Sex & Relationships

Bedroom Stories: Time to Meet the Parents

Rosie* has boyfriends. Always. For as long as I’ve known her, falling in love, getting married and having babies was at the top of a very long list of priorities. She’s a good girl. There’s not a mean bone in that woman’s body. She has a genuine kindness and an air of innocence about her that makes people adore her. She’s teeny tiny, has big brown eyes and hair that belongs in a Pantene commercial, not real life. One of my favorite parts about her is her ability to shock you. Sure, she’s insanely organized and a little uptight but she’s also flighty and spontaneous. When our girls get together to have cocktails, Rosie will blush and balk at some of the stories being traded at the table but in her next breath, reveal that she’s had not one, but two, threesomes in her life.

Rosie* and James* had survived ‘The Naked Fart Incident’ (see: Farts Are Not Ghosts) and were quickly headed into serious relationship territory. They were seven months in; Rosie was unofficially living (in sin) with James, and his parents were coming to town for a visit.  His mother had made it clear to James that she and his father simply could not wait to meet ‘this Rosie we’ve heard so much about!’

Upon receiving the news of the impending parental stay, Rosie flew into a straight-up panic. We’re talking DEFCON 5: creation of the ‘To-Do’ list, raging fast and furious towards DEFCON 1: breathing hard into a paper bag because maybe his mother would have preferred the lavender scented candles rather than the citrus peel & sage ones that Rosie had purchased after twenty agonizing minutes of indecisiveness until the shop girl’s irritated stare finally had forced her hand.

Fucking shop girl!

Opening ceremonies of ‘Execute Master Checklist’ plan- aka fanatical grooming, cleaning and prepping had begun. Rosie’s hair was colored, cut and blown out, followed by a spa facial, mani/pedi and bikini wax – because why wouldn’t you need a bald vagina to meet your boyfriend’s parents?  Rounding out the sprucing portion of Climbing the Crazy Tree was the purchase of three dresses because one new dress would have without a doubt left Rosie unprepared for the 24-hour parental visit.  And Rosie would rather have nails shoved up her ass than bring less than her A-game to an important event.

Once obsessive grooming had been crossed off the list, compulsive cleaning and neurotic prepping were on deck. White glove standards are amateur hour compared to what Rosie is capable of accomplishing with a vacuum and some Windex. After she had scrubbed James’ apartment from top to bottom, she practically put him in a Ziploc bag so he didn’t get fingerprints on anything or track dirt anywhere. When James ate a cookie while standing in the kitchen with no plate to catch the crumbs – Rosie almost chopped his balls off.

Final prep concluded with the arranging of freshly cut tulips, the lighting of the controversial citrus peel & sage scented candles and popping the last of her five-star-restaurant-quality-three-course meal in the oven. And so Rosie stood on James’ gleaming hardwood floor, looking picture perfect in newly purchased dress number three, ready to play the best fucking Suzy Homemaker James’ parents had ever seen.

They couldn’t not love her.

After a warm welcome, a few drinks, polite conversation and some oohing and aahing over the ‘simply gorgeous’ tulips, and the ‘wonderfully fresh’ scented candles (she could cross ‘Plan Shop Girl’s Painful Death’ off of her checklist), the foursome sat down to the dinner table.

Once everyone had complimented Rosie’s bisque, she was finally able to stop her ass from sweating long enough to actually enjoy and engage in the conversation. Dinner was followed by more wine and a round of questions covering everything from Rosie’s earned college degree, to her astrological sign, to her family’s medical history. By the time everyone turned in for the night, Rosie was feeling exceptionally pleased with herself and James was feeling incredibly turned-on by Rosie’s stellar performance.

Redirecting James’ libido was of no use especially after he started kissing her favorite spot on her neck. He slowly ran his tongue around the outside edge of her ear and brushed his fingertips down the side of her body, making her shiver, until finally slipping his hand between her legs – turns out you actually do need a bald vagina to meet your boyfriend’s parents.  Soon enough Rosie was naked, attempting to be quiet but finding it nearly impossible to stifle her moans with the way James was fucking her. After they had finished their attempt at not-at-all-silent sex, Rosie asked James ten times if he thought his parents had heard them.

“No, Rosie.”

“Are you sure?!”

“Yes, Rosie.”


“Rose. Seriously? Go to sleep.”

At 4am, Rosie was thirsty.

She sat up and got out of bed. Rosie was naked. She stepped over to her closet, opened it, went back in time to 2007 and put on a hot pink Juicy Couture velour sweatsuit. Now fully clothed, she walked towards the kitchen. When she reached the fridge, she stopped. Rosie was hot. Really hot. So she removed the Kim Kardashian explosion from her body and dropped it to the floor. Then stripped off her underwear. Rosie opened the fridge. Yup, panties go in there. Right next to the milk and tonight’s leftover Meyer lemon tart.

Rosie sleepwalks.

Mostly it occurs when she’s under extreme stress. The night her grandmother died when she was sixteen, her older brother found her organizing the hall closet while wearing their father’s galoshes, their mother’s Easter hat and her own snowsuit from when she was twelve. When Adam* asked her what she was doing, she told him she was packing for their ice-fishing trip. Obviously. When she was twenty-one and failed her Statistics & Business Economics final, she woke up the next morning to her roommate Jen* telling her that she had done an entire load of laundry and when Jen attempted to stop her, Rosie just kept screaming at her to stop eating her peanut butter sandwiches.

The arrival of James’ parents and the stress that came with it had combined to create a sleepwalking experience of epic proportions. Yay!

After Rosie drank her water, she was tired again.  Stark naked, she made her way across the apartment back to bed, but found her side was occupied when she pulled back the covers.


Rosie climbed into bed, turned on her side and backed her naked ass up to be the little spoon to her man’s big, wrapping his arm tightly around her bare breasts.

At 7am, shit got real.

“ROSE!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!?” James shook her body furiously.



Rosie felt her body thrashing back and forth. She stirred.

“Huh? Stop!! Why are you shaking me?!”


Rosie’s eyes snapped open. Her body shot upright, gripping the sheet.

Terror. Sheer. Bone chilling. Terror.

Rosie allowed some animalistic shriek, ‘Oh my god, I’m sorry!!’ banshee-scream hybrid, to escape past her lips as she sprinted from the room, sobbing hysterically.

Run, Rosie, run. Run far, far away from James’ mother’s warm, comforting embrace.

Rosie spent the rest of the day hidden in bed in James’ bedroom crying the tears of pure humiliation. A tortuous five hours passed before James’ parents departed without another word exchanged between them since Rosie had awakened to her worst nightmare realized. When James returned from the airport, through swollen eyes Rosie looked up at him and asked him why his mother had chosen to cradle her naked body for three hours rather than waking her up.

“Because she realized you were sleepwalking and had heard that you’re never supposed to wake a sleepwalker.”

Rosie wailed and covered her head with his comforter.

“And here.“

James pulled a lacy purple thong from his front pocket.

“My Dad found these in the fridge.”


“Also, my Mom wants your lemon tart recipe.”

MORAL OF THE STORY: Meeting the parents can be stressful, but they’re people just like you and me, so relax. Even though they’re judging you. And staring. Trying to determine if you’re worthy of their precious spawn. Then judging you some more. But really, chill. If you’re not an asshole – you’ll do just fine. A surprise bonus is that it seems the ability to make a mean lemon tart will forgive you almost any awkward situation. So brush up on your culinary skills prior to meeting Mom and Dad. Also, sleepwalkers are the best. Ever.

By Tracy Pope

*Disclaimer, Yo: The content is real, provided by several different consenting sources and based on fictional characters inspired by actual people. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. Creative liberties are taken to character build but these experiences happened. Hot, weird, crazy, funny shit occurs when people get naked together. It’s awesome.


One thought on “Bedroom Stories: Time to Meet the Parents

  1. Pingback: Bedroom Stories: Battling the Sext Addicts | Q L C

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