When I was younger, sometimes I'd go stay the weekend with my gramma, the Nazi. Being her usual charming self, 'spending the weekend' usually meant there were all sorts of chores she'd cook up for me. Washing windows, cooking stuff, doing laundry, digging a bunker. You know, real gramma/granddaughter bonding stuff.
When I stayed the night with gramma, I always slept in the spare bedroom with the light on. I left the light on because I thought that if I did, gramma wouldn't die on my watch.
That thought kinda freaked me out.
Sometimes when gramma was sleeping, she looked dead. I was of the mind that if I left the light on, death wouldn't come for her.
At the time, it made sense in my 14 year old mind.
Anyway, on this particular night, after the Golden Girls had put gramma to sleep, I went off to bed. And had a fucking awesome dream.
This was during my David Bowie Labyrinth stage. I had the biggest jones for some Bowie (in Labyrinth).
In my dream, it was the scene where Jennifer Connolly and Mr. Bowie are at the ball. Except it was me and Mr. Bowie.
Anyway, I'm dancing with Bowie, and things start to heat up. He's whispering in my ear, and I can feel his no-no warming up my no-no.
Then, he dips me. Our no-nos grind together. It's so awesome, so romantic, that I giggle. Only it's less smooth. [Insert Scooby-Do laugh]
As he's just about to kiss me (or bite my lips off my face--either one) I wake up.
I lay there for a moment, kiddie nightgown bunched up around my thighs, and although I've had a few go-rounds with masturbation, it's never really worked out. And it's definitely never like the women on the few Skinemax movies I've stayed up late to watch make it out to be.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm more relaxed, maybe it's the fact that Bowie preheated the oven, but whatever it is, it feels fucking wonderful. And just as I'm having my first self-induced orgasm, that first sweet honeyed sting of wonderful things in store for my no-no, I hear myself moan "Oh, Jesus..."
It's fucking wonderful, sexy, my heart fucking racing. As my eyes start to roll back in my head, I catch a glimpse of a picture on the wall.
Jesus. Literally, it was a picture of Jesus.
I cover my eyes. Because that, obviously, can hide you from Jesus.
I lay there with my eyes covered, thinking about trying to sham sleep in front of your good friend and mine, the Jesus.
Instead, I slowly peek through my fingers. In this particular picture, Jesus appears to be praying and looking upward.
After my antics, the picture has taken a different perspective. It now appears that Jesus is mid eye-roll.