I just had one of those moments that I really thought wasn’t going to happen for a while.. well, actually, I was hoping it wouldn’t happen, ever.
My nine year old daughter just walked in on me while I was trying my new cock on.
So what did I, a sexually liberated, sex-toy advocating adult do? I did what a whole lot of parents do when confronted by this kind of situation: I tried to act like it didn’t happen. I whipped that cock off faster than you could say ‘what the’ and fumbled for my underwear. Well, first I grabbed my jeans and then realized I shouldn’t go commando in front of her.
How did I let that happen? I’m sure that will be my wife’s first question, too. Well, she was in bed, had been for a while, though she was restless. I was restless too, my new cock had just come in the mail, the Silky/Mr. Bendy, and I was testing it as a packing cock. I had just gone to my bedroom, a door away from hers, to take it off when she slipped out of her room and appeared in my doorway.
I walked her to her room, she said she was having a hard time sleeping. I suggested a cheese stick, hoping that she was just hungry and maybe the cheese would induce amnesia. Well, my denial didn’t get too far.
She looked up at me with the purest of blue eyes, a small twitching smile at the corner of her mouth and asked, “Mommy, what kind of underwear were those?”
Ohholyfucksavemenow. “Um, they are an adult kind.”
No, that didn’t stop the interrogation. “Um, with a kind of penis?”
Sigh, ohlord, here we go. “Yes, it’s called a ‘sex toy’ and adults sometimes use them when having sex. ”
“But, um, why?” her exquisite eyebrows furrowed, her eyes boring into me like twin beams of truth serum.
“Well, I just got a new one so I was checking it out.” I wonder how much of my sex toy bag was visible on the bed.
“No, why do you need it?”
“That’s between your mama and I. Sex is an adult activity and what we do is our business, do you understand? This is not something to talk to your friends about.”
I gave her my most serious and stern look, knowing that there was a 90% chance she would blurt it out to her bff the next day.
That’s where this interrogation ended, but now that the seal has been cracked, there will be more. We finished our non-amnesia inducing cheese sticks and I got her back in bed. Not long after she called out to me again. This after I’d already started my medicinally necessary shot of tequila.
“Yes, honey, what is it?”
“I still can’t sleep, mommy. ”
“Ok, do you want to read your book some more? ” I go get the book, grateful for a normal problem.
“Mommy, I might want to read some and then write in my journal. Would that be ok? For some reason, I want to write in my journal.”
This is where she gives me the most innocent look in the history of innocent looks. “Yes, honey, you can write in your journal if you want. Just stay in bed. You need some sleep tonight.”
Oh, lord.. I can just imagine what that journal entry is going to be like. And then there’s the heaps of mockage my wife will pile on me once she hears this story. Being kinky is good and right and wonderful. Being a kinky parent is challenging.
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