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Entries in perm-a-grin (1)


I Have Two Fuck Trophies!

My brother (@IbeeNORM on Twitter) lovingly and occasionally refers to his children as “fuck-trophies.”

Now, he only does it in front of the right audience, and never in front of the kids—just making sure that’s out there so no angry parent-mobs form and go after him. But the first time I heard it, I laughed like hell while jotting it down on a little pad so I could whip the phrase out later as if I’d sat in my thinking chair late one night, sporting my pimped-out smoking jacket, pondering new and hilarious things.

But then later it hit me. My children really should be clad in gold, thrown on a pedestal, forever frozen in some award-winning pose as tribute to the wifey and me getting it on. Why? Because they truly are representative of a time when the wifey and I rocked the house of its foundation.

I’ll never forget our decision to start having kids. It was one of those spoken, but kind-of not-so-spoken decisions. And we started having unprotected sex. And a lot of it! And everyone around me knew something was different because I had perm-a-grin on my warped head.

Even people who didn’t know me were all, “oh yeah, that dude’s getting laid daily, if not hourly.”

Leaving Virginia after work one day to drive to North Carolina to be with family for Christmas, I joked to the wifey, “We should totally knock boots before we hit the road.”

Then, a loud boxing ring bell rang, clothes flew in the air, and it was on! I’m pretty confident I just laid there with deer-in-the-headlights look the whole time.

Then….she became pregnant. And that’s when that jagoff sex bouncer showed back up to guard the wifey’s sex-making area. He was all, “ummm….are you on the list to get in here tonight buddy?”

“Uhhh..yeah, I’m attached to the husband here. He should be at the TOP of the list.”

“Yeah…there’s no one on this list. Go on…go hit the shower pal. Get outta here.”

Pregnant with our first kid, the wifey went through a paranoia stage thinking the act of sex might hurt the fetus. And she was tired all the time. And sometimes sick. And I was left, still naked, raring to go, with perm-a-grin on my face, standing in the bedroom waiting.

And waiting……

Then it hit me—she totally used the hell out of me! And it was awesome!! But now that I’d tasted the sweet nectar of constant sex, it was like I was a teenager who’d just learned how to jerk-off again! I was humping trees, the leg of the cat, the mail box, apple pies… was sad.

But just like everything related to children—from pregnancy through every stage of their lives—I was being prepared for the next phase. And for our sex life, the next phase was the dreaded six-week post birth “Sex Shut Down Phase.” Wifey originally told me doctors said she couldn’t have sex for the first two years after birth, but Google set that shit straight.

So now, when I’m sitting on the back porch, relaxing, drinking a beer and watching my little fuck trophies run around, a smile creeps across my face as a think back to the time when sex was plentiful. When I could ask the wifey if she wanted to “drop the donkey” and she’d actually say “yes” rather than slap me. When I’d climb in the sex swing, wait for her to come home, and she was actually appreciative when she saw me strapped in. And, when I’d wake up to her on top of me and she’d say, “sshhhh….don’t even speak, look at me, or move. Just lay there,” and then she’d put the pillow back over my head.

Those were the days.....