near-miss

Before I moved out of my parents' house, I carefully went through all of my stuff and made sure to take anything incriminating or incendiary with me. All that was left behind in my closet was one box of mementos containing things that were too sentimental to toss but not so important that they needed to be schlepped through the Lincoln Tunnel and up several flights of stairs in a pre-war walk-up.

I was at the parents' house on Saturday and noticed that the box was sitting on the basement floor. Apparently, my father removed everything from my closet so that he could clean and paint it. Normally I don't like people touching my stuff but since I thought I had taken all of the daming evidence with me, I wasn't too concerned.

And then I saw it. Sitting right next to the box was a small, yellow Pier One Imports shopping bag. I didn't realize what was in it at first but when it finally dawned on me... well, I nearly shit twice and died right on the spot. That bag, ladies and gentlemen, contained some VERY racy lesbian fiction. I totally forgot to pack it when I moved out! So much for being all careful. As long-time readers of this here blog know, I've been very good about covering up my beaver-loving tracks. This was just a sloppy and uncharacteristic oversight.

The thing is, if the parents found it and cornered me, I wouldn't be lying when I exclaimed, "I swear it's not mine!" No, I mean it! It's not! It honestly belongs to someone else. I swear!! You see, when I first came out, an older lesbian sort of took me under her wing. She was forever giving me unwanted advice, inviting me to gay events and encouraging me to "join the community." As part of her ongoing sales pitch, she often loaded me down with bags full of lesbian books and videos, most of which were bordering on porn. Not that there's anything wrong with the porn, of course. In fact, I watched the videos tout de suite and promptly returned them as to encourage her to entrust me with more.

Nope, I didn't mind the videos one bit. However, I didn't have much use for the books. They were good and trashy but when trying to get one's rocks off, who has time for such things as character development and narrative thread? Certainly not me. So I focused my energies on the dirty-yet-informative videos and stashed the bag of books in my closet out of sight.

And that's where they remained... until my father moved my shit. Dude! My Dad had a bag of raunchy dyke porn in his very Catholic hands and didn't even realize it. Granted, the books don't really look like bodice rippers with scantily clad women in compromising positions on the covers but still... one only needs to thumb through a few pages to get the gist. Luckily my father can't see shit without his reading glasses so he couldn't possibly know what filth he was transporting.

I should add that the parents have been cleaning out their closets and the basement in order to donate stuff to a flea market held at their church. Um, can you imagine if that particular stash of literature made its way into the sale along with all the John Grisham and Mary Higgins Clarke books?!?!

Actually, that's a very funny visual. But it won't ever happen since the dirty, filthy books are now back in my possession. Furthermore, I went through the rest of my stuff like a mad woman to make sure there was nothing dykey in nature left behind. I think I'm safe. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some reading to do...