gained forty pounds and I barely recognized her. First couple of months it was cool because I psyched myself out. I’d look down at her stomach and think, “Maybe she had a couple of beers or something.” But those last couple of months, she got so big she’d have to rock just to get up out of chairs. She’d wobble toward me and say, “Make love to me … What’s the matter? You don’t find me sexy anymore?”
I’d say, “Have you seen your drawer size lately?
“That’s okay,” she’d say, panting. “We’ll use them as a sheet. Come on, make love to me.”
Well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I’d tell her to go into the bedroom and turn off the lights. Then I’d go into the bathroom with porno magazines, trying to get it up.
She’d get a little impatient waiting. “Damon, are you coming in here or what?!”
I’d say, “All right, baby, hold on, I’ll be right there. Just let me see what it’s supposed to look like.”
The Delivery Room Is No Man’s Land
I don’t think a man should be in the delivery room when his wife is giving birth. It’s very selfish on the woman’s part to want him to be there, subjecting him to the same pains she’s having. If the woman would take a second and think about it from the man’s perspective, she’d understand what I’m talking about.
The guy’s standing there next to his wife, doing his duty. He’s breathing with her, holding her hand, giving her ice chips, encouraging her. That’s fine. Suddenly his wife’s vagina opens up and something the size of a watermelon pops out. He’s going to freak out, seeing it get all abused. How’s he ever gonna eat that again? That’s like going to McDonald’s and watching somebody spit on your hamburger, throw in on the floor, kick it around, and then serve it to you—you ain’t never gonna eat there again.
On top of that, a man will feel very insecure about himself. I think that’s why a lot of men faint in the delivery room. It’s the shock of knowing that she was faking all those moans. My wife screamed andmoaned with this eight-pound baby like she’s never screamed and moaned before. I mean, it was for real. There’s just no way my dick (which I haven’t figured out how to weigh yet) could get even close to doing the same thing to her.
Anyway, the baby came out with this coat of stuff on it. I didn’t know what it was. I was afraid to touch the baby. My wife actually wanted me to catch him. Yuck! I couldn’t do it. Poor guy was hanging by his umbilical cord waiting on me because … I fainted.
Your Kids Will Ruin Your Sex Life
I thought that after I got married, I would be able to stop masturbating. Right after the wedding I said to myself, “Damn, I’m married now. I don’t need to jerk off anymore.” Then about two weeks later, I said, “Damn, I’m married now. I need to jerk off!”
But, really, sex was never a problem until my wife and I had kids. Before them, we’d do it anytime, anywhere, anyplace, and with anything—we were porkin’!! That’s how we got four kids. My wife would be cooking dinner and I’d walk up behind her and say, “Hey, baby, what you doing? Looking all good, come here.” Then I’d pull up her skirt and start hitting it. We’d get creative, doing it all over the kitchen, on the floor, on the table, even get her ass on top of the refrigerator. It was aggressive sex, wild, with all kinds of hollering and yelling and moaning. We were so noisy we’d set off car alarms.
It isn’t like that anymore. The kids are always around. Now it’s like a race and we’re there playing that game Red Light, Green Light. I put it in andstart counting, “Red light, green light, one, two, three,” hoping to get done before any of the kids come in and catch us.
Now we got to act like we aren’t doing it. We’ll be in the bed on a Saturday morning, just rubbing, and one of my boys will walk in.
“Good mmmmmorning s-son. You need help with your
I’d say, “Have you seen your drawer size lately?
“That’s okay,” she’d say, panting. “We’ll use them as a sheet. Come on, make love to me.”
Well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I’d tell her to go into the bedroom and turn off the lights. Then I’d go into the bathroom with porno magazines, trying to get it up.
She’d get a little impatient waiting. “Damon, are you coming in here or what?!”
I’d say, “All right, baby, hold on, I’ll be right there. Just let me see what it’s supposed to look like.”
The Delivery Room Is No Man’s Land
I don’t think a man should be in the delivery room when his wife is giving birth. It’s very selfish on the woman’s part to want him to be there, subjecting him to the same pains she’s having. If the woman would take a second and think about it from the man’s perspective, she’d understand what I’m talking about.
The guy’s standing there next to his wife, doing his duty. He’s breathing with her, holding her hand, giving her ice chips, encouraging her. That’s fine. Suddenly his wife’s vagina opens up and something the size of a watermelon pops out. He’s going to freak out, seeing it get all abused. How’s he ever gonna eat that again? That’s like going to McDonald’s and watching somebody spit on your hamburger, throw in on the floor, kick it around, and then serve it to you—you ain’t never gonna eat there again.
On top of that, a man will feel very insecure about himself. I think that’s why a lot of men faint in the delivery room. It’s the shock of knowing that she was faking all those moans. My wife screamed andmoaned with this eight-pound baby like she’s never screamed and moaned before. I mean, it was for real. There’s just no way my dick (which I haven’t figured out how to weigh yet) could get even close to doing the same thing to her.
Anyway, the baby came out with this coat of stuff on it. I didn’t know what it was. I was afraid to touch the baby. My wife actually wanted me to catch him. Yuck! I couldn’t do it. Poor guy was hanging by his umbilical cord waiting on me because … I fainted.
Your Kids Will Ruin Your Sex Life
I thought that after I got married, I would be able to stop masturbating. Right after the wedding I said to myself, “Damn, I’m married now. I don’t need to jerk off anymore.” Then about two weeks later, I said, “Damn, I’m married now. I need to jerk off!”
But, really, sex was never a problem until my wife and I had kids. Before them, we’d do it anytime, anywhere, anyplace, and with anything—we were porkin’!! That’s how we got four kids. My wife would be cooking dinner and I’d walk up behind her and say, “Hey, baby, what you doing? Looking all good, come here.” Then I’d pull up her skirt and start hitting it. We’d get creative, doing it all over the kitchen, on the floor, on the table, even get her ass on top of the refrigerator. It was aggressive sex, wild, with all kinds of hollering and yelling and moaning. We were so noisy we’d set off car alarms.
It isn’t like that anymore. The kids are always around. Now it’s like a race and we’re there playing that game Red Light, Green Light. I put it in andstart counting, “Red light, green light, one, two, three,” hoping to get done before any of the kids come in and catch us.
Now we got to act like we aren’t doing it. We’ll be in the bed on a Saturday morning, just rubbing, and one of my boys will walk in.
“Good mmmmmorning s-son. You need help with your
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