by Tara Sivec
You know, just to clarify and make sure we’re on the same page.
“Sure, I guess you could put it that way,” she nods, still moving her hips the tiniest bit, just to make sure my dick is paying attention. “His penis, was legit the size of the head of your penis. My fingers have gone deeper than his Pez dispenser.”
And that’s it, folks. My brain is tapping out and my dick is now in charge. When a chick talks about fingering herself, there’s no coming back from that shit.
In one quick motion, I keep one arm behind her back and bend down to slide the other one behind her knees, scooping her up into my arms as I charge through the living room, down the hall and into my bedroom.
“If you’re okay with this, I’d like to release you of your partial-virgin status,” I tell her as I gently lay her on top of my bed and move on top of her, holding myself up on my arms so I don’t crush her.
“I think I’m more than okay with that,” she whispers, sliding her fingers through my hair at the back of my head and pulling my face down to hers.
“You should probably start reciting those football teams now,” she breathes against my lips. “Don’t forget I was raised in a sex shop. I took my first steps in the lesbian porn aisle and my first word was orgasm.”
She wraps her legs around my hips, locking her ankles together against my ass and uses her muscles to pull the lower half of my body closer until my denim-covered dick is nestled right against the heat of her soon-to-be no longer a partial-virgin vagina.
Her hips start rocking against mine, and I tell myself it’s totally fine if I wait one more day to tell her about Alfanso D. She is in need of my expertise and who am I to let a woman in need down?
“Air Force, Akron, Alabama, Appalachian State, Arizona,” I begin chanting softly between kisses as I move down her neck and across her chest before wrapping my lips around one of her perfect nipples.
Molly’s back arches and she lets out a low moan that makes my dick twitch and with excitement.
“Arwiwona Fate, Arwansas Fate, Wamy,” I recite with a muffled voice, refusing to remove my mouth from her nipple.
“God I love football,” Molly says with a sigh.
Chapter 21
– Drunk Babies –
Marco
“Beated up the hooky again, Uncle! Ooooh, steal anodder car and shoot more people!” Valerie shouts with excitement as she bounces up and down on the couch next to me.
“It’s pronounced hooker, not hooky, and I don’t need to steal another car right now, sweetie,” I explain, jerking my body to the left as I aim the PlayStation controller at the screen and make my car swerve around a pedestrian.
Letting my four-year-old niece watch me play Grand Theft Auto for the last hour probably wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made, but at least it kept her in one place instead of screaming and climbing the walls.
No, seriously, she actually climbed the wall in my bedroom like fucking Spiderman. It’s Tessa’s fault. She told me to give her a piece of chocolate every time Valerie goes to the bathroom on her own. No one gives me a Snicker’s when I take a shit without assistance, but whatever. Valerie must have a bladder the size of…I don’t know, something really fucking small because she has gone to the bathroom every two minutes for the last three hours. I’ll let her swim in the sugar bowl as long as she doesn’t piss on the carpet.
“Shoot him in the head! Make his head explode!” Valerie screams, clapping her hands together when I shoot a cop trying to arrest me.
“Do you remember what I told you, Val?” I ask, pausing the game to look down at her.
“Grand Feft Auto isn’t real life. It’s bad to shoot people, even hookies. I mean hookers,” she tells me with a serious face.
“You’ve learned well, Grasshopper,” I reply with a nod and a pat to the top of her head.
Once I finally found something to hold her interest for more than two seconds that wouldn’t cause death or dismemberment and a seriously pissed off sister, it actually hasn’t been so bad hanging out with my niece. When I asked Tessa if I could babysit her for a few hours today, I thought she was going to choke to death she laughed so hard. After she finally stopped laughing and realized I wasn’t laughing with her and I was totally serious, I had to sit there for an hour while she gave me a quick course on Babysitting for Dummies. When she finished and gave me a list of telephone numbers for every person she’s ever met in her entire life, including the numbers of ever hospital in a three-hundred mile radius, she made me sign a piece of paper stating she has permission to cut off my balls with a pair of rusty scissors if anything worse than a paper cut happens to her child under my care.
I’ve had a goofy fucking grin on my face ever since I successfully took care of that pesky partial-virgin status for Molly, but at the same time, I feel like the biggest jerk in the world that she trusted me and gave something so important to me and I still haven’t managed to tell her the truth. The more time we spend together and the longer I wait, the worse I feel, yet I keep coming up with one excuse after another to keep putting it off.
Molly’s giving me a blowjob—it can wait.
Molly’s naked in my living room—what’s one more day?
Molly wakes me up with her head under the covers and her mouth on my dick—she needs to rebuild that confidence and overcome the penis puke, I can’t ruin that.
Molly takes me on a tour of Seduction and Snacks and asks me to fuck her in the warehouse in the vibrator aisle—I swear I’ll do it after her orgasm when she’s relaxed but one orgasm turned into four and I needed a nap.
Molly asks me to help her with a troubling recipe, and before I know it, there’s chocolate sauce on my penis and dripping off her tits—chocolate on tits is delicious. No explanation needed.
Molly brings home toys from work and asks if I want to watch her use them—I AM JUST A MAN, STANDING IN FRONT OF A WOMAN, ASKING HER TO GET HERSELF OFF!
Before I knew it, the day before the wedding was upon us and I knew I needed to wait until it was over. Charlotte has turned into a bridezilla, and Molly is stressed about her parents finding out the real truth and them being mad at her for lying. She has too much on her mind right now that it wouldn’t be right to add one more thing that I know will upset her.
Since there’s no use denying how much of an asshole I am and I’m scared to death Molly will never trust me again or let me put my penis inside her which would be a tragedy I’ll never recover from, I’m doing whatever I can to show her I’m not that person anymore. I overheard her talking to Ava on the phone last week when she thought I was sleeping and I still can’t get her words out of my head. She was on her iPad going back through every damn post I made on the Alfanso D. page for the last six months. Even though I couldn’t hear what Ava was saying, it wasn’t too hard to figure out whenever Molly would say, “I know, right? He’s such a pig” or, “You’ve got to be a pretty stupid woman to ever sleep with someone like that.”
Yes, I was a pig. Yes, I was a bit of a man whore and yes, I exploited my sexcapades in a cookbook. I put up posts about how easy it was to sleep with any woman you wanted as long as you fed her chocolate. I made comments putting women down, putting relationships down and putting people down who had kids. I was that guy. The frat boy who refused to grow up.
Well, I’m assuming my behavior was like a frat boy since I was never actually in a frat, even though I tried to join one and was asked to never come back when I suggested we all go to a cooking class instead of doing keg stands.
And this leads us to where I am now, the day before Charlotte and Gavin’s wedding where Charlotte will finally break the news to her betrothed (after he says I do of course, so he’s less likely to leave the country), Molly will finally get to stop pretending she’s pregnant, and I’ll get to stop flinching every time her father jumps out at me and screams “BOO!”. Actually, that will probably always happen even after he finds out I didn’t impregnate his daughter since he still thinks I like to beat-o
ff to photos of his wife.
I spent the last few days going back and forth with my publisher about this next cookbook and a new idea I came up with, trying to convince them I can make it just as good as the first one. They finally agreed last night, which brings me to the reason I am currently teaching my niece fun new vocabulary words and how to properly execute a kill shot while in a high-speed chase. Molly changed everything and I want her to know that even if she never trusts me again. What was originally going to be a sequel to Seduction and Sugar with even more over-the-top sex stories and matching recipes, is now: Baking and Babies: How to Spice it Up in the Kitchen AND the Bedroom When You Have Kids.
I’ve listened to Molly’s aunts and uncles and her mom and dad tell stories over the last few weeks about what it was like after they added kids to the mix and how they managed to keep the romance alive. Some were funny, some were sweet, and some were downright horrifying. Pampers really needs to get their act together if babies can manage to shit so much that it leaks out of their diaper, up their back and sometimes in their hair. I’m a grown ass man and even I can’t produce that much shit at one time.
All these stories were perfect for this cookbook, but I knew I needed real-life experience. The people who loved my first cookbook loved it because I shared a big piece of myself and my life on every page, even if I did it in a really slutty way and was never afraid to admit it on social media. A few hours with my niece seemed like the perfect way to get some experience as well as spend some time with her and learn how to not be so afraid of kids. They’re not so bad once you get the hang of it. They really are like tiny drunk people and I’ve been around my share of enough drunk people to know the following rules apply to both:
1. Be prepared to make a Taco Bell run for the border. They will scream for Taco Bell (can be substituted for McDonalds) until you have no choice but to give in and go to the drive-thru in your pajamas in the middle of the night if you want them to shut up.
2. Never let them out of your sight, especially around sharp objects, things that are flammable or anything they might trip over and hurt themselves.
3. Smile and nod no matter what they mumble, slur, scream, or cry. Pretending like you understand them will eliminate arguments and or more crying.
4. If they say they’re going to puke, do not hesitate to move your ass. Carry them like a football, drag them by the arm or toss them over your shoulder. Do whatever it takes to get them to a toilet, bush, sink or in some cases, the side of the road.
5. Know that accidents will happen. They can and will pee their pants, shit their pants and if you ignore number 4, puke on you and themselves. Keep a change of clothes and a container of wipes on hand at all times.
6. Watch what you say. If it’s something you don’t want repeated very loudly to everyone within shouting distance, don’t say it. Everything you say can and will be very hilarious to them and they take enjoyment in your misery.
7. Some of them like to be naked. They have no shame and don’t see the problem with taking their clothes off in public. Understand that clothes can sometimes annoy them. The clothes make them hot, make them itch, are too tight, too loose, or too ugly. Calmly tell them they have to put their clothes back on and offer assistance. If that doesn’t work, some may become argumentative and may even lash out by kicking, screaming, biting and or hitting. If that happens, throw your coat or the closest blanket around them and drag them away.
8. Always be firm and speak slowly, enunciating each word carefully. They don’t always understand the words coming out of your mouth so try not to lose your temper or get frustrated. Don’t be afraid to use a loud voice or threaten punishment, especially if their life could be at risk.
9. Never let them use your cell phone, iPad, iPod, laptop, or any other device that will connect them to your social media. They can and will post very bad things, but just know they aren’t doing it on purpose. It’s very easy to punch a few random buttons and the next thing you know, there’s a dick pick you sent to your girlfriend and forgot to erase on Facebook and your mother has been tagged.
10. Memorize the number for Poison Control.
I really should buy Valerie a pony or something. A few hours with her and this book practically wrote itself.
Valerie suddenly jumps down from the couch and runs out of the room.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I shout.
“I GOTTA PEE!” she replies.
Tessa really needs to get that shit checked. I haven’t even given her anything to drink since she’s been here just to try and prevent any accidents. While I listen to the sounds of the toilet flushing and the sink running and know Valerie didn’t somehow escape from a window, I quickly send a text to Tessa and tell her to call Valerie’s pediatrician.
Tessa immediately replies with a comment about how I just might make a good dad someday, and I pat myself on the back until she sends another text immediately after, telling me to just make sure I pick the right woman and not try to fertilize the entire state.
It’s annoying, but I deserve it. I’m going to prove to everyone with this cookbook that I’ve grown up and it’s all because of Molly.
Tossing my phone onto the coffee table, I watch Valerie come racing back into the room and hop back up on the couch next to me.
“Did you wash your hands?” I ask.
She reaches up and wipes her wet hands on my cheeks.
“That better be water and not pee,” I mutter, wiping the wetness off my face.
“Hump-hump-hump, I just peed on you!” she shouts, falling back into the couch in a fit of giggles.
Her laughter stops abruptly and she quickly sits back up, holding her hand out in front of me.
“I went poop. Gimme chocolate,” she states.
I reach for the bag of Hershey Kisses on the table next to the couch and try not to panic when I realize it’s empty. Valerie looks at the empty bag in clutched in my hand, her eyes filling with tears and her bottom lip starting to quiver.
“Hey, it’s okay! Don’t cry,” I beg. “How about a box of cereal? Or some grapes. Grapes are really yummy!”
Valerie isn’t buying it and she crosses her arms in front of her angrily.
“Chocolate! I poop and I get chocolate, mommy says so!” she yells.
Shit, rule number three, just remember rule number three.
I smile and nod, exaggerating my enthusiasm. “I know! You’re such a big girl for shitting all by yourself. I mean, dropped a deuce. No, that’s bad too. You pooped! Yaaaay you pooped on the potty!”
Valerie isn’t amused even when I wave my hands in the air above my head.
“How about I let you beat up some hookers, rob a bank, and shoot up a strip club?” I ask with a sigh, dropping my hands into my lap.
Her eyes light up and she starts bouncing up and down on the couch again.
“I wanna drive the black car and run people over, and can I stab someone wif a knife? I like it when the blood squirts all over and they fall down!”
Shaking my head, I hand over the controller and un-pause the game.
“Have at it, kid. Just remember—”
“Grand Feft Auto isn’t real life,” she cuts me off in a robotic voice, her eyes never leaving the TV.
Look how easy it was to teach a four-year-old something new? Maybe I will make a good father someday. Hopefully Molly will agree.
Chapter 22
– Pumpkin Roll Punany –
Molly
“See? That’s where you went wrong. You have to separate the eggs first and only use the egg whites. You’re such an amateur,” Uncle Drew complains, shaking his head at Tyler as I walk by them.
“Hey, Molly! You’re, like, a cook and shit, right? You can answer this question for us,” Tyler says, grabbing my arm to stop me from walking right on by them and pretending like I don’t know them.
“I’m actually a classically trained French Pastry Chef,” I remind him.
They both stare at me in confusion and
I sigh.
“Yes, I cook and shit.”
Tyler smiles and Uncle Drew lifts his beer bottle and gives me a wink.
“Egg yolks or egg whites? Which is better?” Uncle Drew asks.
“Um, it depends what you’re making,” I reply, shocked and a bit happy that these guys recognize and understand my passion and career expertise. “If you’re talking about making whip cream, you never used the yolks, but if you’re making, say a nice béarnaise you would-”
Uncle Drew puts his hand on my arm and snorts. “Imma let you finish but…”
“But, we’re talking about which works better as a substitute for sex latex, obviously,” Tyler finishes for him with his own snort and eye roll.
“Please tell my idiot son that only egg whites harden when brushed on the nipples so you can gently peel it off,” Uncle Drew states, turning away from me to glare at Tyler. “I even dog-eared that chapter in the porn book for you AND highlighted it.”
Tyler throws his hands up in the air in annoyance. “Do you know how long I had to sleep on the couch after mixing up Pumpkin Roll Punany and Baking Bread and Butt Bumps? That book you gave me had half the pages stuck together and I fucked everything up. It turns out, spanking a woman with a pumpkin roll is very messy and mixing fresh bread ingredients in a vagina really DOES cause a yeast infection.”
I close my eyes and wonder why I ever thought our family could have a nice, dignified evening out in public for once as Uncle Drew and Tyler continue arguing back and forth. Not even the beautiful, fancy atmosphere of one of the nicest restaurants in town could make these people behave.
My eyes slowly open when I feel a pair of warm lips press to the side of my neck. I smile even though my uncle and Tyler are still arguing, but now it’s over who can successfully use the word nipples in every sentence in regards to dinner.
“My nipples get hard just thinking about the chicken parm they’re serving.”