A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times

I was sitting around the kitchen table with yet another wife (Karen this time). I had a rum and coke in front of me and I was looking for any excuse to avoid the inevitable. My wife was no help. Heck, she totally had the easy part this time.

"Look, Colin (Ooo look, an imaginary son too) is eleven already. He is going on for twelve. You know you have to do this." She started.

"I know, I know." I said, "But, does it have to be tonight?"

"What are you going to do, wait till he is in his thirties?" She asked rather sarcastically. 

"No, I just, um..."

"Look, he’s only an eleven-year-old. You know he is showing some interest in girls. He is just dying for information. And he needs it from you, his father." She said flatly. 

"You're right, baby. I'll go in there right now," I said.

I hated it when she was always right.

I finished my drink and walked into Colin's room. I closed the door behind me. Colin was sitting on the bed sorting through some old football cards.

"Colin, we need to have a little talk," I started.

"About what, Dad?" 

"Um, the birds and the bees I suppose," I stammered. 

I have no idea why they always say ‘the birds and bees’. I've never seen any birds or bees in any of my bedrooms this past 50 years.

"Ah, OK, Dad."

"Look, I know you are getting to be quite a young man now. You are eleven already. And you are probably starting to notice girls," I started.

"You mean like that hot babe in the third row at school, her boobs are awesome?" he asked.

"Uh, yes. Like that hot babe at school."

That was cute, I thought. I wonder where an eleven-year-old picked that up. Probably from his old man – go me. 


"Yeah, well, eventually you are going to meet a girl and you are going to have feelings for her. These feelings are going to turn to feelings of arousal and you two will come together as one in a beautiful moment. It will be a joyous happening for both of you as you unite." Wow, was I being evasive or what?

"Oh, OK."

I was beginning to perspire.

"What I meant to say, is what you were given between your legs will be inserted between her legs in a moment of pure joy," I finally exhaled, kicking myself at my own timidity.
"Oh, you mean we'll fuck."
"Um, well, yes. I guess you've heard that word before then," I added.

"Oh, yeah. Kids use it all the time at school," Colin stated somewhat proudly. 

That's nice to know. Maybe the kid will grow up to be a chip off the old block I thought to myself and having got thus far I attempted to close the whole embarrassing (to me if not him) incident.

"Any questions?" I asked him somewhat hesitantly. 

"Uh, yeah Dad. Does the missionary position provide good clitoral stimulation?" he asks me without flinching.
"Uh, um... hold on..." 

I leave the room quickly and run into the kitchen.

"Karen! Karen! Have you been talking to our son about sex?" 

"No, of course not, honey. We decided that you should, remember?" she answered. 

"Of course. Um, does the missionary position provide good clitoral stimulation?" I ask. 

"What? Will you get back in there and talk to your eleven-year-old and stop worrying about our sex life."

"Um, of course, baby."

I walk back into Colin's room cautiously. Sort of like a lion tamer entering a cage. 

"Uh, your mother says yes. Anything else?" I hesitated to ask. 

"Yeah, Dad. If I'm taking a girl from behind, how do I know if I'm hitting her G-spot?" 

"Uh, Karen!" I exclaim as I leave the room quickly again.

I ran back into the kitchen.
"Are you sure you haven't been talking to our son about sex?" I ask her.

"No, of course not. He is only an eleven-year-old boy." She says somewhat disgustedly, "What is the problem now?"

"Oh nothing." I say as I pour another drink, this time a shot of neat bourbon, "By the way, do we still have those marriage manuals?"

"What?" she exclaims. 

"Oh I just thought it might help me word things better."

"They're up in the attic. I mean really, just get back in there and talk to your eleven-year-old son. I mean how hard can that be?" 

How hard can that be? He is just an eleven-year-old. I just have to remember that. 

I finish my drink and walk back in. I have a job to do and I will do it. I am the father, after all.

"Uh, yeah, um... you'll know." I stammer. 

I breathe slowly. 

"Anything else?" I ask my son very slowly while trying my very best to imply I would prefer his answer to be ‘no thanks’. 

"Yeah, Judy at school says that your safe word should never be 'more'. What does she mean by that?"

I run out of the room. Fast. 

"Karen! Karen!" 

"What now?" She asks, "Why are you sweating?"

"Are you sure nobody's been talking to Junior about sex?" 

"He is an eleven-year-old for God sakes." She says somewhat agitated, "How hard can this be?" 

She's right. It's not that hard. In fact, maybe I should be asking him the questions. I pour myself another drink and go back in.
And this time it’s my turn to go and embarrass him. Wish me luck!!

THE BIRDS AND THE BEESSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

1 Comment:

  1. Jennifer Husted said...
    I can't believe there are no comments on this yet! LMAO! New follower, right here! Would love it if you hit me back, http://askmissjenn.blogspot.com

Post a Comment

Post a Comment

Thanks for reading this blog entry, feel free to leave your comments

Some of my more popular posts

Search This Blog

About This Blog

Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

Please, please, please, dive in and enjoy this blog and all that I will ever ask in return, is you add a few comments whilst passing through.

And if you've enjoyed reading the contents as much as I have compiling them, help spread the word through your friends.

Thanks again for dropping by, hope to see you again real soon.

Need a little more?

  © Blogger template Shush by Ourblogtemplates.com 2009

Back to TOP