(no subject)
It’s not easy being the older sister of a confessed homosexual - when I come home, I never know whether or not my clothes are going to be where I left them, I’m routinely assailed with the hormonal buzzing of rhythm and blues, and every once in a while my tampons go missing. I can’t explain that.
But seriously, it’s a big responsibility because I have to educate him on important issues like AIDS and HIV. They grow up so fast. I used to hide Tyler from my boyfriends when I brought them over because he was such an embarrassment - now I hide my boyfriends so that little slut can’t steal them from me. Sometimes I think he’s the biggest flirt that’s ever lived - in this town, anyways. Where was I?
To give you an idea of just what a little perv Tyler is, I’ll tell you what happened last time I was alone with that saucy lifeguard, Matt.
Matt and I had just had the most wonderful dinner and were going back to my bed for some dessert (if you know what I mean!). Tyler comes running through the house half-naked screaming, “EAGLES WIN! THE EAGLES WIN!” and waving an Eagles flag. He’s running so fast that he slips on the floor “accidentally” and takes Matt out at the knees. Try and tell me it was a coincidence that he ended up squirming under that hunk instead of me. Go ahead and try.
Later that night I’m with Matt. We’re alone - thank God, and I swear Matt’s about to kiss me; he’s taken off his jacket and I’m wearing my club skirt so I know once things get going it’ll be hotter than Haiti in here. In walks Mr. Man-stealer with his jammy jams on and teddy bear in hand wining something about the trees and the shadows and blah, blah, blah, he wants to sleep with us.
“Motherfucker,” I say. Matt wants to let him. Matt thinks he’s being sweet but damn it, I want to get laid. “Fine,” I say, if those two want each other so badly I’ll give them some space. I storm out and Tyler shouts “where you going Tammy?” (insolent prick) I didn’t need that beefcake anyways - there are plenty of sexy guys at my girlfriend’s college - and I sure as shit don’t need a bitchy little diva of a whore for a gay brother. I don’t care if he is only eight. If he steals another one of my men, he’s fucking dead.
But seriously, it’s a big responsibility because I have to educate him on important issues like AIDS and HIV. They grow up so fast. I used to hide Tyler from my boyfriends when I brought them over because he was such an embarrassment - now I hide my boyfriends so that little slut can’t steal them from me. Sometimes I think he’s the biggest flirt that’s ever lived - in this town, anyways. Where was I?
To give you an idea of just what a little perv Tyler is, I’ll tell you what happened last time I was alone with that saucy lifeguard, Matt.
Matt and I had just had the most wonderful dinner and were going back to my bed for some dessert (if you know what I mean!). Tyler comes running through the house half-naked screaming, “EAGLES WIN! THE EAGLES WIN!” and waving an Eagles flag. He’s running so fast that he slips on the floor “accidentally” and takes Matt out at the knees. Try and tell me it was a coincidence that he ended up squirming under that hunk instead of me. Go ahead and try.
Later that night I’m with Matt. We’re alone - thank God, and I swear Matt’s about to kiss me; he’s taken off his jacket and I’m wearing my club skirt so I know once things get going it’ll be hotter than Haiti in here. In walks Mr. Man-stealer with his jammy jams on and teddy bear in hand wining something about the trees and the shadows and blah, blah, blah, he wants to sleep with us.
“Motherfucker,” I say. Matt wants to let him. Matt thinks he’s being sweet but damn it, I want to get laid. “Fine,” I say, if those two want each other so badly I’ll give them some space. I storm out and Tyler shouts “where you going Tammy?” (insolent prick) I didn’t need that beefcake anyways - there are plenty of sexy guys at my girlfriend’s college - and I sure as shit don’t need a bitchy little diva of a whore for a gay brother. I don’t care if he is only eight. If he steals another one of my men, he’s fucking dead.