“Mommy why you doing that? You don’t want to eat your cookies?” My confused child wondered why everyone had finished their desert except me. I wanted to tell him the truth; son, I’m tired of eating my own cookies, I want someone else to do the eating this time. I need someone to soak my cookies in delicious
nut almond milk, and get my cookies so wet that they crumble, I need my cookies devoured.
Instead of saying shit that mothers shouldn’t say to young minds, I opted for, “I’ll eat them soon, gotta clean up first.”
I ran the shower. The dishwasher. The vacuum. Took out the trash. Etcetera.
Then the phone rang. Cookie crusher was calling.
The screen showed the name of my DOD. Acronym for Dick On Demand. Ding-a-ling On Demand. Dis On Dat. Call it what you prefer. I often call it a blessing.
See as a single parent, opportunities to get your swerve on come far and few in between. When I’m not working my bones at my day job, I’m tending to two little humans as my night job. When I can sneak away for a moment I’m usually in the bathroom, spread eagle, with my favorite lesbian porn playing while massaging my way into the arms of ecstasy. But tonight was different. Tonight I have a DOD appointment.
I let the phone ring. Screaming children in the background is not sexy, had to let that call go.
Texting back quickly, I advised him that I had just got out of the shower and would be running behind.
Tonight was a no joke, no panties. no bra kind of night. It was a skin tight dress with winged eyes, heavy on the mascara, light on the prep because I wouldn’t need much for this kind of night. I came out of the bathroom with my two small humans staring up at me, giggling with their tiny hands covering their mouths.
“What are you guys doing up?” I could’ve sworn I put the mommy magic on them with the bed time stories and the sweet tuck-ins, but behold, here they are: giggling.
I chased them back into bed – laughing.
The sitter was at the door and so was I. A few brief exchanges and I was on the way to my pussy-poppin’-papi. A bit much? Well if you think so maybe you’re someone who is getting DOD on the regular. To me this was an event. An extravaganza and reason to be extra as fuck.
I moon walked through the parking lot in my Target heels and Plato’s closet dress.
I can admit that paying for a sitter so that I can make time for sensual seduction, made me feel like I was
desperate overly determined. But hadn’t I earned a night in the sun? I had submitted to my destiny long ago that for 18 years I am to be a watch dog, a good mother. Thus, I had arduously combed through my single life, disassembling any strands of single frivolities and gelling in all things that promoted the growth of healthy children. Yet every now and then I wanted to feel fingers that weren’t my own, caress places that if only for a moment belonged to someone else.
Now here I was. Parked outside of my DOD’s condo, taking down my cognac shooters in effort to absolve any hesitation. I reconciled with myself that I deserved a moment. That I deserved to ride dick brazenly into the sun, for tomorrow I would be up early as if none of it had happened; making pancakes for little people that had no idea what it means to ache in such a carnal way.
I text him that I was outside, in traditional millennial fashion, and at the door he appeared.
DOD: “You look nice.”
The night went pleasantly. Slightly awkward, but pleasant. I’m an inquisitive person and I’ve noticed over time that men usually take that as a sign of a woman looking for more, that my question asking somehow showed that I am scanning them for step daddy material. This is unfortunate and not the case. My DOD made it awkward with his nervous overly thought out responses and unnecessary explanations on why he preferred the single life. He took my interest out of context and couldn’t see that I simply have a brain that I like to use on occasion. The only children of mine he’d ever meet were the ones his penis would spew out and have crawling around in my vaginal walls after our rendezvous. I wasn’t looking for daddy applicants. Unless of course we’re talking about bedroom zaddy, then by all means.
I like sex, but not enough to do it with a brainless and soulless man. Necrophilia is not my thing; so we chatted.
After enough of Jesus juice I disrobed and began the show. It was pleasant. He was still new to my body, so as any man in new territory, he didn’t quite know his way around. I promised him that I would be his tour guide and we’d do this again for as long as it lasted.
My DOD beckoned me to stay and sleep, but it was already getting into sunrise hours, and duties called. Besides, falling asleep with a DOD is a no-no. I’d be crazy to fall asleep in the arms of a man with good conversation and reasonable penis. I chose to keep it simple, a life of bad decisions taught me that much.
Bidding him goodnight I headed home to my little goobers.
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