And this, right here, is one of the many reasons I have never introduced Darren to my mother.

I pull her aside. “Is that a good idea, Mom? Being on a reality show? I mean, you’ll be putting your face out there for everyone to see.”

“I’ll be wearing a mask, so it’ll be fine. Plus, I dyed my hair for the show. You worry too much.” She pats my cheek.

This coming from a woman who cut a hole in a barbed-wire fence, taught me how to hotwire a car, and drove me across continental middle America to escape a whole pile of crazy. Then she legally changed our names—not the best names, and not the best changes, but then, my mom doesn’t always think things through. Who willingly chooses the last name Hoar?

“I have friends coming over soon,” I tell her.

“Don’t worry, Char-char. They’ll be in and out within the hour.”

I sure as hell hope so. Explaining my sex life with Darren is one thing, but explaining my mother is another entirely.

I make myself tea as the crew takes over the kitchen and starts moving furniture out of the way. The chair from my living room is relocated to where the table once was. A footstool is brought in while my mother opens her bag and sets out a vast array of sex toys, many of which I’m familiar with since she likes to send me every new prototype she gets her hands on.

“Nice place,” Mask Guy says. He’s doing that head-nod thing people do when they’re uncomfortable and don’t know what else to say. He also hitches his thumbs in his chaps, probably wishing he had pockets.

“Uh, thanks.”

“So that’s your mom, huh?” He inclines his head in her direction. She’s using eyelash glue to attach a mask to her face. All it covers is the area around her eyes, so it’s not particularly great at concealing her identity. I’d like to point this detail out to her, but there are currently too many people here.

“Yup.” I bring my mug to my lips and blow. Later I’m drinking wine, or shots. Right now I’m trying to calm myself with chamomile.

“Do you ever tag team?”

I choke on a mouthful of hot tea and cough, trying to clear my airway. I set my mug on the counter as Mask Guy slaps me on the back. But when I keep coughing, he starts the Heimlich on me, and several flashes go off.

“Stop! Please don’t touch me,” I yell at both the photographer and the mask guy as I smack at his hands. He releases me and drops to all fours.

“I’m prepared to accept my punishment, mistress daughter.”

I flail around. “Mom! Can you come deal with this?”

This is way more than any daughter should have to handle when her mom comes for a visit.

My mom steps in and slaps Mask Guy on the ass a couple of times. She gives me a patient smile while she pats his head like he’s a dog, not a person.

“I brought you fresh candies. They’re in my bag. Why don’t you have one and relax, sweetie? I also brought you presents, but we can open them together if you want to wait.”

I grab my mom’s bag and take it to the living room, where there is no camera crew. I find the bag of candies in one of the side pockets—which is the only place I check because going through my mom’s overnight bag isn’t for the faint of heart, and I’m sure I’ll find a few things I’d rather not see.

As promised, the camera crew is able to wrap things up within the hour. But of course, Mom has to chat them up, so they’re on their way out the door when Violet and Poppy arrive.

Mask Guy pulls it up over his head on his way out the door. His hair is wet from being encased in latex for the past hour, and his face is red. He might be okay looking, but I’m too distracted by Laverne sitting on her front porch, witnessing the porn parade exit my house.

“If you ever get into the biz, and you need someone to practice on, I’d love to bottom for you,” maskless Mask Guy says.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Of course you do.” He slips his hand down the front of his assless chaps and withdraws a baggie. Inside are his business cards. “Here’s my card, should that change.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Violet and Poppy stand at the edge of my garden as the porn parade disperses. They both check out maskless Mask Guy’s ass as he passes. It’s a pretty nice ass; I’ll give him that. I glance the card—apparently his name is Rodney Steele. Of course. Steel rod, how clever.

Violet and Poppy give each other a look before they rush up the walkway and I usher them into the house. “Uh, you wanna explain that?” Vi asks as I close the door behind them.