You Can’t Control My Farts

The other night Kali and I were on the couch and Donny was on the love seat. Kali was reading a book and Donny and I were watching Dancing w/ the Stars from the previous night. I was kind of fast forwarding through the commercials and crap and just watching the dancing and the scores. So, while Cameron Mathison performed (he ended up getting eliminated) Donny and I commented on how tight his pants were. It was kind of uncomfortable to watch because no matter what he did my eyes were drawn to either his ass or his crotch.

Donny says, “The judges keep telling Jenni Garth she needs to not lead with her chin, someone needs to tell him to stop leading with his dick.”
“Donny!”

So then I fast forwarded to the next performance and Kali says, “Wait! I wanted to see what the judges said. Did they tell him he stunk? That he needs to go home?”

I laughed and asked Donny if he heard what Kali said. He hadn’t so I repeated it. Then the weirdest thing happened. Donny jumped up off the love seat and started swatting at his chest.

“It wasn’t that funny, Daddy.”

Suddenly something dark flew from his shirt and almost landed on Kali and I, but hit the floor instead. It was a centipede.

Donny runs to get a shoe and kills it. Afterwards, he stood there huffing and puffing while Kali and I stared at him with our mouths open.

“Wow, Daddy. I didn’t know you could jump so high.”

We clowned him for a good five minutes.

Now, last night all thoughts of his unmanly display of athleticism was forgotten as we were both horny and anxious to start some baby making. I’d just finished making dinner when I asked Donny to fix Kali’s plate so I could go take a shower.

He slapped me on the ass and said, “Yeah, you do that so I can….”

“Donny!”

“What?”

“That’s rude.”

“What?!”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“What did I say?”

“I’m not repeating it.”

“I said, ‘You do that so I can get all up on you.’”

Oh.

I thought he said, “Yeah, you do that so I can get all up IN you.”

That’s not nice, right?

Later, we’re in bed and my stomach starts rumbling. I start talking in a baby voice and meanwhile Donny is kissing my neck and talking in a deep, husky, I-wanna-get-laid voice.

“Oh boy, my tummy hurts.”

“You want me to leave you alone?”

“No, I want to have sex. I just don’t want to be farting.”

“Oh, you won’t be farting.”

“You can’t control my farts.”

But, see that’s my husband. Whenever people ask me about being married to a younger man I reply that the only noticeable difference is our sex drives. While mine isn’t exactly slow going, I can’t hang with Donny sometimes. I think the man could, and would, have sex every day.

“Not tonight, Donny. My back hurts, I have a headache, a tootache, a tummy ache, and I think there’s some anal leakage.”

“That’s okay. Bend over. You’ll be fine.”