Looking For Blues Clues

My music is blaring in my headphones to drown out the sounds of “clean-up time” outside my bedroom door. I’m trapped. My roommate and her two-year-old daughter are in the middle of their bedtime ritual. It’s either become a victim of a cranky toddler’s wrath or hide in my room. Every day it’s the same thing: getting food thrown at me, getting pushed and smacked, my laptop and guinea pigs abused by sticky fingers, never watching any TV that doesn’t star brightly colored furry animals, and on and on and on. I turn the music up to drown out Becca’s shouts of, “No! Mine! MINE!!!” followed by a piercing wail.

I give up. I open the door and stomp into the living room. “Can you guys possibly keep it down? I’m trying to get some work done.”

My roommate Kate looks up at me with tired, single mother eyes, and I suddenly feel very bad. “We’re trying. Becca just really wants to finish watching her video, but it’s her bedtime.”

I sigh and turn to the TV. Which saccharine, vapid kids’ show is this? I see a young man wearing a green rugby shirt and a delicious smile surrounded by a digitally created “living room” and a large blue dog. I laugh.

“That’s Steve,” Kate says, and prompts Becca, “and who’s that?’

“Boo (Blue),” Becca replies.

I’m transfixed. I’d heard of Blue’s Clues. It had been constructed to be the perfect show for Becca’s age group; there had been studies to prove so.

And, dare I say it, Steve is a fucking hottie. I couldn’t help but imagine what a lonely, horny stay-at-home Mom must feel when she gazed into those arresting eyes, that wondrous smile.

OK, I say to myself, I realize that I am standing in the living room, freaking knee-deep in baby toys, getting positively wet over Steve. This is fucked up.

“Isn’t Steve CUTE?” Kate whispers to me. “Look at his little ass in those khakis!” Surely enough, when Steve turns to scamper off with Blue and sings a little song, I am treated to a view of a very cute little ass!

“Mmm...” I say. “Who needs porn when you’ve got children’s television?”

Late that night, after a positively heart wrenching battle over bedtime, Kate and Becca are asleep in their room, and I am lying awake under my covers. My hand is inside my underwear. I’m stroking my pussy, touching my damp inner lips, and wondering if I am fucked up enough to do what I’m wanting to do. I stroke my clit a bit longer and shudder. Yes, I think, I am.

I sneak quietly into the living room, and pull the video from the shelf. The cover advertises at least three episodes of educational fun for toddlers. “And horny chicks with a thing for innocent-looking guys,” I mutter.

I put the video in and turn the sound very low. I settle down onto the couch. My underwear is soaking wet from the masturbating I’d been doing. I spread my legs, pink pussy open to the TV (as if he can see what I’m doing), and watch.

“We are looking for Blue’s Clues, we are looking for Blue’s Clues…” Steve sings as he jaunts across the screen, blue dog in tow. “Oh Steve,” I murmur. I’d done some internet research that night and discovered that Steve actually left the show to pursue a rock career. And he shaved his head. I am not making this up.

“Steve, you bad boy, you want Mama to suck your cock, don’t you?” I say in my sexiest voice. Strangely enough, Steve nods. He is obviously referring to something one of the digital animals is telling him, but even so, I take it as a sign.

“Oh, you like to be sucked off, don’t you? You like it when Mama puts her wet mouth on your cock and licks you up and down? Do you ever get so hot you’ll come in Mama’s mouth, your spunk exploding down her throat? God, I’d swallow every drop. I bet you’re as fresh as a fucking boy scout.”

My fingers are working my clit. Again, sort of creepily, Steve is looking right at me. I have a sudden twinge of guilt: I want to cover up, apologize to him, and never watch this show again. But then he starts speaking. “Blue wants us to do something special today.” One of the off-screen children’s voices pipes in:

“Like making a sock puppet?”

“No, we did that already. Let’s look for Blue’s Clues and see what Special Thing Blue wants us to do.”

First, Blue leads Steve into the “Kitchen.” Steve looks just as jaunty as ever as he follows Blue’s nose and paw gestures to the fridge. “Are you hungry Blue?” he asks. Blue shakes her head, but nudges the fridge anyway. “What’s in there?” Steve asks.

He opens the door and pulls out the one item on the shelf: a very large cucumber. “Well, we’ve found one of Blue’s Clues! It’s a cucumber!” Steve pulls out his notepad and draws a cucumber. “Let’s go find some more Blues Clues!” he says, with a happy smile.

I have stopped touching myself and am staring at the TV dumbfounded. A cucumber? What the fuck?

The doorbell rings, and Steve goes to answer it. “It’s the mail!” he exclaims, and begins to sing the “Mail, mail, it makes me wanna wag my tail,” song. His ass shakes a little more than I remember it shaking.

“Maybe Steve’s just a total fag,” I think, disappointed. “That would make sense.”

Steve is staring straight into the camera. “Maybe there’s a Clue in the mail!” He opens the package, wrapped in brown paper and addressed to Mr. John Smith. He pulls out a very explicit adult magazine with a picture of a woman pissing on the cover. “It’s a dirty magazine!” he announces, and draws an anatomically correct woman in his notepad.

I blink and rub my eyes.

One of the voices off-screen begins to cry and asks for “Mommy.” Steve shrugs it off. “We’ve still got one more Clue!” This whole time, his virginal demeanor has not cracked. “I think I know where the last Clue is! Follow me!”

He steps into his bedroom. There are heavy-metal posters on the walls, an unmade bed, dirty clothes, and wads of Kleenex everywhere. He reaches under his bed and pulls out a bong.

“Is this what you were looking for, Blue?” Blue wags her tail enthusiastically. Steve draws a bong on his notepad, and then stares into the camera thoughtfully. Meaningfully.

“What Special Thing could Blue want to do that involves a cucumber,” a cucumber pops up above his head, “a dirty magazine,” the magazine appears next to the cuke, “and smoking a bong-load?” the bong does a little dance along with the others. “Do you know?” All the off-screen voices have stopped, and there is silence. “Come on,” he encourages. “A very large, stiff cucumber, a watersports magazine, and a bong-load of really wicked bud I just scored yesterday. What do you think?”

Despite myself, in shock and terror, I hear myself say, “Uhhh, well I’d fuck myself with the cucumber while I salivate over the watersports mag and smoke myself up,” I pause. “But maybe you could make a puppet or a collage or some potpourri or something.”

He stares at me. “You little fucking cunt. I am so sick of people jacking to my videos. I’m not your fucking property. I’m trying to make a valuable, educational product.”

“I’m...I’m really sorry Steve. I thought you were attractive, that’s all.” I close my legs and consider checking myself into a mental institution.

“Sorry’s not good enough, you insatiable whore. You’re gonna take this whole cuke up your motherfucking ass...and then maybe I’ll let you suck me off. And you better believe you’re gonna swallow every drop of my hot jizz...”

“Honey?” Kate is shaking me awake. Steve is doing a completely innocent dance about sailboats.“Honey, why are you watching Blue’s Clues at like three in the morning? Are you feeling OK?”

I feel nauseous and groggy. “I guess I fell asleep or something,” I say. Kate is looking at me like she doesn’t believe me. “What?” I ask.

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing any pants?”

“Um, not a good one, no.”

“OK, Honey, please don’t jack-off to Becca’s videos in the future. It doesn’t set a good example.” She turns to go back into her bedroom, pauses, and then turns back to me.

“And let me tell you,” she whispers, eyes intense, “that cuke was fucking murder on my ass.”