I need five minutes before we have a conversation, okay?” “You should be out of bed already! I have something for you!” She waves her hands around in the air like the crazy inflatable balloon guy on TV. “How many times do we need to have this talk?” “Mom!” I slump further under the comforter. It’s the female equivalent of blue balls.

The door to my bedroom crashes open as I shut off the vibe and pull up the covers. My refuge from my crazy awesome, albeit super-inappropriate mother. Technically, it’s on the same piece of property, but it’s supposed to be my private space. I moved out more than four years ago-into the damn pool house. Here’s the thing I don’t live with my mom. She must have let herself in again, as is typical. My muscles are tight, fingers moving at a furious pace, the vibrator-God bless the damn vibrator-is hitting the s-s-s-spot, and everything is about to go blissfully white.Īnd that’s the moment my mother’s shrill voice breaks all orgasmic magic, destroying my morning jill-off. Every nerve ending is on fire in the best way possible. I’m right there, teetering on the brink of heaven. My day is always better when I start with a shot from the orgasm bottle. Just because I don’t sport the obvious signs men do, such as morning wood, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of my personal needs before I hit the shower. Women everywhere should take a page from the man manual. It’s 6:51 on Thursday morning, and I’m thirty seconds away from an amazing orgasm.

Pucked over