Fuck Me Please Sons

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Fuck Me Please Sons
DEAR DEIDRE: MY wife had sex with my son’s best mate. She’s begging me not to throw her out but I hate her for what she’s done.
We’ve been married for 25 years and we have two sons of 18 and 22. I am 48 and my wife is 43.
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She has always been a bit of a flirt.
As the boys grew up she would ­welcome their friends into our home and flirt with them, too.
They seemed to find it funny and I didn’t mind too much.
My eldest son seemed very off-hand with his mum last summer.
When I’d ask him, he’d yell, “I don’t want to talk about it, Dad.”
My other son then behaved in the same way towards his mum so I figured it was down to their hormones.
Then my eldest came home from an ­evening playing snooker with a cut on his face and a black eye.
I asked him who had done it and he got very agitated and mentioned his best friend, a boy he grew up with. He’s also 22.
When I questioned him, my wife shouted, “Just leave it, will you?”
I asked her, “Do you know anything about this?”
She snapped, “No!” - but I knew she was lying.
When we got into bed, she broke down and admitted she’d had sex with our son’s best friend.
It turns out it happened when his friend called round when I was travelling with work.
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My wife had opened a bottle of wine, talked about how lonely she felt and eventually they had sex in our front room.
The worst thing was our son caught them at it.
He was obviously distraught and then couldn’t live with this knowledge so ­confided in his younger brother.
I’ve fallen out with my youngest for not telling me and my once happy family is now in tatters — and, of course, we’re all stuck together for the lockdown.
My wife is so apologetic that it makes me sick.
I’ve told her I want her out and to wait for the divorce papers.
DEIDRE SAYS: You’re understandably angry right now so it isn’t the time for making life-changing decisions.
Yes, your wife was very wrong to cheat with your son’s friend.
But turning your marriage on its head and splitting up the family would bring devastation all round.
You shouldn’t blame either son for being loyal to their mum.
It would have been the hardest of conversations for them to spill the beans.
A marriage of 25 years is a lot to throw away.
Talk about how you could heal and rediscover love and trust.
At least agree a truce until life opens up again and try couple counselling before you make any rash decisions.
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I knew this day would come as I had been warned by those who had gone before me.He's going to ask someday. She's going to have questions. You need to get your story straight.
Jun 14, 2016, 04:53 PM EDT | Updated Jun 15, 2017
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I knew this day would come as I had been warned by those who had gone before me.
You need to get your story straight. You have to be *prepared* because you'll be caught with your pants down when the kids ask about the specifics of sex.
And, in a dark car, on the way home from dinner, it happened: my son and I had a whopper of a conversation.
While I've mostly recovered from the trauma, my friends are still reeling from the advice I gave him.
The evening started out innocently enough. After attending an event as a family, Hubby and I decided to take the kids out for dinner at one of our favorite watering holes (read: drink martinis as the kids consumed large quantities of fried foods and dessert). We spent that time talking to each other, visiting with friends who'd also gone to the restaurant and joking with our favorite bartender. It was a picture perfect moment: warm sweaters, noisy atmosphere, a family smiling together. I had no way of knowing that my son had questions brimming and he'd decided he was going to get some answers on the way home.
As we had taken two cars,my son opted to ride home with me. I should have seen this as a SIGN, people. Of what, I don't know, but I should have seen SOMETHING coming.
Once in the car, and about two seconds after I navigated the car away from the curb, he dropped a bomb on me: there was a sexting scandal at school and he was upset.
Let me repeat that: MY TWELVE YEAR OLD WAS UPSET ABOUT A SEXTING INCIDENT. Twelve. As in, they don't even have the word "teen" in their ages yet, bitchachos.
Pardon me as I try not to drive this people mover right into a tree.
While he was not involved (THANKYOUSWEETBABYJESUS), he was upset about the consequences, the children involved and the general implications that this kind of thing brings. He wondered what would happen if he received salacious texts, who he should tell, why kids would do such a thing. Heavy topics weighed on his mind and he wanted to talk about all of it. WITH ME. As I was driving heavy machinery. In the dark. Without Hubby as a back up.
I'm not going to lie: I was caught with my pants down and I swear, the deer we passed on the road did not look nearly as surprised as I did when I was driving.
But, I made a choice to keep driving, to take the longest way home possible because my tween was talking, openly talking to me about sex. I didn't know when, or if, this situation would ever present itself again. I don't know if it was the dark, country roads I slowly drove, the fact that we weren't facing each other or if the stars just magically aligned to make him open up, but it happened.
As we quieted from the sexting discussion, he coyly and shyly said, "I have one more question" and the tone of his voice made me realize I needed to brace myself.
"Well. You know. Some of the boys, they talk about this thing that involves blowing. And work. Blow work, is it? Something that is like a job and involves blowing. I don't know what that means. Can you explain that to me?".
I'M NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THE TEEN YEARS, YOU GUYS.
Here I was, in a car, being asked a specific question about a sex act from my twelve year old. In the split seconds that followed his question, I debated: do I tell him? Do I push it aside and tell him that's for grown ups? Do I pull over on the side of the road and call Hubby to take over? How hard will I have to junk punch Hubby when I get home? I honestly didn't know what to do and, as I gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep myself from driving into a cornfield, I made a decision.
I told him. I was honest and forthright. And, then it was HIM wearing the deer in the headlights expression.
As the reality of the answer set in, and, realizing these moments with tweens are fleeting, I took it one step further: I told him a committed relationship is a two way street and when you are intimate with someone, it's never one sided. If he's alone with a girl, it's to be enjoyable for both of them and it's never okay to let a girl please him solely.
I told him that if you get one, you give one. Plain and simple. Because no daughter in law of mine is going to stand in my kitchen and wonder why he's such a greedy asshole in the bedroom.
And, judging from the looks of horror on my friends' faces as I've recounted this story, I seem to be in the minority when it comes talking openly with kids about sex. I've been accused of condoning pre marital sex. I've been told I crossed a line by explaining the specifics of a sex act to my child. And, I've been told that I'm asking for trouble by telling him that his eventual girlfriend's needs are important, too. Mostly, my friends have cry laughed at the image of me driving down the street being asked about knob polishing. And, naturally, they all asked how soon I'd be blogging about my drive from hell....
But, for all the judgement, all the shocked outcry, I stand by what I told my son. I stand by my honesty and I hope, that in doing so, I've set the stage for him to want to come back to ask questions, to get good, solid answers from his father and I. And, in that moment, he trusted me with his thoughts and was open and honest with me. The least I could do was be honest right back.
Because if you get it, you give it, people.
Christine Burke is a blogger and freelance writer. Her personal blog is keeperofthefruitloops.com and she can be found on Facebook . Her latest book, "I Just Want To Be Perfect" is available on Amazon.

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How I Got Drunk With My Son’s Friend was last modified: May 25th, 2015 by Anne Bardsley

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Or…. Me, Matt, the Cat and the Watermelon
One hot summer afternoon I came home to find my son’s friend, Matt, sitting on our front porch. I invited him in so he didn’t melt in the heat. Justin would be home shortly. I offered him a glass of iced tea. Like a good hostess, I added fresh lemon and a sprig of something green to impress him.
Mrs. B, he asked, “Do you mind if I have a piece of that watermelon in the fridge?”
“Sure, Matt. I’ll cut you a piece. I think there must have been a bad spot because someone cut a piece off the top.” I got the knife and cut Matt a big slice. It looked so refreshing. He suggested I have one too. In fact, he cut it for me. I was going to call his mom and tell her what a nice young man she’d raised.
We sat and slurped down this delicious watermelon. We both agreed it was the sweetest we’ve EVER had. Matt suggested we have another piece while he waited for Justin. I agreed. I was starting to chill from a hectic day and this watermelon was just what I needed to unwind. Matt offered to get up and cut it for me. What a nice kid! I was feeling sentimental that college was starting in a few months and I wouldn’t see him and the other kids for a while.
I told Matt he would be a great waiter for a summer job. “Thanks, Mrs. B and you don’t have to leave me a tip.” he chuckled.
Our cat, appropriately named Kitty, started to scratch at my legs for a treat. I gave her a small piece of the melon. She rolled over and played with it like catnip. 
By now, Matt and I were discussing life. “How’s your girlfriend?”
“Did you hear what happened to Jill? She cheated on Marty.”
“Oh No! That tramp!” I yelled. I wasn’t sure where that came from because I actually like Jill.
“I’m not sure she’s a tramp, Mrs. B,” Matt defended her. “Oh! You are so naïve, Matt!”
“Matt, sometimes pretty girls can be tramps. It’s deceiving because you expect tramps to have a cigarette hanging out of their mouth and their hair all teased up.”
I told Matt he was very naïve again. I think I said it three more times. I liked the way it rolled off my tongue.
“Matt, let’s have one more piece of melon before Justin gets home. Give Kitty that little piece on your plate. She loves this stuff!”
Half an hour later, Justin arrived home. Matt, the cat and I had eaten half of the watermelon.
“Hey Justin, want some watermelon before your mom eats it all?” Matt asked
“Hey! I yelled. Lighten up! It’s a fruit! It’s healthy! It’s a bleeping fruit! (hiccup).”
Justin gave Matt a dirty look and said, “You know what’s in the melon right?”
I said, “Of course, seeds…we’re spitting them out.” I spit one his way.
I suggested Justin help us finish off this incredibly refreshing and delicious melon quickly because I was feeling very sleepy. Kitty was too. She fell asleep sitting up at my feet.
When my daughters arrived home they were angry that the watermelon was almost gone. Since when did my kids like fruit so much? “Who ate the watermelon?” they demanded.
I grinned and announced that “Me, Matt and the cat did.” I grinned at them and hiccuped. “It was delishioushhh. Have shome…it’s verrrrry nutrishish for you. Watch for the sheeds. Justin says they’re in there.”
“Ooops here comes one now!” I spit one in their direction and laughed uncontrollably. I was having so much fun chilling with my kids, Matt and the cat.
My husband, Scott, arrived home to find me and the cat sound asleep on the couch.
“Have you been drinking?” he asked. He stared at me as I tried to upright myself.
“No! I had watermelon with Matt and the cat. Don’t be shilly!”
Justin and Matt arrived to confess that the watermelon was the cause of my exhaustion. Matt took the blame. That’s when I learned that the hole in the watermelon was not a bad spot. It was a hole to pour vodka into in my refreshing, delicious watermelon. Kitty hiccupped.
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Anne Bardsley of St Pete Florida, is the author of "How I Earned MY Wrinkles...Musings on Marriage, Motherhood, and Menopause", a collection of humorous and sentimental stories about marriage, motherhood and menopause. It is available on Amazon . com . When people ask her age, sometimes she tells them her bra size. “36C was a wonderful age.”
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