Page 66 of Sex On A Plate

All by itself?

Need you even ask? Taste it. Yeah, it’s good all alone.

Jessica’s mother made this on the second time I met her.

On the first time I met her, she didn’t make anything. Well, she made a funny face.

It was the face women often make when they’re trying to sneak a fart. But. She wasn’t sneaking a fart. She was trying to digest her daughter’s affinity for a tattooed biker who made a living writing PORN.

Yes, that’s what she called it. PORN.

The all caps type.

Jessica’s two sisters, brother, father, and mother came to meet me when Jess decided it was time to introduce me to the family. Most of them, including her father (who, at the time appeared to have a stick inserted in his ass) were fine with me.

Her mother, on the other hand, obviously wasn’t.

I later learned Jessica’s father didn’t have a stick in his ass. He was an engineer. He was merely calculating the odds of Jess and I staying together based on every mathematical possibility in existence.

While he did the math in his head, Jessica’s mom looked ill.

In an effort to win Jessica’s mother over, I gave her a hug (at the end of the weekend). Actually, I did it to make her uncomfortable. I’m kind of over-the-top in that respect. If someone doesn’t like me, I’m all up in their face.

She winced when I took her in my arms. I thought for a fleeting moment that she was going to vomit.

Thankfully, she didn’t.

The next time her mother and I met was at Jessica’s parent’s home on the week of Thanksgiving. The day we arrived she made this broccoli salad.

She’d accepted me at that point. Not from prolonged exposure, but due to Jessica’s insistence that although I was a horrible looking fucker, I was a good guy underneath it all.

Her mom now lives a few blocks away. Yes, she moved from St. Louis to Florida just to be closer to me.

She loves me to death.

I love her right back. I love her broccoli salad, too. It’s one of my all-time favorites.

Enjoy.