Friday, June 8, 2012

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter One

I'm playing catch with my teenage son. He has his mother's blond hair. It's a typical July day in San Diego--warm, bright sunshine, and not a cloud in the sky. The only sounds are distant birds and the slap of baseball against mitt. Little stinker has quite an arm.

"No curve balls," I warn.
"I know. So, Pop," he asks as he hurls a four-seamer.
"I've been kind of seeing this girl at school."
"Seeing her or seeing her?" I pry as I toss the ball back a little harder.
Not bad for sixty-seven. The old man still has it.
"You know, seeing her. Anyway, I was at her house last night, helping with Calculus."
"Uh huh."
"Her parents called her downstairs, so I did some exploration."
"And, what did you find?"
"Well, since you're always warning me to avoid bedside tables, that was the first place I looked."
Oh, Jesus.
"What's a butt plug?"
*BZZZT, DINK, BONK* -- Curve ball, square in the nuts.

I double over and feel as though my balls have shot out my ears.

"Honey. Wake up."

Who's shaking me?
"Mormon. Hey."
Oh, it's Bea.
"You had a bad dream, sweetie."
I check my package. All good. "Phew, that was a strange one."
"Tell me."
"I was playing catch with our son."
"Really? We haven't determined that it's going to be a boy, have we?"
"Well ..."
"OK, I'll play along. What did he look like?"
"A cross between a young Wayne Gretzky and the most beautiful woman in the world," I tease as I boop her nose and give her a kiss.
"Aw. And, his name?"
"Pippino. If we have a boy, that has to be his name," I state, matter-of-factly.
"Ha, ha. You're silly."
"I'm not kidding. It's Italian tradition. My first son must be named after my father, Pippino Silveri."
"No freaking way."
Is she serious?
"Yes, freaking way. I'll wrestle you for it," I say as I attack her. She giggles. "How do you manage to smell so good in the morning?"
"Don't change the subject, mister. Our son will not be named Pippino."
"Resistance is futile," I warn as I tug down on the waistband of her pajamas. "Do you hear that, Pippino?" I speak into her pelvis with my fake Italian accept. "You mamma, she's ashamed of-a you name."
"I think it's going to be a girl, anyway."
"Ah, Pippina!"

We laugh and wrestle, which naturally turns into morning sex. Ah, no better way to start the day. I'm thankful her morning sickness subsided, but I never realized women get hornier when pregnant. I'm definitely going to need assistance.


  1. thanks for following me on twitter! Love your humor and you now have a new blog follower!

  2. Well done. I would have to look up a "butt plug". So embarrassing.