After the discovery of the Pokemon porn, which I thought I handled rather calmly, I began to wonder if it was time to have "THE" talk with my twelve year old son. I have never talked with my boys about "that". That was always their dad's job. I handled the discussion with my girls, only I didn't use a chart and a pointer stick like my mom did.
My decision that it was time for the birds and bees to be taught was cemented when I found a DVD under the dresser of his room when I was cleaning. Not just A DVD, but a-"Pull my Hair and Call Me Stupid"-with-a- half-naked-bimbo-sticking-her-ass-out-so-boys-will-fantasize-about-her DVD. And I am dead serious-that was the name of the porno, "Pull My Hair and Call Me Stupid".
Apparently my innocent child had opened the boxes his Older Worldly Brother had packed up and left when he went to college, found it, and was only going to watch it because it said both "pull my hair" AND "stupid", two words that he could relate to. I know that has to be reason he wanted to view it. I just know it!
But when I told Said Worldly Brother I found his porn, he swore it wasn't his, adding that he wouldn't watch any porn that combined comedy and action. He was only interested in the action part. I nervously laughed that "heh heh" laugh and prayed he was just trying to make my blood pressure shoot up and cause my head to blow off my shoulders. And then he blamed it on his weasel-y friend that I despise. "It's probably his". Okay, it was that creepy friend's porn. I knew it! Even my Worldly Boy wouldn't watch such filth!
So, because it was Wednesday and the kids were at their dad's and the house was empty and Rickiepoo was on his way home and I was feeling rather friskey, I decide to text my man to let him in on what awaited him once he stepped thru the door. I envisioned Him opening the door and me standing 35 lbs thinner with toned arms and legs and bigger boobs and a flat stomach, leaning provacatively against the bedroom door, motioning him forward with a slow movement of my pointer finger while wearing my black negligee and my 4 inch fuck me shoes with fur trim. So I text him "Pull my hair and call me stupid". There. That should make him hot and bothered.
Nothing. For ten minutes I wait. 'He is a very busy man' I think. He must not be able to text me. He must be closing a big deal. So I text him again. "Put the pedal to the metal. I am horney." There. That will surely make him call me. I can picture him now, in his big manly truck laughing and getting turned on by my mysterious texts. He will come thru the door and throw me on the bed (okay, I climb on the bed. He has a bad back and I'm a fat ass and all) and make passionate love to me for hours. Loudly.
Nothing. For ten more minutes. Dammit! Now I have to call him and I am so much sluttier in words. Not so much in person. I can never stay serious. But I am a good actress and I will fake my way thru it. And I will tell him to "Be ready because I am going to jump your bones" in my porno voice with the music and all in the background and he will be so turned on. So I dial his number.
Voicemail. Shit! He never listens to his voicemail. That's it! The mood has passed. I am going to be in the house all alone with no kids and a porn and no hunk of man. Just my luck. So I pour myself a stiff drink of diet coke and sit down to watch HGTV. Then the door opens and I can hear him coming down the hallway.
"Did you get your texts?'
"No. Did you want to go eat somewhere?" (yep, I could have been offended by that ...)
"No. I, uh, I was thinkin'... we have the house all to ourselves,"
He pulls me close and kisses me like we were dating, not married, with his sexy blue eyes and his even sexier bald head and says,
"Pull my hair and call me stupid".
God, I love this man.
And I am having "THE" talk with Cooper this week.
Boole”s inequality for continuous pdf
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