Sex at home a pain in the ass

By Lindsay Gibb

I know what sex is supposed to look like from the movies. There’s a candlelit room with rose petals strewn across the bed. And everyone’s well co-ordinated. In reality it’s not quite like it is on the big screen. Especially when you live with your parents.

For me, living with my folks means trying to make them believe I’m still innocent and virginal. So there’s a bit of strategy involved when I try to get naughty under their roof. But it seems that no matter how much I plan, everything ends up in a bit of a mess (literally and figuratively).

First of all, there’s the question of where to do it. The basement seems like the best choice. The problem is, my basement is decorated like a waiting room from the 70s. My couch is orange vinyl and comes in two pieces, so when there’s more than one person on it, it splits in half and someone’s ass ends up on the carpet.

The only other option is my boyfriend’s favourite chair. It’s a plush brown lounger with enough room for both of us, but there’s a split in the upholstery where my bum falls through on to exposed wood and staples that are supposed to be keeping the chair together. They’re doing a better job lacerating my ass.

There was a time when his basement was the ideal spot for a rendez vous. We’d wait until we were sure no one was coming down, then we’d pull out the futon. We now mourn the loss of that futon every time we look at the ratty old couch that took its place. It was the perfect set up, no rug-burned knees, no nails in the ass, no vinyl to get stuck too. But there was one snag. Our friends have a custom that if they come over after midnight they’ll just knock on the basement window to avoid waking anyone up. Most of them know that if they knock a few times and no one answers, we’re either not there, or we’re not interested. So one night, with my bare ass in the air, we heard a knock on the window. Soon enough the knocking stopped and we went about our business. Little did we know that one of our good friends was driving home traumatized. I can only imagine him sitting behind the wheel, shaking his head in hopes that the image would fall out.