramedics a heads-up to keep an eye on the house for a few hours after I leave. What the hell is going on here?

I’m never at a loss for words, except here. What on EARTH do I say? Thankfully my Dad steps in and mentions the fact I haven’t seemed very happy lately. I glance at the blond on the front of the card with her seductive lips and wanting eyes and wonder how on earth he thinks she is the answer.

Folks, you never in a million years want to picture your Dad masturbating to a porno. For over thirty years since the “M” word was brought to my attention, I have fought the good fight and kept those thoughts at bay.

Until today at 2:57 pm.

My Mom, sensing my disturbed demeanor, assures me with, “You don’t have to give it back.”

Really Mom?! You mean we’re not going to have a book-club type meeting after I watch it and discuss the motivation behind Miss Lovealotacock’s character?

In order not to offend them, and to, let’s face it, stall. I decide to look at the back of it. What possessed me, I will never know. I’m not into Porn, never have been, but I feigned interest like a Pro there in my Mom and Dad’s suburban driveway this afternoon. “Oh, it seems they are amateurs!” I point out. Weak, Hansel, real weak. “That’s good… right?” I pray it’s my Dad that answers.

“They say that but you can tell those girls are pros.” It’s my Mom that assures me of this fact. NASA has begun a countdown for all my brain matter at this point. Her statement screams the next question, How do YOU know?! I don’t dare ask it aloud for fear she answers.

Begging for my Dad to take the reins again, I look him in the eye and thank him. It wasn’t a genuine thanks or even an impersonal one. It was a new, just made up on the spot, I don’t know what else to say Thanks.

He punctuates my thanks with a quick nod of his head and I scramble to get into my car trying desperately not to look my Mom in the eye. I start the car, close the door and roll the window down, finding temporary solace in our parent/son routine again.

I place the card which contains the DVD under my visor. I distract myself by jamming my car into reverse and slowly back out of the driveway putting too much acting into it; anything to keep from dragging this out.

As I roll to a stop and begin to drive away, I always stop for a second and wave before moving down the road. My parents have their positions they always take, next to each other, yet apart. This time however, my Dad is standing next to my Mom with his arm around her and it is my turn to turn the corners of my lips up in a knowing smile.

This actually happened this afternoon. Right now it is less than 8 hours later and I have written it all out. I am by myself, laptop firmly placed and the DVD is in the drive. I haven’t watched it, it’s not my thing. There is a part of me, however, that wonders what exactly my Mom and Dad, when it comes to Pornos, think is my type. In the right corner of my screen is a small box asking me what I want to do: “Play DVD” or “Eject DVD”.

I’ve spent my life looking for that one perfect person. Today, I witnessed how an imperfectly perfect relationship is supposed to work. There is an imperfectly perfect person for me out there; I just need to find her. I hope to anyone reading this you find yours as well.

With that in mind, I think the button I press will be…