Parotica Pt. 1: Sexy Stories for Parents

I saw yet another person reading 50 Shades of Grey the other day. I felt sorry for this poor soul, as I imagine that finally reading all the cereal boxes in my house would make me desperate for new material, too. This lady had a wailing baby in a stroller and I suddenly understood: she was reading the book because she wanted to escape. Escape the screaming, escape the crying, escape the constant reminders of the millions of things she needed to do...

And I get it. I do. But reality can be fun, too. I mean, I'm sure that some rich billionaire guy beating you over the head with a chair and stealing your lunch money has its perks (now might be a good time to admit I've never read 50 Shades), but I'm really tired of people removing the sexuality from being a parent. We're still humans. We still have needs that go beyond wanting to take a shower without hearing our name screeched at an ear-piercing frequency. So I decided to try my hand at writing little stories that sex up every day situations. Let me know what you think:



He grunted and pushed forward. His muscles burned. Sweat poured into his eyes. Excitement welled up within him at the thought of her pleasure when they finished. He flexed as he pushed forward again, grunting louder this time. With each shove, he felt the familiar excitement build within. He started to move faster, his breath matching his pace, until he finished with only a soft breath and a loud "DONE!"

"Already? Wow. Thanks for digging the holes for those fence posts, honey." She held out a glass. "Lemonade?"

"Yeah. thanks. It feels really nice to finish things on my to-do list."

Then they went inside and enjoyed a movie uninterrupted. The end.




She removed her shirt from her body slowly. As she did so, she noticed he was staring. She slowed. 


He squinted. "Is that my shirt?"

"Oh my God. So? The baby threw up on my other one."

"I just...what if she throws up on that one, too? I like that shirt."

She glared. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying I don't put on your shirts and go make messes on them. That's all I'm saying."

"FINE. Come get your shirt."

"Nah, that's ok. Commercial's over. Watching the game. Just saying."

Then the baby threw up on the shirt and she took great joy in leaving it on his pillow. The end.



She felt his hand brush the small of her back and immediately let out a little gasp. 

"Are you ready?" He whispered. A wave of sweet mint wafted from his direction and it was clear he'd brushed his teeth. This was his way of telling her he was ready for her, his mating call. Oh yes. Tonight, there was a need for hanky panky.

She moaned in anticipation. "Tonight? Really? Did you even shower?"

"I sit at a desk all day." He growled, his manly arm stretching over her waist. "I don't sweat."

"Everyone sweats. That's gross."

He sighed. "Do you wanna do stuff or not?"


"I've been hitting on you all day. I even tried dirty talk at dinner."

"All I remember is you asking me if I wanted 'a trip to Flavor Country' and then nearly choking on your salad."

"I was trying to watch my mouth. The baby was right there."

She turned to look into his eyes, then realized that was kind of a dumb move because it was completely pitch dark. She put her hand on his arm and felt the tension in his muscles, the raw need.

It was then she realized then that he was trying --REALLY trying-- to connect with her on a deeper level. To be completely honest, she'd missed that connection, that intimacy that reminded her of how wild they'd been when they'd first met. He would touch her with such excitement no matter where they were, and that electricity would almost burst from his fingers to her skin, causing her to all but jump out of her clothes the moment they arrived home. Remembering this caused a familiar tingling in very pleasurable places. Her breathing increased in pace. Maybe tonight was perfect after all..

She pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss took both their breath away.

"I'm ready for you." She whispered.

Then the baby woke up. They did rock-paper-scissors to find out who'd have to tend to him. She lost. When she got back, he'd already taken care of himself and fallen asleep watching cat videos on his phone. The end.


I don't think I'm getting what erotica actually is. My bad. 

Off to read a dictionary. Over and out.


Photo by Pablo Heimplatz on Unsplash