I've been thinking about this for a while now, but I haven't written about it until now. Well, I suppose the beginning is a good place to start, so with that, here we go now.
It was Father's Day weekend. I imagine for a normal person, this brings to mind images of a cook out, beer's cracked open and empty bottles layering the patio furniture. As the hot summer day fades into the cool summer night, you, your family, your pops, and whoever else, the drunken uncle who never had kids of his own, the weird old neighbor from down the street, and the dog are in buzzed merriment discussing whatever it is normal people discuss.
However, I am not amongst your ilk. You see, my dad is foreign. In a way, I'm foriegn too. I was born abroad, and I lived 4 of my 28 years overseas. However, I don't think of myself as foreign or American. I just see myself as displaced, without a land or country. My people are other displaced individuals. I suppose in that sense, I could find kinship with my father. He's awkward. He's terrible at expressing himself in a language he devoted less than 1/3 of his life speaking. He doesn't understand the culture, and he's homesick. Yet, this probably puts a further gulf between us. Sometimes, I feel like my dad and I are playing a childhood game, you know the one where you attach two cups together with a piece of string. On a good day, talking to my dad is like two children, who are standing on opposite ends of the grand canyon, playing telephone. It's a fun idea to try this once, but try building a relationship out of this, it's difficult to find common ground.
I think part of it is, that my dad was married young. He was the youngest of 8 kids, and he never really had to grow up. At the age of 8, my dad lost his father. He grew up without a dad, and his family treated him like a boy well into adulthood. Foolishly, he married my mother at the tender age of 23. They had been dating for 2 years. My dad continued to be a child. He worked odd jobs, never attended college, lived off the kindness of his siblings, and eventually built a small fortune out of tips that he collected while waiting on tables.
Don't get my wrong, I admire my father in a way. I should mention that my dad is successful. He's got a Mercedes benz. He bought it new. He has 3 houses. He's put his children through college, and he never thought about forcing them to work. I remember the 4 of us moving to America. We lived in a one bed room apartment. Before that, we were so poor that we lived in the living room of my uncle's apartment, while my uncle lived there too. Eventually, my dad built something out of nothing. Anyone who can do that, is worth admiring.
However, there's more. My dad is the eternal child. The man who was married too young. The man, who never really devoted himself to family. He's the guy who's constantly looking for an affair. He's the guy who believes that what he lacks in looks, he can make up with money. My dad lies to make other people like him more. He lies in that innocent way children do when they don't something. Have you ever asked a child a question about algebra or geometry? If you haven't, try doing it. Or better yet, try asking the kid about some animal he's never heard of. Hey little johnny, you're 7 right, could you tell me about the leather-breasted laughing snake of east West Virginia? Johnny-yes, of course, the laughing snake gets his name from the fact that it's cool like the power rangers pokemon. I like the green one the best, so the snake does too. Imagine an answer that a child gives, and you realize that my father is just talking for the sake of talking. He doesn't know bob dillon. He doesn't really believe the USSR was poised to attack the United STates. Pizza isn't the healthiest meal invented. My father is announcing to the world that he needs more attention.
. Also, I should mention that I have a 34 year old sister that suffers from depression. She lives in my mothers's and father's house. Couple this with the added tidbit that I'm convinced that my Dad not only suffers from diabetes, but he has an undiagnosed case of bipolar disorder. It forces me and my mother to not only be the referee, but we're the parents. If my dad or sister has a question, they want, no NEED to ask one of us first. What car should I buy. Does this condom match my socks? Should I wrastle with a pterayldactyl? All these and more are questions that I lovingly answered for my dad.
Ironically, I started at the beginning, it was father's day weekend, but I wandered off. My thoughts are meandering, and I'm convinced that I don't know how they leave my head. Now somehow, I cam back to the beginning.
my father is ridiculously difficult to shop for. I don't really know what he likes, nor do I understand what I should get. As I caroused website to website, stopping only to look at large breasted girls or ads for illegal drugs, i decided that this was enough. I'm going to pick some random tea, and hope that my dad likes it.
It was at this point that elle called me. I don't know what to call Elle. She's a girl, and I'm a guy, and somehow we just connect. We don't want to date each other, but we enjoy each other's company. If i were a different man, I'd date elle, but sadly, i'm not. Also, if elle were a different girl, she'd date me, but sadly, she isn't either. So there we are, two very interesting people, that just happen to get a long. Elle came over the night before Father's Day. I'm surprised that there isn't a Father's Day eve, but there isn't. Sorry fathers of the world.
Elle is convinced that when we show up anywhere, WE are the life of the thing. She does things to draw attention to us. I'm naturally hilarious, and elle isn't horrible to look at, plus she's very smart. She's right, when we're a couple, people are drawn to us. However, it's not as charming as she thinks it is. We're both very drunk, so we're very loud. People have two options, they can either hate us or like us. Since we're polite, and we tend to have high falutent conversations, people tend to like us.
Elle wanted to fuck. I knew this, because elle only comes over in order to come all over my bed. I'm sort of a place holder for her as she is for me. I need to feel close to someone, or I feel anxious and completely depressed. something something abandonment disorder. Elle had been complain all week that she's ovulating, and she desperately just needs a dick inside of her right now. I hadn't had sex in a week, so I just kind of needed to be in her right then, we were match made in heaven. Wait, does heaven do that sort of thing?
I should mention that I hate it when elle's ovulating, because she went to some hippy dippy Ivy League college. Because of this, elle can't take birth control. Something something a man should have to do it. Or we should use condoms. Bla Bla Bla it causes birth defects later in life. Whatever the excuse, we don't use anything besides condoms and emergency contraceptive (a very expensive large dose of birth control that we end up taking once a month, thanks hippy dippy college. )
I could talk about the night that we spent. We went out, we got very drunk. Elle was surprised that I could drink a bottle of whiskey in a sitting. Then we had really good sex. I told her that I loved her, then immediately took it back. She tolerated my drunken drive for affection. We fucked. I fell asleep, woke up, went to work, then planned on driving to my dad's house.
However, the latter bit never materialized. Instead, I was offered dinner and booze. I don't know how apparent this is, but I'm a stickler for booze. I called my dad, he asked me what time I was coming over. As my heart sunk, and lungs inflated to let just a a pool of sweat to collect under my sternum( FYI I think the bacteria that lived on my skin were excited for their new found pool. ), I let my dad know that I wasn't coming over on Father's Day. In my head, I justified this with the fact that I hadn't bought a gift yet.
After overcoming the fact that I felt like a bret easton ellis character pouting over the fact that his relationship with his father was strained, I got very drunk. There was a storm that night. It wasn't an ominous storm. It was the pleasant kind. Elle and I drank, we made out, and listened to daft punk while dancing on the balcony. No one was there to be charmed by our dancing skills, but I'm sure that they failed in comparison to our talking skills.
As the night progressed, we went inside. Elle was particularly drunk tonight, and she wanted me to fuck her. As we went into my bed room, i ripped off her clothes. Elle and I don't like the same kind of sex. I want it fast, rough,I want to feel the pain on my neck as she bites me, and I want to fuck her brains out until we both have the small death as exhaustion consumes us. Elle on the other hand, she wants to have very slow sex. I wander what her childhood was like. Her parents weren't smart enough to hit her, because she obviously doesn't associate sex with pain like i do. Perhaps, I'm reaching. Perhaps, she was just used to a boring kind of sex that they all must have at the Ivy League college she attended.
Needless to say, Elle and I don't always connect sexually. This is especially apparent when I drink. Drunk sex is my favorite sex. I have virility of a race horse, and I can''t stop fucking. My back, legs, and thighs are on overdrive. When i'm at this stage, the energizer bunny actually asks me for tips on stamina. Given her drunken state, elle wanted me to cum. I never tend to cum easily while drinking. I've heard it's something about a numbing feeling, so I smoked a little pot before going back to my task.
I never orgasm with elle when I'm drunk. However tonight, I was a man on a mission. I slipped on another condom, and I went to my task. A man's got to do, what a man's got to do dammit, literally. After we fucked for what seemed like hours, I finally came. It felt amazing. As my this creeping pleasure flew from the base of my tailbone to my brain, I felt myself orgasm inside of her. I finally came with her, I felt like I deserved a trophy or at least a medal. I mean, marathon runners, they run 26 miles, but they don't do it drunk, do they? Yeah, i didn't think so.
As I pulled back the condom, I realized that the end of the condom was missing. I just came inside elle. FUCK. Did I just fuck a girl that I don't love, cum inside her, while she was ovulating, without any sort of birth control between us on Father's Day?
Elle turned around to confirm that our condom broke. While drunk, in moments of calamity, elle collapses into a childlike complaining. She asks something along the lines of whether we just did that. Her voice conveys a combination of disbelief and plea for me, or anyone really, to fix it. This like any other situation, might be fixed with a good shower. Perhaps we could wash away the pregnancy.
While discussing mock children names to lighten the mood, we discuss what we're going to do. I know elle's position on abortion, and I know that we aren't in a position to rear children. Although I'm 28 years old, I, like my father, am still a child. The pregnancy announces itself as a demand to grow up. I suggest adoption as a desperate move to cling to my childhood, but, I know it's not possible.
If we had a kid, I, like my father before him, would have to grow up. Having nothing to draw from, I'd have to raise x danger x from a collection of random episodes of family matters and full house. If I screw his life up, I'm convinced that my dying words will be 'Did I do that'. Also, I will pay for jessie and the rippers to play at my funeral. X danger X <---that's his name, I I don't remember his first name, so it's x, and I don't want to disclose my last name. The important part is that his middle name will be danger. It's going to make him a hit with the ladies, trust me. Oh yeah, the kid is a boy. I already decided that. Elle wants a girl. I don't know why. Girls don't want to play catch or learn how to ride motorcycles.
I'll end on a note from Oscar Wilde that's been running through my head the entire time I wrote this. All women are destined to become their mothers, that is their charm. No man ever does, that is his charm.
Update: elle isn't pregnant. I saw my dad the next weekend. I bought him an ipad.
It was Father's Day weekend. I imagine for a normal person, this brings to mind images of a cook out, beer's cracked open and empty bottles layering the patio furniture. As the hot summer day fades into the cool summer night, you, your family, your pops, and whoever else, the drunken uncle who never had kids of his own, the weird old neighbor from down the street, and the dog are in buzzed merriment discussing whatever it is normal people discuss.
However, I am not amongst your ilk. You see, my dad is foreign. In a way, I'm foriegn too. I was born abroad, and I lived 4 of my 28 years overseas. However, I don't think of myself as foreign or American. I just see myself as displaced, without a land or country. My people are other displaced individuals. I suppose in that sense, I could find kinship with my father. He's awkward. He's terrible at expressing himself in a language he devoted less than 1/3 of his life speaking. He doesn't understand the culture, and he's homesick. Yet, this probably puts a further gulf between us. Sometimes, I feel like my dad and I are playing a childhood game, you know the one where you attach two cups together with a piece of string. On a good day, talking to my dad is like two children, who are standing on opposite ends of the grand canyon, playing telephone. It's a fun idea to try this once, but try building a relationship out of this, it's difficult to find common ground.
I think part of it is, that my dad was married young. He was the youngest of 8 kids, and he never really had to grow up. At the age of 8, my dad lost his father. He grew up without a dad, and his family treated him like a boy well into adulthood. Foolishly, he married my mother at the tender age of 23. They had been dating for 2 years. My dad continued to be a child. He worked odd jobs, never attended college, lived off the kindness of his siblings, and eventually built a small fortune out of tips that he collected while waiting on tables.
Don't get my wrong, I admire my father in a way. I should mention that my dad is successful. He's got a Mercedes benz. He bought it new. He has 3 houses. He's put his children through college, and he never thought about forcing them to work. I remember the 4 of us moving to America. We lived in a one bed room apartment. Before that, we were so poor that we lived in the living room of my uncle's apartment, while my uncle lived there too. Eventually, my dad built something out of nothing. Anyone who can do that, is worth admiring.
However, there's more. My dad is the eternal child. The man who was married too young. The man, who never really devoted himself to family. He's the guy who's constantly looking for an affair. He's the guy who believes that what he lacks in looks, he can make up with money. My dad lies to make other people like him more. He lies in that innocent way children do when they don't something. Have you ever asked a child a question about algebra or geometry? If you haven't, try doing it. Or better yet, try asking the kid about some animal he's never heard of. Hey little johnny, you're 7 right, could you tell me about the leather-breasted laughing snake of east West Virginia? Johnny-yes, of course, the laughing snake gets his name from the fact that it's cool like the power rangers pokemon. I like the green one the best, so the snake does too. Imagine an answer that a child gives, and you realize that my father is just talking for the sake of talking. He doesn't know bob dillon. He doesn't really believe the USSR was poised to attack the United STates. Pizza isn't the healthiest meal invented. My father is announcing to the world that he needs more attention.
. Also, I should mention that I have a 34 year old sister that suffers from depression. She lives in my mothers's and father's house. Couple this with the added tidbit that I'm convinced that my Dad not only suffers from diabetes, but he has an undiagnosed case of bipolar disorder. It forces me and my mother to not only be the referee, but we're the parents. If my dad or sister has a question, they want, no NEED to ask one of us first. What car should I buy. Does this condom match my socks? Should I wrastle with a pterayldactyl? All these and more are questions that I lovingly answered for my dad.
Ironically, I started at the beginning, it was father's day weekend, but I wandered off. My thoughts are meandering, and I'm convinced that I don't know how they leave my head. Now somehow, I cam back to the beginning.
my father is ridiculously difficult to shop for. I don't really know what he likes, nor do I understand what I should get. As I caroused website to website, stopping only to look at large breasted girls or ads for illegal drugs, i decided that this was enough. I'm going to pick some random tea, and hope that my dad likes it.
It was at this point that elle called me. I don't know what to call Elle. She's a girl, and I'm a guy, and somehow we just connect. We don't want to date each other, but we enjoy each other's company. If i were a different man, I'd date elle, but sadly, i'm not. Also, if elle were a different girl, she'd date me, but sadly, she isn't either. So there we are, two very interesting people, that just happen to get a long. Elle came over the night before Father's Day. I'm surprised that there isn't a Father's Day eve, but there isn't. Sorry fathers of the world.
Elle is convinced that when we show up anywhere, WE are the life of the thing. She does things to draw attention to us. I'm naturally hilarious, and elle isn't horrible to look at, plus she's very smart. She's right, when we're a couple, people are drawn to us. However, it's not as charming as she thinks it is. We're both very drunk, so we're very loud. People have two options, they can either hate us or like us. Since we're polite, and we tend to have high falutent conversations, people tend to like us.
Elle wanted to fuck. I knew this, because elle only comes over in order to come all over my bed. I'm sort of a place holder for her as she is for me. I need to feel close to someone, or I feel anxious and completely depressed. something something abandonment disorder. Elle had been complain all week that she's ovulating, and she desperately just needs a dick inside of her right now. I hadn't had sex in a week, so I just kind of needed to be in her right then, we were match made in heaven. Wait, does heaven do that sort of thing?
I should mention that I hate it when elle's ovulating, because she went to some hippy dippy Ivy League college. Because of this, elle can't take birth control. Something something a man should have to do it. Or we should use condoms. Bla Bla Bla it causes birth defects later in life. Whatever the excuse, we don't use anything besides condoms and emergency contraceptive (a very expensive large dose of birth control that we end up taking once a month, thanks hippy dippy college. )
I could talk about the night that we spent. We went out, we got very drunk. Elle was surprised that I could drink a bottle of whiskey in a sitting. Then we had really good sex. I told her that I loved her, then immediately took it back. She tolerated my drunken drive for affection. We fucked. I fell asleep, woke up, went to work, then planned on driving to my dad's house.
However, the latter bit never materialized. Instead, I was offered dinner and booze. I don't know how apparent this is, but I'm a stickler for booze. I called my dad, he asked me what time I was coming over. As my heart sunk, and lungs inflated to let just a a pool of sweat to collect under my sternum( FYI I think the bacteria that lived on my skin were excited for their new found pool. ), I let my dad know that I wasn't coming over on Father's Day. In my head, I justified this with the fact that I hadn't bought a gift yet.
After overcoming the fact that I felt like a bret easton ellis character pouting over the fact that his relationship with his father was strained, I got very drunk. There was a storm that night. It wasn't an ominous storm. It was the pleasant kind. Elle and I drank, we made out, and listened to daft punk while dancing on the balcony. No one was there to be charmed by our dancing skills, but I'm sure that they failed in comparison to our talking skills.
As the night progressed, we went inside. Elle was particularly drunk tonight, and she wanted me to fuck her. As we went into my bed room, i ripped off her clothes. Elle and I don't like the same kind of sex. I want it fast, rough,I want to feel the pain on my neck as she bites me, and I want to fuck her brains out until we both have the small death as exhaustion consumes us. Elle on the other hand, she wants to have very slow sex. I wander what her childhood was like. Her parents weren't smart enough to hit her, because she obviously doesn't associate sex with pain like i do. Perhaps, I'm reaching. Perhaps, she was just used to a boring kind of sex that they all must have at the Ivy League college she attended.
Needless to say, Elle and I don't always connect sexually. This is especially apparent when I drink. Drunk sex is my favorite sex. I have virility of a race horse, and I can''t stop fucking. My back, legs, and thighs are on overdrive. When i'm at this stage, the energizer bunny actually asks me for tips on stamina. Given her drunken state, elle wanted me to cum. I never tend to cum easily while drinking. I've heard it's something about a numbing feeling, so I smoked a little pot before going back to my task.
I never orgasm with elle when I'm drunk. However tonight, I was a man on a mission. I slipped on another condom, and I went to my task. A man's got to do, what a man's got to do dammit, literally. After we fucked for what seemed like hours, I finally came. It felt amazing. As my this creeping pleasure flew from the base of my tailbone to my brain, I felt myself orgasm inside of her. I finally came with her, I felt like I deserved a trophy or at least a medal. I mean, marathon runners, they run 26 miles, but they don't do it drunk, do they? Yeah, i didn't think so.
As I pulled back the condom, I realized that the end of the condom was missing. I just came inside elle. FUCK. Did I just fuck a girl that I don't love, cum inside her, while she was ovulating, without any sort of birth control between us on Father's Day?
Elle turned around to confirm that our condom broke. While drunk, in moments of calamity, elle collapses into a childlike complaining. She asks something along the lines of whether we just did that. Her voice conveys a combination of disbelief and plea for me, or anyone really, to fix it. This like any other situation, might be fixed with a good shower. Perhaps we could wash away the pregnancy.
While discussing mock children names to lighten the mood, we discuss what we're going to do. I know elle's position on abortion, and I know that we aren't in a position to rear children. Although I'm 28 years old, I, like my father, am still a child. The pregnancy announces itself as a demand to grow up. I suggest adoption as a desperate move to cling to my childhood, but, I know it's not possible.
If we had a kid, I, like my father before him, would have to grow up. Having nothing to draw from, I'd have to raise x danger x from a collection of random episodes of family matters and full house. If I screw his life up, I'm convinced that my dying words will be 'Did I do that'. Also, I will pay for jessie and the rippers to play at my funeral. X danger X <---that's his name, I I don't remember his first name, so it's x, and I don't want to disclose my last name. The important part is that his middle name will be danger. It's going to make him a hit with the ladies, trust me. Oh yeah, the kid is a boy. I already decided that. Elle wants a girl. I don't know why. Girls don't want to play catch or learn how to ride motorcycles.
I'll end on a note from Oscar Wilde that's been running through my head the entire time I wrote this. All women are destined to become their mothers, that is their charm. No man ever does, that is his charm.
Update: elle isn't pregnant. I saw my dad the next weekend. I bought him an ipad.
username63417:
Are you suuuure that you aren't a writer? I'm fairly certain that you could write a book and everyone would love it. Just sayin'. 
punkdork:
you're too kind. Since you're my only reader, if you promise to buy a book, I 'll promise to write one catered to you. What would you like me to write about?