CC the Smut Buddy

If any of several different people I know die suddenly, I have a job.

Not executor, not funeral planner.

I’m the guardian of the delicate sensibilities of their next of kin.

My name is CC, and I’m a smut buddy.

If any of these friends dies, I am to go to their house and steal their smut collections, their toys and in one case a decent selection of books.

Maybe it’s that I’m pretty tolerant and understanding of the wide variation in what people think of as fun and sexy. Also, I tend to end up with keys to people’s houses. Probably it’s that once a casual acquaintance finds out that close friends of mine sometimes receive custom erotica on their birthdays, they tell me things they don’t want their Mommas to find out. After that, I’m the logical person.

I was talking this over with a friend the other day, one who was mostly concerned about his collection of lesbian catfight porn.

“It’s not so much my parents seeing it, it’s that they might think it was my wife’s.”

Ah. Good point.

“Most of the visual stuff is on computers, so I don’t think that would matter. We have plenty of written erotica around my house,” I said. “My mom wouldn’t like that, but I don’t think it would upset her too badly. I mean, we don’t have anything REALLY freaky. I mean, we have, like, ‘Screw the roses, send me the thorns,’ but that doesn’t even count, does it?”

He let my words hang in the air. Oh yeah, that book might be a beginner's guide for dabblers/erotica writers/bachelorette parties, but it would SO bug my mom. And the Chalicerelative? I shudder to imagine.

So clearly, theCSO and I should add this to the list of end-of-life issues we need to discuss.

CC
Who doesn’t want her mom to find her friend’s lesbian catfight porn at HER house, either. Guess we all better live a long time.