Tag Archives: sex

blood and sperm

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“Dad, she’s hot!”

already a lover at 3...

“Yes she is.”

A Mother of one of Noah’s school buddies is truly attractive and flirtatious with breasts that go erect every time we talk. We again crossed paths in that haltingly erotic way of touching and talking and leaving.

“Dad are you like flirting her?”

“Yes, but without any true intent.”

“What does that mean?”

Yeah, what does that mean? I know I would get naked with her instantly.

“Two types of flirting, Noah. The kind that is just fun conversation with a beautiful woman and the kind that is because you want to ask her out.”

“Dad! What about conversation with an ugly woman. Is that flirting too?”

“Sure. There’s always something special between guys and girls.”

“I don’t get it.”

‘It’s okay. Many never do.”

He looks up at me, probably wondering whether I do.

We walk in silence on the crowded sidewalk. It’s a perfect fall day, sunny and cool with no wind and the promise of a spectacular sunset.

“Dad did you flirt Johanna (his mother)?”

“No, not really.”

“How come?”

“We fell in love instantly. We had no time to flirt.”

“Oh! Instant romance? Like soup, just add uh, water. Ha!”

Ha! is the perfect conclusion considering she disappeared into schizophrenia and other delights after having gifted me with a boy. And after having sucked everything out of my life.

“You know what, dad? I like Romance, like in movies and in stuff.”

“Really?”

“Sure, but I like romance with a little violence.”

Huh?

“Yeah, you know, dad, like when there’s a really hot love story, like a guy and girl but then they get in danger and he saves her and then she saves him, yeah you know?”

“Oh, like in the Hunger Games. The violence and danger around their love story, not violent love.”

“No, I mean yeah. I know it’s not like that in real life, but yeah.”

Sometimes, it is my boy, sometimes it is. Your Mother bloodied me more than once. As she fought her encroaching insanity I became the incarnation of evil.

“Dad, I need to pee real bad.”

“We’ll stop at the café.”

He rushes into one of my usual writing spots. We’re both well known. I spend time and money. Noah often runs in to use the bathroom.

A friend of mine is sitting in the corner frowning at her computer. We embrace, talk, before Noah comes charging in and takes over.  He likes her I can tell.

He’s flirting. Hard. I sit back and watch. Funny, sweet, charming.

She smiles, laughs outright, shakes her head.

“Noah, I’m sure if we spent a day together, we would really have fun,” she says.

“Let’s do it!” he says.

Eventually, I drag him away with the promise of homemade spaghetti meatballs. We kiss and hug and wave goodbye to the delightful lady.

Once outside, Noah gets serious.

“Dad, she’s hot.”

“Yes she is.”

“But she’s too old for me.”

“By twenty years, yeah.”

“Dad, were you like flirting her?”

“I guess.”

“But she’s too young for you,”

“Remember my girlfriend last year, S…. ?”

“Yeah, she was nice.”

“She was the same age.”

“Oh, okay. It’s funny, huhn dad? that we like the same girls.”

Funny! Tragic if he chooses a woman like his mom!

“Yeah, but I like Romance without violence, Noah.”

“That’s because you’re old, dad.”

 

 

 

Proof!

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“Dad, you know what’s really cool about the Pre-Release of the Pokemon Dragons Exalted series? Yeah, it’s that you get like six booster packs at the same time. I mean that never happens. So, yeah so I like to put them in a bunch and feel like the whole thing. That’s a whole lot of cards, like sixty cards, you know?”

“Yup.”

As we cross the park, heading to his summer day camp, he talks through everything, occasionally raising his voice over the gardeners mowing the grass.

“I can’t wait, dad.” Really loud.

I wait for the mower to move away.

“Soon enough, kid. Sunday”s only three days away.”

“Actually, it’s four days, dad.”

Punctiliously precise little p….!

“Today’s Thursday, so count.”

He puts up a hand.

“Thursday…”

He lowers a finger….

“Friday…”

A second finger goes.

He looks at me, with  a crooked smile.

“Saturday…”

He bends a third finger. He holds up the remaining finger, displaying it proudly. Of course, it’s the most significant one… the middle digit.

“And Sunday. Hahaha.”

“Predictable barnyard humor.”

I suddenly bend and snap my teeth, practically grazing the tip of his finger.

“Woooaaahh!.” He yelps like a frightened pup.

“Cobra attack!”

“You almost bit my finger off.”

“Damn! I missed.”

“Daaaaddd…”

“So how many days was it?”

“Four.”

“Fail! You can’t count Sunday, That’s the actual Pre-Release.”

“Yeah, it’s at eleven, so yeah, we have to remember to get up early.”

Says the kid who’s generally up at 6 every morning, weekends included.

“Focus, Noah.”

“Okay, dad.”

I’m suddenly distracted by a long skirted woman coming our way. Remarkably, her breasts are attempting to liberate themselves from the constraints of an ill fitting top and sheer bra. As she comes within a few steps, they peek out to the left and peek out to the right, like a Baptist Hallelujah choir.

The sudden flash of dark nipples, that I divine to be florid, wipes my mind clean of any other consideration.

“Dad?”

She walks by. Smiles at Noah. Glowers at me. If her nipples had tongues they would be sticking out at me. Blood red. I turn to see what the rear looks like. Swinging and lascivious.

“Dad! Focus!”

“Yes. Three days because you can’t count the day itself.”

I’ve gotten pretty good at multitasking. One of the gifts of fatherhood.

“Oh!”

Noah is silent for a moment.

I seem to have noticed that when I don’t shave for a couple of days, I attract sexual energy. Looks, smiles, occasional erotic contacts and now and then actually getting naked with an urgent pressing of flesh to flesh.

Must be the rapscallion look of a 48 hour growth.

“Dad, you know that the best Pokemon cards are the Legendary X cards. Right?”

“Right.”

He darts me a look of suspicion.

“Do you care?”

Not really.

“Of course.”

“Okay. So, yeah, I saw that if you sit at the second table you know when they give out the booster packs? Yeah, then you get a Legendary in your booster for sure.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, because you know when they open the box with all the booster packs, the Legendaries are always at the back of the box and like there are, uhm, like thirty-six boosters in a box and three Legendaries. So, you know, that’s six kids and like if you’re at the second table, you get like you know, the last boosters.So you get the Legendaries”

“I’m pretty sure they mix them up.”

“No, they don’t. And like we have to get there early, like, so that I can sit exactly where I have to, to get the Legendary.”

No sense arguing with him about the likelihood of Nintendo always putting the prized Legendary cards in the same place in all the booster boxes.

“Well that’s your hypothesis, Noah. You know what a hypotheses is?”

“Of course, dad, I’m soon in Grade Four. It’s like when you have an idea about, like, nature or stuff.”

“Yeah, you have an idea or a theory about how something works. And what do you do with a hypothesis?”

“You have to find out if it’s true?”

“Exactly. You test it and if the results contradict the hypothesis, what then?”

“Euh, I don’t know. You change the hypothe…hypothe…”

“Hypothesis.”

“Yeah, it’s like you have to lisp to say it, like you know, you need to have a speech defect.”

He lisps away, spraying spittle everywhere.

“So Sunday, we find out if your hypothethiththth is right.”

I lisp it to death. Noah giggles and joins in, practically spitting on himself.

I will shave tomorrow. So that I have a 48 hour beard. Cute Mom’s at Pokemon tournaments. Data for my research.

Ah! Science!

 

 

Confess! Sinner!

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“You have to admit something, dad.”

Admit? What am I guilty of now? My kid isn’t even baptized and he manages to hit the ‘oh my god what have I done?‘ button…courtesy of my Catholic upbringing. I’m now, thankfully lapsed. But no matter how I lapse, the button is still there.

“Ever since I got the NIntendo DS I’m not like all the time on it, like you were afraid I would. I mean we only fought that one time, remember when I was with Malcolm, yeah I’m really good at controlling myself. Admit, dad.”

There he goes again! Judeo-christian hackles raised!

Despite my ancestral discomfort I’ve got to concentrate on reacting appropriately. Must be careful. You want to encourage and be positive. But giving credit where none is due creates a precedent and eventually, you can’t tell them anything anymore because they’ve been stellar, all the time. Because that’s what you told them. Lazy parenting early on equals spoiled brats later.

“Admit dad!”

“Noah, you’re better than most that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, remember how Stelios and his sister like they both went crazy when you confiscated their games because it was supper and their Mom, I mean like they weren’t listening at all to their Mom. I’m not like that.”

“Nope.”

“I can like stop anytime I want and yeah, I’m not like, ‘can I have more time, please, please’. I don’t do that, right dad?”

“No you don’t. But it’s also because you get your fill, particularly Saturdays when I let you play all morning.”

“I’m never full, dad with video games. But when you tell me to stop, I stop.”

“But would you stop if I didn’t tell you to?”

“Sure, dad.”

“Okay, next Saturday I’ll say nothing and we’ll see.”

“You”ll see.”

Who knows he may have more self control than I do.

It’s August. We’re on the walk to his day camp and the flowers are in full bloom. We make a point of chronicling their evolution, every day. It’s also useful for changing subjects.

“Look Noah.”

“Wow.”

Morning Glories… purple, dark pink, blue explode along a vine in front of a neighbor’s door. Luscious.

“Look dad, how fat and open they are.”

I would have said fleshy and open. The flashbacks of spreading thighs and glistening arms and pouting lips threaten to submerge me. Especially since theses flowers are tended by a sweet and willing medical student. Noah finds her cute. He’s told me so. I’m finding the way to her bed. But I haven’t told him.

“Admit dad…”

Never! I’ll admit to nothing!

“… it’s amazing that like tonight when we, uhm, come back at supper time, they’re going to be all closed, like for the night. That’s when you pinch the one’s that are dead, yeah, like the girl showed us.”

Morning glory, evening delight. Pinch what’s alive, if it moans the fun can begin.

“Admit dad, that nature is awesome.”

Just then, the curtain in the window behind the flowers is drawn suddenly. There is the medical student, in morning undress. She smiles, crinkling her sleep filled eyes. Noah waves. She waves back. Her overlong t-shirt succeeds only in making her nakedness more apparent. She seems not to mind. Neither do I. I linger. She does the same.

“Dad, admit she’s cute.”

With a last wave, she moves into the penumbra of her apartment. Slowly.

“I admit, I confess.”

“What does that mean, dad? Confess.”

“When you’ve committed a crime or a sin and you admit to it.”

“Oh. What’s a sin?”

What I am about to do with the young florist, if I believe my upbringing. But sex is a sin only if it’s bad sex.That’s my new religion.

“I don’t believe that sins exist, but let me try to explain and you’ll make up your own mind.”

“Okay dad.”

“So… sins are tied to religion, which means that….”.

As I explain, my mind casts back to the wave and her erect nipples straining the cloth.

Oh yes! I confess! Yes yes, ohhhh yeeeesssss!!

 

 

 

 

 

single nights

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“Man, it’s so cool to see you doing the single thing.”

He’s genuinely pleased. Jason is a man in his thirties who lives in the downscale apartment building at the end of the street. The one in front of which a tenant can be found every other night at midnight offering twenty dollar blow jobs. She’s more insistent as the end of the month comes round. That’s when the welfare checks have been consumed and there’s nothing left in her fridge.

Jason has a minuscule first floor balcony that is overrun by his wonderfully healthy plantations. Noah and I chat with him every afternoon as we walk back from school or the day camp. He’s sweet and smart and loves sharing with my kid. He also is constantly complimentary about my parenting.

Nice.

So today, it’s 7pm and it’s the second and last day of my life without child. Noah is camping in the woods with his day camp. Tents, marshmallow roasts, midnight scary stories. I’m sure he’s having fun.

I’m hurrying to a restaurant for take out so I can rush back home. I’m  running out of time for doing nothing at all.

Jason is pleased for me.

“Are you going to a bar somewhere, pick up a babe?”

“No. It’s so good to just not have to cook, not have to listen to anybody for hours on end. I really just want the ease of doing nothing and the comfort of not having to be with anybody.”

“I get you. But, knowing you….”. He smiles in that lascivious elfin male way.

He’s seen me often walking home or walking back from home, with a lady or another or another. He’s convinced I’m wildly successful with the ladies. I try to debunk the myth that somehow seems to float with me. I love women, I love their smell, their shapes, their everything even as they sometimes, too often, devastate me emotionally.

I’ve told him repeatedly that not all of them end up exposing their most tender parts to me. But he accuses me of modesty.

A pronouncement that Noah made when he was four comes back to me.

“Dad, you often fall in the street from love.”

“You find.”

“Yeah, like that girl, that she was in front of that store, the one that you said was cute, but that I didn’t because I don’t like red hair.”

“Jacinthe.”

“Dad, how do you know her name?”

Pillow talk, my boy.

“She told me.”

“She had freckles all over. I don’t like freckles.”

I love freckles….especially that she had freckles really all over. And natural red hair.

And then there was the census girl that came to my apartment to survey my demographics and ended up participating in my pornographics. She had a freckle right where…

“Rudy, I got something for you.”  Jason disappears into his one and a half apartment. I can hear him rummaging, He steps back out and hands me a joint.

“For later.”

“Thanks.” We exchange a few friendly salutations and I move on.

So, my evening as a single guy will be Chinese Take out, as hot and spicy as I can get, a bad action film rental and a joint. Placid, boring, solitary. Just what I need.

I wonder what Noah is doing right now. I look forward to hearing all about it when he’s back tomorrow.

I can already hear him.

“Dad, it was awesome because…” quickly followed by, “But what sucks was…”.

I hope he took lots of pictures.

 

bears and boys

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“Boy, I’m really going to miss you, Noah.” 

“Not me, dad, I’m not going to miss you at all! Haha!”

He has a lusty laugh of total satisfied cruelty.

I fight back the phrase my Mother would have hurled at me, ‘Wait until tonight when you’re in the dark in a tent in the woods with only your camp buddies, you’ll cry Mummy Mummy like a baby.” Of course she would never have let me go on a three day camping trip with strangers, in the first place.

“You little dork.”

I roll on top of him in the bed.

“Ouuuufff, dad you’re killing me!”

“Hahaha.”

I have a lusty laugh of total satisfied cruelty.

Then, I feel a slimy wetness on my forearm, amplified by a gross little raspy tongue.

“Geez, Noah.”

I push him off.

My forearm is covered in drool so thick it’s frothing.

“You taste really bad, dad.”

“No, I’m sweet, sour and salty, a delightfully masculine spice.”

“Fail. You’re just smelly.”

At which, I bury him in one of my burly pits, where the eve’s exertions have transmuted in a heady alchemist’s brew.

The little bastard bites me. No, not bastard, I know he’s my son….more like son of a bitch.

Oh yeah, I can be nasty too!

We push each other off to neutral corners of my bed. Breathe deeply like exhausted boxers.

“Dad? Did you ever do sex?”

A neck snapping change of subject.

“Of course, how do you think you were born?”

“You did sex with Johanna?” Lately he’s been calling his estranged (what a word!) Mother by her first name.

“Sure.”

“So to have like kids you have to do sex?”

This from a nine and a half year old who, a few weeks ago, was joking by simulating a blow job to the lusty appreciation of his fellow ignoramuses.

He grimaces. “Boy, I’m never going to have children, that’s for sure.”

He hops off my bed and runs to the toilet. The tumult of his elephantine stream hits the porcelain.

“Dad? Can I … would be….you know? ”

“Noah, I can’t hear what you’re saying over your pee. Tell me after you finished.” Otherwise he’ll piss in the cat’s food dish by mistake.

He finally comes out. He’s pulled his underwear up to his nipples, squeezing his little nuts out the sides of his briefs.

“Dad…how sick is this?….hahahaha!”

“Really?”

“Hahahahaha.”

He releases his gonads which settle back with a sigh. I can hear them whispering that they get no respect. I feel like telling the poor things to get used to it.

“That was your question?”

“No… can I like, bring the camera, because I promised Noemi I would take lots of pictures.”

“Noemi, your girlfriend?”

“I already have a girlfriend. Sarah, at school, remember?”

Sarah,  his girlfriend. Sure. They never had a play date, they never really talk or play together at school. Noah insists they kissed two times, but without the tongue. I have doubts about the reality of it all.

“No, she’s just a friend. But you know, she looks just like Melina.”

His 18 year cousin, Melina, has been his love for years. Platonic of course, but no less intense.

“Are you sharing a tent with her?”

“Dad, she’s a girl.”

He’s a twit so, why not? Twit and Twat.

“So did you choose your tent buddy?”

“No we were too busy doing shopping for all the food because you know, dad, everything we eat we have to like bring and, uhm, we have no stove or anything, yeah so all that we eat we have to cook on the fire. So as soon as we get there we have to find branches to stick the hot dogs on. Cool, huhn?”

“Super cool.”

The phone rings. Noah jumps to check the caller ID.

“It’s Tantine (auntie).”

“Answer.”

A five minute conversation ensues. Noah describes the trip. He’s so excited the words tumble over each other. When he hangs up, he’s smiling so widely it’s almost frightening.

“TontonG (Uncle G…for George) said to be careful because of the bears. That if I meet a bear to not move.”

“He’s right, if you move they eat you.”

“And like if I stay still, what happens?”

“The worse that can happen is that the bear will wipe it’s ass with you.”

He bursts out laughing.

“Good one dad. I’m so,  like, going to use that tonight at the campfire.”

Half an hour later we’re at the day camp. The general excitement is not only palpable it slaps me in the face as I go in. I swing the enormously heavy knapsack onto Noah’s shoulders. He almost falls over backwards.

I make sure nobody’s watching. I give him a last hug.

“I love you, kid.”

“Me too dad.”

I start to walk away.

“Dad?”

I turn.

“I’m going to miss you.”

 

Enough!

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Stop! Let me Off! 

“That’s it, is it? When you wanted me in your bed you were super available and now that you got what you wanted you don’t call back, right?”

“Well it seemed to me that you were just as excited about getting naked than I was.”

“But I hoped it would lead to something more.”

She’s almost screaming at me.

“Sometimes it does lead to more, but you have to let things unfold, give it a little time….”

“…yeah right.”

“Now you’re screaming at me, can’t we just…”

“…the hell with you. You can be sure I won’t call ever ever again.”

And the phone goes dead.

I’m still in bed and it’s not yet 7 am. When the phone rang I thought it was the alarm. So I reached for it and did the slide movement. More alarming than the alarm… it was a neighbor lady with whom I made love exactly twice, ten days ago during a torrid week, weather and pleasure-wise.

Great sex, but which led instantly to her emotional imperialism. How delightful it would be to finally meet a lover who reached for my dick without grasping for affection and control.

The door busts open.

“Dad, I’m so excited.”

Noah jumps on top of me and rolls into my ample bed.

“Wow, dad, I don’t know why but your bed is so hot.”

That’s what they all say.

I love sex as much as I love writing and filmmaking. Physical and aesthetic pleasures mix and amplify each other. And I’m good at both. But I’m not that good that I instantly become essential to their lives.

I just choose fucked up women to fuck with, I guess. Why?

“Dad, dad, listen, you’re not listening.”

“Sorry, I’m not awake yet.”

A lie. Actually, I’m way too damned awake for seven in the morning.

“So dad, I really need a flashlight for the camping trip. Yeah, Tandoori (one of the animators at his day camp. they all have cool nicknames) yeah like, he said that we’ll be around the campfire to tell like scary stories, you know like chain saw massacre type stories. Cool, huh? Yeah and then we stay up until midnight and then we go to our tents. But the coolest dad, is that as long as we’re in our tents, we can continue the party and scare each other. So that’s why I really really need a flashlight, you know?

Scary stories at midnight, chain saw massacres, party time and bad lighting. Sounds like my one-week relationship with the neighbor. Actually, sounds like most of my so-called love life.

“Tonight, we’ll prepare your baggage for the trip. We’ll do a checklist so you have everything you need for the three day trip. Okay?”

“I’m so excited, oh yeah, oh yeah, I just can’t hide it…”

Lying down in my bed doesn’t stop him from bopping to the infamous Pointer Sisters’ anthem.

“Oh, and dad, I really really need bug spray because like in the woods there are a lot of mosquitoes and you know that I’m like a mosquito magnet. Yeah, those, uhm, little bloodsuckers really love me. But I hate them. So, yeah I really really need spray.”

Now there’s an idea. Blood sucker repellent. Wonder if they have any at the pharmacy or whether I need to go to a sex shop. Maybe a crucifix and a wooden stake will do.

“I love you, dad.”

“I love you, Noah.”

Need and love are inextricable. That’s okay. But need without true love, like the neighbor-lady, is no good.

The phone rings again.

Noah frowns and jumps on it.

“Dad, what crazy person calls like at seven-o-five?”

A woman.

GPS for women…

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“Dad, what’s in my lunch pail, today?”

We’re 5 minutes into the half-hour walk to his day camp. I glance at the time…8:12 am.

“We just finished breakfast.”

“Yeah, but I’m hungry. Sorry.”

“So, we’ll stop and pick up a fresh croissant at the bakery. You can munch it on the way.”

“It’s okay, dad.”

“I thought you were hungry.”

“Yeah, but more like curious hungry than really really hungry, in the belly hungry, you know.”

Ah-ha! Distinguishing between desire and need, pleasure and satisfaction, nutrition and fat salty sweet snacks, sex and love.

“Yeah, so what’s in my lunch?”

Erotic vs pornographic, anticipation vs blue balls, snorkeling vs scuba diving….

“Dad?”

“Noah!”

“My lunch pail?”

“Oh, sorry.”

Moment of fear. Will he approve? Will he react with a vintage ‘awwwww-unh’ to rend the last shreds of my tattered nutritional imagination?

“Uh…cheese cut in sticks, salami sliced thin, baby carrots, fresh bread, apple sauce in a tube and a juice box.”

“No granola bars?”

“Uh, no.”

“Ouf, thank god. I hate granola bars.”

Unfortunately. They come in such a variety of tastes, sizes, crunchiness, chewiness, healthiness, saltiness, sweetness. A veritable cornucopia of possibilities for the idea-bereft lunch maker that I am.

“They suck. And they’re all like rectangular like. Sucks.”

Count on my kid to object to the one thing, the only thing, that they have in common.

“They’re called bars, Noah.”

“Well, you know that’s not very, I don’t know, uhn, cool. I mean why aren’t they like Granola Pyramids. Now that would be something, like, you know…”

“Hard to pack, harder to put on shelves.”

“No, Not if you like put them in a box. And look dad, yeah, like you could fit them together like a puzzle, you know? Upside down, right side up, upside down….”

69..69…96…969…66…99…696… .

“You see, dad?”

“Uh-huh.”

I see. I see.

“But the important thing is their tastiness, not their shape, Noah.”

“Shape is important dad. Look how I hate, uh, yogurt, yeah. I can’t stand the stuff. But give it to me in a tube and I love it.”

Must admit. He’s got a point. A tube top and short summer skirt and even plain, white yogurt is appetizing. And once you start eating…

“You know, Noah, Nonno (grandpa) used to say that you would even eat rocks if you were hungry.”

“That makes no sense dad. Rocks would kill you.”

Oh, my too concrete kid! Amazing how realistic he is with my flights of fancy.

“It’s to illustrate a point.”

“I know. It’s just like, you know… lame.”

He stops suddenly.

“Look dad.”

He points to the ground. A very yellow, very hairy caterpillar is running across the path. I say running because it’s moving fast. Not that I see it’s legs.

“Wow, I’ve never ever seen one move so fast.” He chuckles. “Imagine dad, maybe he’s got like roller blades under all that hair. Yeah. Like a hundred roller blades because caterpillars have a hundred legs.”

How easy it would be to exact my revenge…lame, roller blades on a caterpillar, pffff, makes no sense, etc.

“Good one, Noah. And it’s going to the skate park where they have ramps and stairs and acrobatic stuff.”

He giggles. “Yeah.”

I much prefer entering into the other’s pleasure and finding my own, than resisting. Who cares if it’s not reciprocated. I’m responsible for my own pleasure.

Some women would profit from taking the same position (nudge nudge wink wink) …get a GPS, go for your orgasm, don’t wait for a man, any man, including me to bring you there. Just take me along for the ride… I’m a good copilot.

“Dad, we saw a really cool caterpillar, yesterday, yeah, in the woods when we went Geo-Caching, yeah, you know, with the GPS tracking and all that. Though the treasure we were looking for was lame. Just candies bags, you know.”

Ah! Candy!

“I agree. Lame.”

There’s pleasure in bitching, too.

 

 

fertilizer me…

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Noah is nine.

His Mother, whom I loved to distraction, began her schizophrenic descent to hell when he was nine months old. She left our lives and the country when Noah was three, or there abouts.

Since then, I’ve had lovers, many lovers. My body has exulted, my mind has been seduced, but my heart keeps to itself.

“Dad, is she your girlfriend?”

“It’s our first date, Noah.”

“Maybe she’ll become your girlfriend like if it goes well?”

“Maybe.”

I already know it’s highly unlikely. It may be a roll or two or three, knotted in her bedsheets or mine. It may be wonderful sex ending in a friendship. But nothing more. Or less.

“You look really good, dad, in that shirt. That’s the one I like found, right?”

“Yup.”

“I have good taste, huhn?”

“Sure do.”

Noah and I actually went out shopping for a pair of pants and shirt…for me. Every  piece of clothing I own is older than my son, so I was due. Noah mixed and matched and brought me items while I tried them in the changing booth. The three salesladies were totally taken with him.

As I go down the stairs, heading for my date, I hear Noah whispering to his babysitter.

“Dad has a date, and a new shirt…”

I don’t hear the rest.

Since I’ve been single with child , women have come into my life and moved on…generally to other men with whom they begin building something lasting.

Several of them are now affianced.

One of those ladies made it a point of showing me the rock on her finger before she invited me in for a last escapade one morning before she moved in with her future husband. In the quiet, beautiful moments after, as her breath blew eddies across the hair on my chest, she told me he was the love of her life. She hoped to have a kid, as beautiful as Noah. I told her she would be a wonderful mom. In fact, in the brief months of our frequentation she was auditioning for precisely that role in my life. But having a child actually spring from her loins became her true wish. As I left her apartment for the last time, she thanked me for making her realize what she really wanted.

I’m good at that… fertilizing other’s arid soils with intent and desire. Other’s reap the fruit.

Three of my recent lovers have become pregnant. No, no, not from me. I’m the way station, the hub-airport that connects to the desired destination. Of course, like any port I collect some of their riches before they move on.

The other day, I met one of these ladies, as Noah and I strolled down the street. She was with her husband and 9 month baby. If I was still Catholic I would have said they looked like the Holy Family, but since I’m now lapsed into paganism, I say nothing.

They seemed happy. She introduced me to the father, as a dear friend. When she and I kissed each other’s cheeks her smell overwhelmed me with visions of her nakedness. She was wonderfully fleshy and moist. And strangely sad, afterwards.

As they walked away, Noah pulled my hand.

“Dad, wasn’t she like your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, a couple of years ago.”

“Does it like make you feel bad that she like has a baby and a guy like that she married?”

“No, not all.”

Well, perhaps a little.

“They looked happy, didn’t they?”

“I guess so, yeah, dad.”

I like to think I contributed to her blooming, in an odd, deflected way.

Now, as I head to my “date” in my new shirt, I wonder how much I still feel like “contributing”.

 

 

 

go play…

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2

…have fun, I guess

“Be careful.”

“Okay dad.”

He barrels down the metal staircase descending into the alley behind our apartment. The soccer ball precedes him, bouncing down the three flights.

I willfully look away. Better not to see. Better not to say what is banging against the back of my teeth. Otherwise he may turn and complain….

“Awwww, mom.”

That’s what I spent my time thinking when I was a kid. Never saying it because it would have led to greater repression. My Mother was afraid of everything. So I was enmeshed in her protective webs. Made me rebellious yet timid, cowardly and foolhardy, a freedom warrior needing attachment. A mess.

So now, I’m a dad. I see Noah slip on the wet metal step and almost finish the descent on his head.

“Woooooouuuhhhh……that was close, dad, dad you see that? I almost went bouncing like the ball. Dad?”

He looks up. I’m on the balcony, two stories overhead.

“Yeah. If you fall from that height, I’ll have to say…’He was so smart before he fell on his head’. ”

“Dad…really!”

Yup. I’m a male. Tough. Grunt. Snort. Belch. Scratch.

Oops! Gotta check on supper.

I run into the kitchen. In a manly way of course. Damn, the pot is boiling over. Lousy stove is one of those ceramic top stupidities. It takes for ever to get something boiling and then when it boils over, it takes forever to bring the bloody temperature down. I run to the drier to get a clean dishcloth. I’m reminded Noah is out of clean socks. Mental note made. Run back to the kitchen with a virile growl and drag the pot off the element. I stir, careful not to scrape the bottom in case it stuck.

The cat rubs up against my legs and meows.

“Go away, fat cat, you were fed an hour ago.” I push it away a little harshly.

Tough love from a, ehm, man?

I glance out the window. It has begun drizzling.The wind has picked up and is cold. Noah is bareheaded, no sweater. How many times do I have to tell him the same things.

I step out on the balcony.

“Noah!”

No response. Damn he’s right there, three floors down. He’s ignoring me !?!

“NOAH!” Way louder.  He looks up as if waking from a dream.

“Come in. it’s getting cold and it’s raining.”

“Aaaaawwww….”.

The one side of me, call it the mom side, wants to go ballistic with a … ‘you’re not dressed, you’re going to catch cold, fall sick and I’m going to have to take care of you, etc etc.’….”.

“Get your bubble butt inside.”  A male compromise. Say you care, but brutally.

Shit, I forgot to put the pot back onto the element. Supper will never be ready that way.

Back in the kitchen, I take the dishcloth to move the pot and remember the wash to do. Noah steps in, frowning, dirty shoes dragging on the floor. Okay the floor is already not clean…bit still.

“Shoes off, Noah.”

He blows an ill-willed wind, but pulls his shoes off anyways.

“What do I do now, dad? I like have nothing to do.”

“Help me with the clothes.” I’m loading the washer. Not enjoying it. Not hating it.

“No way, that’s not fun.”

I get a waft of cat. Look down. Geez, the litter is full again. Feed the cat and empty the litter. Life. Simple and annoying.

Noah is turning on himself, scowling.

“Noah find something to do, before one of us, or both of us, go nuts.”

“There’s nothing to do.”

“Read, write, draw, play, throw yourself down and get dirty. Do something.”

“How’s that any fun?”

Getting down and dirty is the most fun I’ve ever had.

“Is your school bag ready for tomorrow, with your gym stuff and the library books to return?”

“No.”

“Well, there…now you’ve got something to do.”

“Aaaaawwww, dad.”

I hear the pot boiling over and the liquid sizzling on the element. I stride to the stove. Supper’s ready and unburnt. Hah!

Unfortunately, I forgot to start the dishwasher this morning, so I need to wash dishes and utensils.

I burn my hands under the water. No, no gloves to preserve my skin. I’m a man!

Which reminds me. I need a new mistress. I used to enjoy Wednesday afternoons in bed with a lovely lady, but she’s fallen in love with a guy without child. She wanted kids. The goodbye Wednesday was the best sex we’d ever had.

“Dad, I’m starved.”

“Ready, in two minutes flat. Go wash your hands.”

My male side says “get dirty”…the other side worries about germs.

MAPA me…

 

 

Aaaarrrrrrr…

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…rrrrrrrrrrr

“Dad, what’s uh, the, the uh, no, not like that…I have to start over. Okay, now I got it.”

9pm. Walking back home from the premiere of his school’s presentation of The Pirates of Penzance.

“Okay, what’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“RRRRrrrrrrrrrrrr:” I growl it like a pirate.

“Aaaaaawwww…” He’s disappointed I’ve stolen his punchline.

“But it’s not like that dad. You don’t do it right. It’s like this ‘AAARRRrrrrrrrrr’. Get it?”

“AAAAaarrrrrrr.”

“No dad, you really don’t do it right.”

Sounded exactly right to me. But I’ll cede the terrain. After all he was the pirate with the dreads and rotten teeth singing and “Arrrrrr-ing” for the last couple of hours on stage.

He never lost focus, following choreography and lyrics like a veteran. He even stayed in character when he found me in the audience and smiled, pirate-like.

“This is how it’s done, listen carefully….’AAAAAAAaaaaarrrrrrrr’…now you try.”

“Aaaaaarrrrrr.”

“Hopeless, dad, you’re just hopeless.”

I sigh melodramatically.

He throws me a look. He’s still got dark makeup giving him a scowling expression. And then he smiles with his blackened, rotten pirate teeth.

“You’re crazy dad. But like fun crazy, not crazy, sick-in-the-head crazy, you know?”

“Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Noah shakes his head. I’m a lost cause.

Been spending a lifetime finding my way…looking for something I lost so early that the only thing that remains is melancholy…

.. and striving.

“Dad, I’m so pumped like for tomorrow’s Halo Race. I’ll run now, okay? To like do a little training, you know?”

He darts off, breathing like a marathon runner. He quickly reaches the corner and jogs on the spot, waiting for me.

As I reach him, the light goes to green.

“I’m fast huhn? Can I go?”

“Sure.”

He takes off again towards the next corner, darting through the evening fauna, mostly couples with lots of hand-holding and hugging to navigate through. I wonder how many will survive the year or the night or the moment.

As I rejoin Noah, jogging on the spot at the corner, a whiff of perfume wafts by.

So familiar.

They say that with age, you lose your memory. In my case, it’s quite the contrary. I get overwhelmed by sudden flashbacks. My memory inundates my present with strong images and sensory souvenirs.

Venetian blond, naturally Venetian blond…pink nipples, cherry-shaped.

Pink cherries….delightful.

“Bananas.”

“What Noah?”

“Did you buy me the bananas for tomorrow?”

Bananas, cherries, fruit salad, southern Italy, before Noah, breakfast, almost naked in bed, quickly becoming naked in bed and fruit salad, spilling on the marble floor, me her and the fruit salad…

“Dad, Miss Anita said that we should like eat two bananas and nothing else for breakfast.”

“Yessir. Bought a bunch of bananas, super ripe, super sweet.”

“Great dad.”

I’ve also planned his bagged lunch for tomorrow’s race….light, nutritious, highly digestible, in packaging that can all be thrown away afterwards. I run it through my mind again, just in case.

Yup! All good.

“Can I run to the next corner, dad?”

Green light, no cars.

“Go for it.”

He whooshes away, so quickly that he kicks his butt with his feet.

Angel.

That was the name of the perfume. Devilish. Mixed with the natural musk of a woman’s crooks and crannies it pleased me no end. Even now, years later.

“Dad, these socks are great. Could I like wear them again tomorrow?”

That’s a whole different spectrum of scents.. dirty, redolent gym socks on an unwashed 9 year old boy.

Pungent like really wonderful Gorgonzola Cheese. But what is good in a cheese is no good in your shoes.

“Remember Noah? We bought three pairs this weekend so that you could have new fresh socks for the race.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. And new shoes, too. It’s uhm, the first time I wear my new runners tomorrow. I’ll be so fast.”

Fast. Gorgonzola cheese. A long French baguette.

Oops! Another kiddy inappropriate flashback.

“Remember dad?”

“Whaaaa…?”

“Yeah, remember last year at the show, it was raining and…”

Damn…mixing flashbacks.

Dangerous.