“Boscoe, Boscoe, Bosco, bring me my lotion.”

Oh My, he has called for his lotion today, I was wondering when he will begin his daily ritual.

“Big Daddy, here you go!” “Eyy, wait! come back here, my back is not gonna rub itself, last I checked my spinal cord was handicapped!”

I was really waiting for at least four more paragraphs before letting you Guys know what I go through everyday, but I guess,

“He who laughs first, laughs forever” Errm ok, just forget I said that, let’s move on.

So I was saying,

There I stood, in a very slanty position, which was not because I had a very bad posture but was as a result of the land mass, width and distance of his back. Lotion in left hand, there I stood starring at six plots of lands, with my skeletal system slanted like an alphabet put in extreme italics font.

I took my usual three steps forward, shook the lotion bottle like a principal on prize giving day and pressed the tip till I heard a squirt. My hands now in aeronautics mode takes a flight and makes a very bumpy landing on the swampy forest he called “A Back.” Hovering through this forest I kept searching for a plot of land, a place where I could lay a solid lotion foundation but as I expected, I found not!

Every single vegetation I landed on was unstable, indeed there was an unending earthquake on his back. No electric iron could smoothen the uneven folds on his back. His back was so active that it always vibrated, even when he wasn’t moving. My mind was always perplexed by the sporadic events that took place every time I applied lotion on his back.

But I never for one day complained, I knew I had to bear and carry my plight jealously. He needed my help and I was his beloved son. It wasn’t his fault that his hands were as stiff as a hammer head on its handle, that his arms couldn’t carry his fingers to measure the circumference of his abdomen. The only time my Dad’s hands were flexible was on Friday night’s when he jerks off to my Mum’s videos on the Dark Web.

Yeah, I know exactly what you’re thinking,

“Ow, she’s a pornstar” “He is married to a pornstar?”

Nah, sorry to burst your bubbles, but no! trust me when I say, “I wish she was that awesome.” For those that guessed, “Ow, she’s a stripper”, “she could be a stripper”, “is she a stripper?” You actually deserve some accolades, she is indeed a stripper! and a prominent one, at one time, she won an award for the most commercial stripper of the Year and it was really cool, we finally were able to move to a less dangerous neighbourhood, all these was due to the huge sponsorship deals that chased after her following the awards.

My Dad and Mum were great lovers, they couldn’t stop going on honeymoons, their love life was very weird because they did things that other couples could only dream of, I mean, non stop honeymoons, they literally got married every Christmas eve and renewed their vows and of course the wedding nights were explosive, shutting down a whole floor of a hotel and even the corridors for the kinky sex adventures. At one time, my Dad told me that he wished he could carry my Mum along with him on his way to heaven and I asked,

“Dad, which heaven?” He laughs and says “The second heaven.” In my mind I am baffled that my Dad would even refer to the original heaven as his “second heaven!” Was that how fantastic the conjugation expedition was?

Years and years passed on, and as they say, “Vanity upon vanity” “Too much of everything is not good.”

10 solid years into my Parent’s marriage and the ecstasy and magic begins to cause problems, the endless fun and climax begins to become a diluted form of pitiful soberness. The kinky sex begins to turn into pathetic rounds of boring body exercises which later even causes some sickness by the side. At this point I started noticing that indeed there was an imperfection suddenly creeping into my Parent’s popular perfect life. No matter how much they tried to hide it, the negative energy always resonated in our every dining table meal.

I was about 8 years, 7+ years at this point I think and my mind kept tasking me with certain questions like;

“Is sex more important to my Parents than I” “Who is Sex?” “Is sex my long lost brother or a member of my family who my parents miss so much?”

Of course, some of these thoughts weren’t that literal but I pretty much meant them all and they equally got me perplexed while I was growing up. My Mum, Emily, loved me so much, but at the same time, sadly, she loved and adored the pole even much more and it didn’t take long before she abandoned my Dad and I to swing on the long big poles of Vegas. My mum loved attention, she loved to be drooled over and apparently my Dad was no longer in the best of physical states and fitness to fill in that void.

“Abandoned” might be a strong word to use for what my mum did, she messed up really bad but initially didn’t have the plan or agenda of abandoning us, she loved my Dad regardless and agreed with him to go travel for new business offers and explore her trade and “line of profession.” I still don’t believe that she voluntarily and intentionally lost track of time and spent well over five years in Vegas, today even marks the sixth year my Dad has cried about her.

I have told my Dad countless times to quit worrying about her and move on with his life but he still insists on waiting for her “glorious return.” I really don’t blame him because, my mum has taken over the internet. You literally cannot spend more than five minutes surfing the web without running into clips of my mum with a client, in a huge event or giving her manager or top CEO’s a lap dance. She even got so popular that Universities began to invite her for motivational talk events. So yeah, I understand fully that my Dad’s dream woman happens to be his wife or should I say “partial wife.”

My Dad always kept on ignoring my sermons to him to find a worthy companion. Not until it kind of got a bit too late for him to make amends. Think about Mr. World, do you have a picture in your mind? Then imagine a masculine character way hotter than the initial Man in your head, have you done that? Congrats, you officially have my Dad’s picture portrait in your head.

My Dad was super handsome and not so bad at ambitions and there was really no average woman that he couldn’t get a shot with, if he just gave it a try. Unfortunately his adventure will be cut short by his emotional-physical-mental trauma that overtook him a few years after my mum left his crying ass for the metal poles of Vegas. It really breaks my heart these days that my Dad can’t even successfully slide into a DM or upload a profile picture of himself on a dating platform. My Dad has gotten so fat that he can no longer take a selfie using one photo. He can’t upload a photo of himself on the internet or on a profile picture because he wouldn’t fully fit in and this alone scares the ladies off.

This sounds funny, but it wasn’t so funny when I and my Dad literally needed to download a Photo Grid App just so that we could collage a full photo of my Dad, we had to combine about six carefully and strategically taken shots.

I’m guessing you all are wondering how my Mr. World Dad managed to get this sudden downturn or should I say transformation.

Stick around for Episode 2. Pls share, like and drop a comment and don’t forget to subscribe and tell your friends and family too! Love You!


Written by Stephen Uba

I am the Pot of Beans behind Waterybeans.Com.

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