Passion & Ponies (Chocoholics 2)

I roll my eyes and laugh as we both get into the car.

“Believe me, if I could find a way to make money talking about clothes, shoes and purses, I would be all over that shit.”

As we head towards the mall, I try not to think about Tyler or how much I hate my job. Charlotte is going to set me up with a new guy and maybe my life will finally start looking up.

Dating world, here I come.

Chapter 4 – You are NOT the Father

“I’d like to thank the Academy for this illustrious award,” I speak into the mirror in my room, straightening my imaginary tie. “I’m humbled that so many of my peers thought I was deserving of the Dapper Dildo Award.”

Do they give out awards at Seduction and Snacks? Eh, if they don’t now, I’m sure they will after I’ve been in their employ for a few weeks.

I can’t contain my excitement as I think about the fact that I have a real job. A real, honest to God job that I can be proud of and brag to people about on the street. I mean, The Gap was a pretty good gig - all the sweater vests I could handle and plenty of hot pieces of ass hitting on me every day. They were all g*y dudes, but whatev. They appreciated a good thing when they saw it.

I’ve been trying to get my foot in the door at Seduction and Snacks ever since I found out Gavin’s family owned the business. I make sure to keep myself current on all things sex. I’ve committed to memory the name, cup size and favorite sexual position of every female  p**n  star of the last decade. I’m an expert on all things fetish, from sacofricosis and ederacinism to mucophilia and oculolinctus. I’ve even volunteered on more than one occasion to be a human guinea pig for new Seduction and Snacks products. I have the organic plaster they were tinkering with for penis molds to thank for the fact that I couldn’t grow hair on my balls for three months. A few months of shiny, smooth balls were well worth the third degree burns I sustained on my taint when I tried to use a hair dryer to remove the plaster, especially if sacrificing a few pubes led to Liz realizing my full potential.

Maybe now that I have a good job, Ava will stop being such a bitch and sleep with me again. Grabbing my cell phone off of my dresser, I decide to shoot her a text and deliver the good news.

Hey there, loose labia. Wanna carpool in to work tomorrow? I’ll let you give me a blow job in the parking lot.

Satisfied that my news will thaw a little of the ice in her veins, I toss my phone back on my dresser and head upstairs to look for a good copy of my birth certificate.

Yes, I live in the basement of my parents’ home. I get twenty-eight cable channels, access to all the  p**n  my dad still has on VHS and meatloaf every Thursday night. Seriously, why would I leave?

Opening the door at the top of the stairs that leads into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks when I see my dad sitting up on the counter with his feet in the sink and my mom standing next to him shaving his legs.

“Oh, hi, sweetie! Do you need the sink?” my mom asks, smiling brightly as she squirts some extra shaving cream on my dad’s shin.

Alright, maybe there’s at least one reason to move out and get my own place.

“Mom, seriously? I just ate lunch. Do you want me to puke all over the floor?” I ask disgustedly as I avoid looking directly at them.

“Tyler, studies have shown that a man and a woman who share simple, every day experiences like this will have a long and fruitful sex life,” my dad says, looking up from what my mom’s doing and pushing his glasses up higher on his face.

“I shaved your father’s balls for the first time when we were twenty-one and look at us now! We’re still going strong twenty-six years later and our love making is more passionate than ever,” my mom tells me with a smile.

Shaking my head at them, I keep my eyes averted as I head over to the built-in desk on the other side of the kitchen.

“I like the feel of smooth legs. I totally get why women have been doing this for centuries,” my dad adds.

Really, their behavior shouldn’t come as any surprise to me at this point. My parents, Donna and Nick Branson, are sex therapists. There was a time when I attributed my love of sex to their constant discussion of the topic, but now I worry all this “sharing” is going to one day seriously effect my ability to keep it up. Last week when I got home from work, I found them in the living room practicing their climax yells. Fully clothed, sitting on the couch, legs crossed like they were attending church services, screaming each other’s names in different pitches to see which one sounded the best.

Ignoring my parents’ giggles on the other side of the room, I dig through the desk drawers, tossing papers aside as I go. I grow more and more frustrated as I open drawer after drawer, and my parents’ laughter gets more and more intimate. I know if I don’t find what I’m looking for and get the f**k out of here, vegetables from the fridge will soon be added to the mix - and they won’t be used for tonight’s salad.

Where the f**k is it? I swear there was a copy in here.

“Sweetie, what are you looking for?”

Glancing up from the mess I’ve made on the top of the desk, I sigh, slamming the drawer closed. “I need something for my new job.”

“Oh, no! Did you get fired from The Gap? Were you trying on all the clothes naked again? I told you they were going to be angry about that.”

Geez, you have one runway show after hours and everyone loses their shit.

It’s not my fault I didn’t realize they had security cameras in the storage room. And really, they should have used that footage for a commercial. I worked the SHIT out of those boxer briefs and scarves.