Hot Sweltering Summer Sex Vignettes
Erica Barnett tells a cautionary tale about a dog, a condom, and her mother.
This is the story of a dog, a condom, my mother, and me. Oh, yeah ... and a teenage boy. This is a story about sex. More specifically, it's the story of how I got caught.
Let's leave aside a few pesky details, such as my age at the time (way too young) and the name of the young gentleman in question (though God knows he's gotten enough mileage out of this story over the years; there are actually people out there who remember nothing about me except this story). Suffice it to say that we were two teenagers, doing what every parent hopes their teenage child will never do. And as teenagers often do, we thought we had planned everything perfectly: the timing, the alibis, even the disposal of the evidence.
Did I mention we had a dog? He's much older (and noticeably more sedate) today, but at the time, Ozzy was a frisky, curious puppy. Like a lot of mutts, Ozzy was (and still is) a sweet dog, dumb as dirt, and into everything. Dirt clods, toilets, trash cans, you name it. Wherever you were, there he was.
We did not get along.
Here's a tip: Unless you're trying to get caught, never give a grinning, post-orgasmic teenage boy any responsibility for anything. Given the slightest opportunity, he will do something stupid and give the whole thing away. Like, for example, throwing the condom on top of the bathroom trash: not smart. Especially if there's a snoopy dog running around looking for other people's business to poke his nose into.
So here's how it happened: No sooner had my mom gotten home than Ozzy (grinning, no doubt, from ear to ear) made a beeline for the bathroom, rooted about, and came trotting out proudly, bearing a most curious object in his mouth.
Did he report to the condom's rightful owner?
Do you really have to ask?
Ozzy couldn't have known it at the time, but thanks to him, my teenage life would never be the same.
It took me years to forgive that dog, but I finally did: the very first time I was able to tell the story and grin rather than shudder at the memory. As for my mom, she's forgiven me, but she still insists Ozzy is the best dog a parent could ever have.