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By Virtue of Being Very True

By Mary Breitman

Scientific Fact #3: Your Dad Is A Perv

I don’t want to come over anymore.

Your house is ok. I mean it doesn’t smell weird or anything and you’ve got digital cable but your dad is a huge perv.

He left MSN on in his office one time when I had to check my email. Username? Naughtystud335.

No one likes to think about their dads jerking off in front of a computer because some thirteen year old told them that their cock is so hard but I’m pretty sure your dad does that. I don’t want him looking at me anymore.

When we sit on your couch in your living room his office is right above. While we’re watching Good Will Hunting he’s probably jerking it. I put toilet paper down on the seat in your bathroom because touching him, even by proxy, makes my skin crawl and when he leaves late in the evening I wonder if he’s off to meet hot4cock6969 in a park bathroom.

Your house feels like a crime scene. Like a set for those cop shows where they track down child molesters. Crystal vases and steam cleaned carpets – all silent witnesses to your dad’s predatory pedophilia.

Scientific Fact #8: Your Internet Girlfriend Has Body Image Issues

It took her three months to send you a picture when you started dating. You finally saw her, smiling sheepishly, in a photo attached to an email with the subject line “SORRY THAT I’M SO FAT…” No matter how many times you told her she was beautiful she would always object, insisting that if you saw her in real life you would run the other way. Why not meet, you suggested, so that she could see how untrue that was.

She was radiant when she picked you up at the airport, a thousand times more beautiful than in the pictures. Her hands shook when you hugged and she apologized for being nervous. A few months later she confessed that she was shaking because she hadn’t eaten for nearly three days before you arrived so that she wouldn’t look bloated.

On her 26th birthday she shrieked when you tried to take a picture of her blowing out the candles. They were carefully arranged on top of a bowl of fruit salad because she doesn’t eat cake.

You weren’t allowed to grab her ass when you fucked or to run your hand along the inside of her thighs. Cellulite.

Next week when you leave her she’ll cry so much that she will almost choke. You’ll walk out anyway because you’re tired of tuna for dinner and sex with the lights off. She’ll whimper between sobs that she knew she didn’t deserve you, she knew you were too good for someone like her, that she’s hideous. One day she will meet someone who agrees, someone who will hit her just like her first boyfriend did.

Scientific Fact #19: ‘Barely Legal’ Is A Marketable Skill

Hit play again. Watch the 12 second clip carefully to try and convince yourself that the eager blonde moaning and swearing and being double-penetrated couldn’t be your daughter.

Hit play again and look for a mole, a tattoo, anything to prove conclusively that this ‘cum slurping whore’ isn’t really Julia. Hit play again and again, however many times you can stand it, but you already know from the tone of her voice to the way she scrunches her nose when someone shoves their dick in her mouth that it’s her.

Close the window and slump in your seat, flaccid penis in hand, interrupted mid-jerk, wishing that you had just paid her tuition instead of setting out to teach her fiscal responsibility.

Hey, cheer up, at least gangbangs equipped her with valuable multitasking skills.

Scientific Fact #21: She Doesn’t Remember Your Name

You didn’t mean to google her. Your fingers typed without sanction, clicking out the syllables that you’ve hissed so many times while jerking off. You didn’t expect to find much but there was a blog and all these photos. She smiled at you from the screen with approval, satisfied you finally found her. You’ve been apart for too long but she couldn’t help being fired and you couldn’t help being off that day, left without an email address even.

She got a haircut and a cat. She was trying to lose weight for the summer. She posted about a book you vaguely recalled reading.

You didn’t mean to scroll down any further, didn’t mean to find out that she got a new job at a copy place downtown. You certainly shouldn’t have gone down there to photocopy your resume and act suprised when she waved at you from behind the counter, smiling, excited, saying, “Hey, how the hell have you been?”

It would have been best not to mumble incoherently, then laugh wildly, abruptly, and run out.

You’ll be mentioned in her blog tonight, sandwiched in between her cat’s bladder problems and a note on her blossoming addiction to Degrassi Junior High reruns, as ‘this nervous dude I used to work with’.

Excerpted from Scientific Facts,

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