The Talk (Fifth stab at humor in sex)

Man talks to his eleven-year-old son about sex...fifth stab at humor... The Talk (Fifth stab at humor in sex) Hello everyone. I know I talked about my ex-wife and mentioned my daughter briefly, but I never mentioned my son. His name is Mike. I just had to bring him up since this being a sex theme site, I was reminded of a talk we had some years ago. You know the talk. Oh yes, that talk. I can't recall how it went exactly, but I think it went something like this. I was sitting around the kitchen table with my wife Kim. I had a bourbon in front of me and I was looking for any excuse to avoid the inevitable. My wife was no help. Heck, she had the easy part. "Look, Mike is eleven already. He is going on twelve. You know you have to do this." She started. "I know, I know." I said, "But, does it have to be tonight?" "What are you going to do, wait till he is in college?" She asked rather sarcastically. "No, I just, um..." "Look, he is an eleven-year-old. You know he is showing some interest in girls. He is just dying for information. He needs it from you, his father." She said flatly. "You're right, baby. I'll go in there right now," I said. I hated it when she was right. I finished my bourbon and walked into Mike's room. I closed the door behind me. Mike was sitting on the bed sorting through some baseball cards. "Mike, we need to have a little talk," I started. "About what, Dad?" "Um, the birds and the bees," I stammered. I had no idea why they always say birds and bees. I've never seen any birds or bees in the bedroom. "Ah, OK, Dad." "Look, I know you are getting to be a young man now. You are eleven already. You are probably starting to notice girls," I started. "You mean like that hot babe in the third row at school?" he asked. "Uh, yes. Like that hot babe at school." That was cute, I thought. I wonder where an eleven-year-old picked that up. Probably from his old man. "Yea." "Yea, well, eventually you are going to meet a girl and you are going to have feelings for her. These feelings are going to turn to feelings of arousal and you two will come together as one in a beautiful moment. It will be a joyous happening for both of you as you unite." Wow, was I being evasive. "OK." I was starting to perspire. "What I mean to say, is what you were given between your legs will be inserted between her legs in a moment of pure joy," I finally exhaled. "Oh, you mean we'll fuck." "Um, well, yes. I guess you've heard that word before," I added. "Oh, yea. k**s use it all the time at school," Mike stated somewhat proudly. That's nice to know. Maybe the k** will grow up to be a chip off the old block. "Any questions?" I ask somewhat hesitantly. "Uh, yea Dad. Does the missionary position provide good clitoral stimulation?" he asks without flinching. "Uh, um...hold on..." I leave the room quickly and run into the kitchen. "Kim! Kim! Have you been talking to our son about sex?" "No, of course not, honey. We decided that you should, remember?" she answered. "Of course. Um, does the missionary position provide good clitoral stimulation?" I ask. "What? Will you get back in there and talk to your eleven-year-old and stop worrying about our sex life." "Um, of course, baby." I walk back into Mike's room cautiously. Sort of like a lion tamer entering a cage. "Uh, your mother says yes. Anything else?" I hesitated to ask. "Yea, Dad. If I'm taking a girl from behind, how do I know if I'm hitting her G-spot?" "Uh, Kim!" I exclaim as I leave the room quickly. I run back into the kitchen. "You sure you haven't been talking to our son about sex?" I ask. "No, of course not. He is an eleven-year-old boy." She says somewhat disgustedly, "What is the problem now?" "Oh nothing." I say as I pour another shot of bourbon, "By the way, do we still have those marriage manuals?" "What?" she exclaims. "Oh I just thought it might help me word things better." "They're up in the attic. I mean really, just get back in there and talk to your eleven-year-old son. I mean how hard can that be?" How hard can that be? He is just an eleven-year-old. I just have to remember that. I finish my drink and walk back in. I have a job to do and I will do it. I am the father, after all. "Uh, yea, um...you'll know." I stammer. I breathe slowly. "Anything else?" I ask very slowly. "Yea, Judy at school says that your safe word should never be 'more'. What does she mean by that?" I run out of the room. Fast. "Kim! Kim!" "What now?" She asks, "Why are you sweating?" "Are you sure nobody's been talking to Junior about sex?" "He is an eleven-year-old for God sakes." She says somewhat agitated, "How hard can this be?" She's right. It's not that hard. In fact, maybe I should ask him the questions. I pour another drink. 06-29-09.