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"description_bbcode_parsed": "Sometimes I think the most helpless feeling in the world is when you flush the toilet and the water starts going up instead of down.
See, not only do you have to haul tail over to the linen closet and throw everything you own down on a floor covered in who-knows-what (it’s me and Dad, so probably nothing I haven’t had in my mouth or ass already), you probably weren’t planning to spend anywhere from five to twenty minutes fixing what you broke when trying to take a shit.
I was ass-up and pushing our nice terry bath sheets under the bowl when a foot made contact and shoved me face-first into the damp mess.
“Does this happen every time we have Taco Bell?” Asked Dad as I rolled over onto my back, wet in spots but thankfully nothing valuable.
I shot him some daggers and patted the pile of soaked washcloths beside me. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” I said in monotone, momentarily cursing my lot in life.
“Thanks, I think I will,” he replied matter-of-factly while deftly stepping out of his robe and boxers, headed down to the garage.
A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway, pipe wrench in paw, coveralls clean and dry. It didn’t take much to see he hadn’t bothered with underwear. Dadbulge ain’t the worst thing to stare at while fixing a pipe. Or laying some.
“So, you want me to grease up and stick this thing where the sun don’t shine?” He held the wrench against his groin, dirty old man.
I love him.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Oh, come on. I already made the mistake of forgetting to turn off the water main. You get off on wet-dog smell?”
Now it was his turn for the eye-rolling. “Once you’ve had your tongue a few inches up your kid’s rectum, everything else kind of pales in comparison.” He was toying with the fly of his coveralls, and I had to wonder why he zipped up in the first place if he were just going to make a tryst out of a tragedy.
Oh, Hector, don’t be such a drama queen, right? I know what some of you are thinking.
I turned around to stick my head back under the sink. “Like I said, if you’re going to help, at least turn off the main outside.” But, even as I was talking to the inside of the cabinet, I knew he was kneeling behind me to aim.
Yeah, surprise: it’s not all orgies 24/7 and fucking the PTA on poker night. Sometimes pipes burst and regular stuff needs fixing.
I just can’t get Dad to act like an adult sometimes.
“Carry on,” I heard him say while running his paws over my rump to reach for my belt and fly. Real useful, I know.
“I can’t carry on if I’m gonna flood the house,” I replied without really hiding my honest contempt. Even so, his breath at the base of my tail did feel pretty good. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“It’d be a damn shame to waste such an opportunity,” Dad said with a whiff of the sagacious. His fingers negotiated my tail-button (not my hole, you pervs, the flap out back) and drew down my pants and underoos to my knees. Burying his snout between my cheeks, he drew in a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much at lunch, or else I’d dive right in.”
Sometimes dads say the weirdest things.
“You got any WD-40?” He asked. See what I mean?
The things I do for love.
***
Characters are me
Art by SkySketch",
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