Phone Sex

I've thought long and hard about posting this story, largely because its pretty embarrassing but mostly because it involves my parents.

While I don't discuss my love life with my parents these days, there was a time when I did.  One time, to be exact and without me knowing about it. Let me explain. 

Every week, I make it a point to call my parents. They've never lived more than 50 miles from me, but I still call them once a week at least. Back in the 1980's, they were traveling a lot and so invariably, I'd get their answering machine.  

One Sunday night, as I was preparing for a date, I realized I hadn't called my parents that week. I got side tracked with  my lady as we had a nice evening of wine, jacuzzi and dinner at my place. This was back in the days before cell phones and cordless phones were just coming into their own. 

As my lady showered, I took a moment to call my folks from the comfort of my black lacquer waterbed.  Just as my lady emerged from the shower...without a towel...I hurriedly mumbled a few words into the phone and hung up.

The next 30 minutes or so was a passion filled encounter, enhanced by the things couples say in the heat of the moment.

Basically, my partner and I were exchanging explicit instructions in graphic detail and with nicknames for body parts. Words like "coochy," "Mr Peabody" were normal in our routines, as were phrases like "smack it up, flip it up, rub it down," which was actually a line from a popular Bel Biv Devoe song of the time. Yes, she was a bit of a talker.  

As we finished our frolicking, the room grew silent...except for one long, loud beep...which came from my cordless phone.  I picked up the phone, which was now emitting a fast busy signal, so I thought nothing of it.

A few weeks later, when I brought my girlfriend to meet my parents for brunch, we decided to grab a bite at a popular place known for killer crepes and exquisite Espresso. I was expecting a lecture, as I hadn't called my parents in a few weeks as I had been busy with my lady. 

On the walk into the restaurant, my dad was asking weird questions like 'do you have a speaker phone at your place?' "Of course I do, why?" I asked. 'No reason. We have one too, you know.' "Glad to see you're embracing technology, dad."  'We have an answering machine, too.'  "I know dad." 'Its digital which means you can record almost endlessly.'  "Good for you dad." At the time, I dismissed this all as the mindless ramblings of an aging father who was pissed that I wasn't calling my parents often enough. 

By this time, we were inside the restaurant and were seated. My parental units made small talk with my lady and before long, our food came. 

We had all ordered crepes and my father asserted that he knew the best way toale crepes even more delicious. He proceeded to demonstrate with some slices of butter and as I recall, his description went something like this: 'You see, the art of making a perfect crepe is what you do before you put it in your mouth.' With powdered sugar in hand, he added "first, you've got to spread it wide, slather in some butter, then take the powdered sugar, then smack it up, flip it up and rub it down.'  

I stopped eating, frozen in terror. Surely there's no way a 60 year old man could use that grouping of words by coincidence. My girl looked at me as if I had been sharing my sex stories with my dad. She could tell that I was as horrified as I was simply by the look on my face. 

Thoughts raced through my head. Who was he hearing this from?  Could he possibly know what goes on in my place behind closed doors?  Was he a fan of R&B artists like Bel Biv Devoe?  Perhaps secretly rocking it on his 8 track player in the family station wagon? 

Choking back my surprise, I regained my composure and asked, "where did you hear that phrase?"  My dad casually glanced to my mom with an evil smirk and said, 'where did I hear that?'  My mom was clearly in on the joke and retorted, 'I can't recall, but it was recently and I remember hearing it over and over and over again.'  

The jig was up. I figured it out. In my last call to them, when their answering machine picked up, the recording captured my entire interlude. 

Of course, I couldn't divulge this to my lady. 

The rest of the meal was in awkward silence except for the gestures and chuckles between my parents.  My girl never looked up for the rest of the meal. 

On the way how to the car, with my parents still chuckling, my dad says 'hey, you should call is more often. We always enjoy what you have to say.  You remember the number, right?'  My mom zings in with 'oh yes, he does. And don't forget to leave a message if we're out. We'll listen to it when we get home.'  Adding insult to injury, my dad adds 'over and over and over' as he closes his car door and drives off he mutters, 'say hello to Mr Peabody for us!'

My parents are smart asses, I surmised. I'm thinking I'm genetically predisposed.