Big Daddy's Birthday

Hey, y'all!

We're going to begin right where I left off. Kinda.

My last post, months ago, was all about donuts of fat, chokin' down choco drink and my smokin' hot Doc feeling me up. (Look, in my fantasy, he was also tweaking the puppies noses so don't doubt, k?)

All of that is a part of the reason I've been gone so long and in a more serious post, I'll give the highlights and low points.

But for now, we're going to hear about Big Daddy's birthday because it is far too precious (hillbilly) to post-pone!

His birthday was a few days ago and being the blessed gift that I am as a wife, I waited until 4:00 p.m. on the day of to ask him what he'd like for his big (old) day.

While waiting for him to give the obvious answer, (sex), I thought of a few things I thought he could use:

1. An eye exam & glasses. Mayhap because the memory of holding onto the 'Dear Baby Jesus, I don't want to die' bar in the van & screaming, "You're driving in the ditch!!" was so fresh in my mind.

2. Just For Men hair dye in black. I'm fine with his salt & pepper look but I do get tired of hearing him waffle back and forth on whether or not to dye it. If it's good enough for George Clooney, it's good enough for you, Al Bundy.

3. A 'Hobbies for Elderly Dummies' book. Why? Because he doesn't fish or golf or toss empty kegs like a normal 42 year old. No, this is how he spends his time:


Yes, that's Big Daddy on the right. And he wants to cuss me for flipping the riding lawn mower?? He can kiss my big butt.

Finally, he decided what he wanted for his birthday. Sex. And to take pictures of me, naked. Color me surprised. And it took him five whole minutes to come up with that?? No. He just wanted to make it look like his pecker wasn't wearing the party hat.

P. Mama: (grunts) "Ookaayyy."

So, I take a bath, shave off two months of leg hair I've been covering up with something flannel, put some makeup on, do my hair, make sure I'm wearing some 'suck you off' lipstick, etc.

(I wanted to look good for my Playboy shoot, k?)

We head to the bedroom where I blow kisses, arch my back, do more than my share of jiggling body parts when he comes up with this gem:

Big Daddy: "Get on your hands & knees, baby."

At this point, I see bad things coming because who really wants to be ass up with a camera inches away from their personal grand canyon, hm?

He's crouched behind me, snapping away and comes up with another sparkler:

Big Daddy: "Spread your cheeks too!"

Now, this is no small thing he's asking of me. I'm a chubby girl with a big ol ass so I have to reach back, palm a considerable bum, mash my face in the pillow for leverage to the point of no longer being able to suck air, to achieve it.

I'm wheezing, fingers gripping a fat behind, hoping he's fucking happy.. when all of a sudden, I farted.

Yes. I. Did.

And I scream..

"Now look what you made me do!!!"

Like it's his fault. Because.. it is.

And I am not even shitting, (pardon the pun).. he doesn't miss a beat.

Big Daddy: (stifling what sounds suspiciously like snorted laughter) "It's okay, baby.. it's okay. Just forget it even happened."

FORGET?! I will remember this moment on my death bed. Because of you, you pervert.

And this right here illustrates how -nothing- will become between a man & his birthday party.

xo

P. Mama