In flagrante delicto May 17, 2007Posted by Andreas in Life, Parenting, sex.
I just found this on my computer. It’s several years old, but still quite funny, I think.
It’s about two o’clock on a weekday night. We’re having our own brand of make-up sex after a lengthy argument-fight-discussion. It’s late and we’re not worried about disturbing anyone, so we’re being relatively loud. Moaning, talking, heavy breathing.
We’re both about to summit that last steep incline, about to plunge off the other side in an exhilarating rush of sensory overload just to ramp off the end of that roller coaster, the edge of the world, and float weightlessly in frothy clouds of orgasm when she exclaims “Fuck baby !”
My first thought is “Yeah…you got that right !”, but then I look at her face and see her freaked eyes pointing towards the hallway. (Picture the scene if you must: missionary position sex, her head gently drooping over the edge of the mattress at a slight angle, me still with no eyes in the back of mine.)
My second thought sends eerie shivers down the length of my spine: “It’s a burglar. We’re dead!” I turn my head and see his silhouette against the backlit doorway…our four-and-a-half year old son.
For a split-second all activity seizes. He seems to take in the tableau in front of him, and then he shuffles on past our bed and into the en-suite. A moment later I hear the tingle of boy-wee against porcelain. I’m off. Visions of a mentally scarred teenager in ten years from now flash through my mind. In the half-light of the bathroom, I kneel down next to him. “Did mommy and daddy wake you up ? We were talking and…hugging.” Part of me wants to talk straight. I hate the hypocritical lies and half-truths parents disseminate amongst their children, but then the image of him telling his pre-school buddies that he caught his parents fucking the other night just jars a little too much.
I take him back to his bed, and after getting him a bottle of chocolate milk, continue my interrogation just a little longer: “Did you feel funny when you walked into mummy and daddy’s bedroom just now ?” “Yes. I felt funny, because I had to make a wee.” Grmph ! “Is there anything you want to ask me about ?” After a short pause: “Yes, next time we go to the beach, can we…ramble, ramble, ramble.” Either he really doesn’t have a clue, or his little mind has already pulled a serious con-job of suppressing the evidence. We might never find out, but his therapist may, one day. In the meantime we’ll be getting a lock for the bedroom door.