Baby Daddy


I don’t know if it’s my advancing age or just the state of the world we live in, but there are a lot of DILFs running around, a fair number of them single. I really don’t have any rules when it comes to dating (except the two “P’s”, of course – penis and pulse) so baby daddys are always welcome. It’s just that the little people in question make me a tad unnerved.

Case in point: I was living with a couple of fun gals when I first moved to SoCal. One of them had a boyfriend, which was fine until he decided to start living in her bedroom. With his 5-year old daughter. I’d stumble into the kitchen, bed-head of extreme proportions, makeup from the night before smeared to oblivion, wearing a dirty, practically nonexistent Pats t-shirt, screeching hoarsely for Gatorade, and there would be the Swiss family Robinson eating breakfast while my roommate cheerfully made pancakes.
(At this point the 5-year old would usually scream and huddle behind her father, which did nothing for my ego nor my raging hangover.)

One sunny afternoon I had a couple of friends out on the back patio, chugging beer and swapping war stories. One had launched into the tale of her date the night before:
“So he’s got my hands tied to the bedpost while he goes down on me. The next thing I know, he’s got a dildo in one hand, a bowl of maraschino cherries in the other–” suddenly she stops, her face clouded with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.
“And then?!? And then?!?” my friend yells, grabbing the table in anticipation.
“And then! And then! Andthenandthenandthen!” squeals a high pitched voice behind her. The 5-year old has come outside to join us. She runs over to my chair. “Ariel, what’s a dildo?”

Needless to say, I had a talk with my roommate that night about our house being perhaps a mite unsuitable to raise a child.

So, actually dating a DILF – let’s see. It usually doesn’t get very far. I’m used to dens of iniquity, not Spongebob and Dora’s playland. If I hook up with one, I tend to be a vampire – will only go over at night (after bedtime) then disappear before dawn’s first light. Not exactly the magic formula for long-term. When I have met the little ones, it feels weird and awkward. Do I pretend to be the cool aunt? The good ol’ pal? Or just be honest and tell them, “Look, I have sex with your dad on a regular basis but neither of us know if we’re ready for a relationship – so just forget you ever met me.” Kids don’t exactly understand casual sex (and if they do, get them into therapy STAT.) Thankfully none of them have ever asked if I’m “their new mommy” because, let’s face it, those little buggers are pretty smart.

Probably the worst Baby-Daddy hook up I had was where I drove to this guy’s house to stay over for the first time (after 9PM, of course). We drink wine, we laugh, we snog. He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, nearly tripping over Buzz Lightyear. We get nekkid. We start doing it. Suddenly–“BAM!” “BOOM! “BAM-BAM!” I jump out of bed. “Holy shit, is it an earthquake?!?” I yelp. “No, it’s just my kids acting up,” he sighs. “Denton, Theo, go back to sleep! Don’t make me come in there!” he shouts. The banging ceases. “Where is…their bedroom?” I ask warily. “Right there,” he points to the wall directly behind the headboard. I quickly realize that the banging is coming from the other side of that wall, which means their beds are only separated from ours by a couple of sheets of drywall. That kills my kinky mojo faster than the thought of Mitt Romney in tighty-whiteys.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers. Starts kissing me again. I try to relax. To forget where I am. We fool around. He gets on top of me. We roll around, he throws me on top for a ride. Ooh, this is nice, very ni-yi-yi-yi-cceee…
“Daddy? I don’t feel good.”
Oh God. Oh God. I try to somehow throw myself off of his pogo stick and roll under the bed at the same time.
“Theo, go back to bed, I’ll be in there in two minutes.” he yells out.
“Daddy? What is that on top of you?”
“Nothing honey, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right there.”
“Daddy, are you OK? I’m scared!”
“I’m fine! Now go back to be–Denton! What are you doing up? Take your little brother and both of you go to bed.”

Denton has thoughtfully switched on the light so now I’m huddled behind the nightstand, trying to frantically feel around for my panties. He gets up and quickly ushers the kids out. “Sorry, back soon.” he mouths to me.

Yeah, but I won’t be. Now that I’ve scarred his kids for life, it’s time for me to make like a tree and get outta here. I hurriedly get dressed, sneak out the back door and make a run for my car.

I’m sure there are better ways to be with (and to do) men with children, but I for one think it may be best to keep my distance. At least until the kids are away in college.

1 Comment

  1. Nikki B

    September 13, 2012 at 8:58 am

    Oooohhhhh… this just gave me heart palpitations! No other people’s kids for me, thanks!

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