Sleeping With The Enemy

So exactly one year ago today I had my first sleep over. with. a. BOY!!!!! Actually, that's not exactly true. I had plenty of sleepovers as a child with my bestest friend in the world, the one who my father is convinced is now a gay ballerina, a certain boy named Kevvy (and I know for a fact he was a boy because I shared many baths with him and each and every time I would just stare in wonder at his little penis, shocked that something that looked like that could exist on a human body). I also had a few sleepovers with my younger male cousin and was forced into sharing a bed with one or both of my brothers on numerous occasions over the years. But I had never actually slept in the same ROOM, muchless bed, with a boy who wasn't related to me in over 18 years.

And yet on Wednesday, March 16, 2004 I looked at Adders across the hot tub and said in my most whiny and pleading voice, "I want you to spend the night." And he did. And I didn't sleep a wink. Nope, not even for a millisecond. The whole time I was way too conscience of the fact that "Oh my God, there is a boy who is not a brother in my room right now. Not just in my room, he's in my bed. And it's 3:00am which means he's actually here in the middle of the night! And I know he's a boy because he also has one of those things. And OH MY GOD!!!!" to even get a smidget of sleep.

Now if you're keeping tabs I should clarify that this isn't the anniversary of the night I lost my virginity. That wouldn't come for a while later. But it is the first time I saw Adders naked and he saw me. And while I took to this nudity like a duck takes to water, Adders certainly did not.

In fact, this post isn't so much about Adders and how I truly came to value his tongue (OH YES I DID!!!!), but about how immodest I am and how truly open I am to the body and all its glory. It just so happens that this story of our first sleepover illustrates it perfectly.

First a little background: one time early in our relationship Adders was flipping through my pictures of Europe and came across an infamous photograph of my ass in the air as I peed in a very public park just below the Parthenon in Athens, and I just about DIED. "Oh my God, he now knows I pee! He's now seen my ass! He now knows that I'll pee anywhere, anytime, in front of anyone if need be and that I don't mind being photographed while doing so." Such thoughts ran through my head. But I was also comforted in knowing that, "Hell, this means that I can start peeing in front of him." Which I began to do with alarming frequency.

Then there was the burping that I began to do in front of his presence, but it isn't so much of a bodily function of mine as it is a God-given talent that He has bestowed upon me because clearly, people, I am the Chosen One (just ask my mother) and my burps sound like a chorus of angels singing Hallelujah. Give me a medium Diet Coke from McD's Drive Thru and I challenge anyone, ANYONE, to take me on. I am the fucking Messiah of Burps.

But I digress. Needless to say that I became quite comfortable in doing two of my most frequently enjoyed past times in front of Adders (burping and peeing), long before we ever declothed in front of each other.

And he, well, he somewhat accepted it. I mean, the peeing he was forced to simply because I couldn't hike or drive for more than 10 minutes without having to relieve myself. As for the burping, like any red-blooded male, Adders was at first duly impressed. And then slowly it just turned into helpless resignation, wherein he realized that, "My God, while she looks like a lady, I've never met a more boorish truck driver in my entire life."

And this was all before Adders had even so much sneezed in my presence. However, now at the current point in our relationship I don't feel nearly as bad when I blow his hair back with one of my belches because he routinely grosses me out with his beyond vulgar and filthy commentary on all things in life (have I mentioned his lewd humour before?!).

But again, I digress. At any rate, a year ago today I decided that while the line between virgin and whore was very, very thin, I was more than willing to stand on that line and see just how far I could go with becoming a bona fide slut. With the aid of a cozy fireplace and a bottle of Baby Duck, Adders and I allowed ourselves to get all drugged up on our hormones and gasp! Behold our nakedness!

I decided that to cap off the evening we should go for a hot tub! Yea! Let's make out in the hot tub! Now even though Adders and I had just gotten into all kinds of trouble with one another's naked bodies, he was all, "Okily dokily, let me just go find my swimming trunks." And I just stared at him incredulous because I was already streaking around the house butt-ass naked, contemplating never putting on another article of clothing in front of him ever again. Ever.

And that was when I realized that, he? Was nothing like me. I was the girl in grade seven who stripped down to nothing but her panties and pranced around the change room singing at the top of her lungs, while all the other girls stared on in horror, hidden in the corners while desperately trying to shield their non-existent breasts that were already covered in a bra and gym shirt.

To this day I have no problem with carrying on a serious, long-winded conversation with my Dad as I stand there in nothing but a thong and bra and he in his tighty whities.

I also have no problem with acquainting whoever crosses my path when I'm suffering from period cramps that, "I'm on my rag, you asshole. Get out of my way."

So me? Not very modest. In fact, after the hot tub, I relished in being able to pee in front of Adders for the first time on a toilet! With the door open! How fun! Meanwhile, Adders was surely dying. Because he is MODEST. Let me re-emphasize that: M*O*D*E*S*T. He didn't grow up in a family where the men like to dangle their penises in front of each other and the women have their closest heart-to-heart conversations completely naked.

And so while our experimentation with my whoredom gave me even more liberty to strut around naked unabashedly and pee with no shame, Adders felt the exact opposite. When he had to pee that night, he did so with the door FIRMLY closed. If he could have peed in the guest bathroom, he would have but that might have seemed overly compulsive and fuck, he was trying to get laid. But hell if it didn't kill him to take off that towel and step into the hot tub naked. You could just see his brain screaming the words, "Kill me, kill me right now." And this coming from a man who should be downright proud to walk around nude!

At any rate, once we started having full blown sex, I felt it was my right, nay my DUTY, to shield Adders from absolutely nothing. He had to hear about my period in Technicolour detail, down to every last cramp. He had to know with intimate knowledge just what it felt like to pee with a bladder infection. Never again would he witness me putting on pajamas (and every time he'd climb into bed with his boxers on, I'd be like, "WTF?! Pfffftt, what are those for? Whatcha hiding?"). I had to let him know just what it felt like to ovulate and just what it looked like as well (What?! It was important for him to know! How else could he share in the horror of the possibility that I might be pregnant every two seconds if he didn't know every twinge and shake of my body?). I felt that since he was using my body to experience pleasure, I would use his ears to tell him everything else there was to know about my body. And his eyes to show him.

But let me just tell you, ladies, there is going too far. Yes, there is because I have been there. And then I have been left stranded in the land of TOO FAR with no way to get back except hitch a ride or take the bus because my driver, namely my boyfriend, couldn't drive me home since he was too busy stabbing his eyes out with crochet needles after I CHANGED MY TAMPON IN FRONT OF HIM! Oh, the horror, THE HORROR! And it was horrible. The look on his face as I looked up indicated that it was too horrible for words. His face was paralyzed into a contortion of terror and utter disgust. And here I thought growing up with a sister would have prepared him for life with a woman. But then I remembered that siblings don't usually change their tampons in front of each other. Nor do most married couples. And that would probably explain Adders' dry heaving and choked sobs.

And yet, as of late, I realize that my little Adders has come a looooong, looooong way from the boy who looked like I had suggested that we drink some arsenide and then go throw some baby kittens down a river when I told him to forget about those swimming trunks, let's go in the hot tub NAKED! Now Adders rarely wears his underwear to bed. And I have had his penis whipped out for proud display just for the helluva it on more accounts than I care to remember. And I have heard things come out of his mouth that are the audible equivalent to having a tampon changed in front of you, they are THAT lewd!

Adders is no longer shy or modest. And if he wasn't so big and tough and could totally kick my ass, I would have no qualms about posting the picture of him wearing nothing but a (short!) t-shirt and hiking boots, his displayed manhood practically beaming for the camera.

Instead, I'll just prove the point that's he come a long way by showing that
he too now enjoys taking photographs of me peeing in public.

And yet, and yet. Even I have my limits for immodesty. And the one thing that I am exceedingly private about and get excruciatingly embarrassed over is my shy little bowels. Adders and I do not talk about this or discuss it with any sort of regularity (did you catch that pun?!). In fact, the one story about when I paralyzed my father after he told the world about my bout with constipation Adders had to literally tear from my lips.

And this is shocking to many because my father is the KING of bathroom humour. Mention a time that you almost pooped your pants and my dad will shed tears, TEARS, of laughter on your behalf. Bodily functions were very common discussions at our dinner table growing up, what with three males in the family. An example? Yes, please. The first time Charkins ever met Jebus (the middle child in our family), he told her about his bout with beaver fever. And he told her things that no one should ever tell another human being, not even one's doctor. And how Charkins returned to our house after that I will never know. She must have really liked my rat-nest hair.

And yet, even though I was always a bit prudish about that sort of thing (long before I even had shy bowels, I had a shy bladder that didn't like anyone listening to it tinkle. Ever. And Charkins usually had to perform some amazing feats to prevent anyone from hearing such tinkling), nothing could have prepared me for living with Tamara Lee, she who never shat or at least would never EVER admit such a thing.

For three years I lived with Tamara Lee and for three years I bought the toilet paper because she was too embarrassed lest someone at the grocery store somehow surmise that, gasp!, she actually used it (and not just for peeing either!).

Her absolute indignation and disgust of all things bodily (except for my burps, because c'mon now, who can resist them? They are magical, miraculous. They are GODLY) had its effect on me and I too became horrified whenever a fart joke was mentioned.

Thus, the first time Adders had dinner at my house with my entire family during Christmas last year, I wanted the ground to swallow me up numerous, numerous times. In fact, death would have been sweet mercy to all the burning embarrassment I lived through. Because really, apparently it's just too much to ask my father to go for longer than 5 minutes without saying something pertaining to a bathroom and what is done in there.

And then there was the time that Adders and I watched the movie "Envy" and again, why the fuck won't the ground just swallow me up already?

And here we are today, with me being able to prance around naked to my heart's content in front of my boyfriend, pee anywhere and anytime, and burp like a champ (and now he even provides commentary on them, such as, "Gee, that smelled like a swamp!"), but fuck if I'm able to utter the word "poop" in front of Adders without wanting to start digging my own goddamn hole then, thank you very much, Ground, for your non-existent help. Yeah, we still got a way's to go to be at my father's level. And please God, let's hope we never get there!

But back to the anniversary of my very first sleep over with Adders. Snicklefritz, there is no one else in the world that I want to sleep with. And even though sleeping with you is often a nightmare from start to finish what with all your twitches, and snoring, and complaints about windburn from the fan, and your unwillingness to wake up and talk to me when hello! clearly I'm awake, let's talk now, and your suggestions that I should just sleep on my stomach, goddammit, and all the ten trillion times you must look at the clock in case you're late for work, which you don't have to be at for another 6 hours so just chill already, and your inability to hear all the clomping around upstairs, how can you sleep with all this noise?, and the fact that the birds are clearly hell bent on never letting me get any zzzzz's again but yet all you can mumble is, "Shhhhh, just sleeeeeep. Mmmmmm. Sleeeeeeep." Yessiree, despite all of that, you're still my favourite bed-mate. And sleep-overs with you are without a doubt my most favourite thing in the entire world (made doubly fun because they also usually involve sex and chocolate!).

So baby, here's to the first time you ever put your arms around me,
Held me tight,
Removed my scratchy hair from your face
And whispered good night.