Hey you, yeah you.
You know what today is, don’t you? That’s right. It’s Mother’s Day. And you know what this mother needs more than anything right now? This mother needs the business. Your business. All up in her lady stuff. ‘Cause I’ve been picking up your children’s toys and changing diapers allll day long and now I need a little grown-up action all over my mom bod.
Wouldn’t you love to give me the business? What if these flannel pants were to just fall right down to reveal—what are these? Giant cotton underpants with holes? Oh my, I am sooo naughty.
Why don’t we straddle each other in the bathroom? It’s filthy, just like my dirty mom brain because I think about sexual intercourse all day long instead of disinfecting the toilet and sink. I’m talking about doing sexual intercourse to YOU, you foxy dad.
Why don’t you bring that hairy dad bod over here and let me sit on you in my giant underpants? I will totally blow your mind with my sexy lady moves I learned from watching an episode of COPS Special Edition: Mardi Gras.
I know lots of moves. I know all about the Chocolate Bag Pipe and the Sad Trombone and the Lazy Susan. I will only actually do one of those things, but it will be so good, you will be very distracted while you try to watch Star Trek.
I am ready to do whatever you want, as soon as I brush my teeth. Or would you prefer them unbrushed, you dirty dad? I bet you would, wouldn’t you?
Why don’t we make intercourse on the kitchen table on top of all the dirty dishes? You can take me face down in the Parmesan cheese and fancy ketchup that’s smeared all over the table. That would be totally disgusting and sensual.
Or you could do sex to me in the shower as we both try to avoid touching the mildewed shower curtain liner. Gross. I’m so turned out right now.
Want to watch me take off my bra? You should have been here two hours ago, because that’s when I took it off and threw it over there, on that chair. No, the one the cat is sleeping on.
You could hump me gently on the coffee table. Let me just move these Ranger Rick magazines and Matchbox cars, or we could just leave them there and I could do orals on you while you roll this tiny car through my unwashed hair until I can only get it out with scissors.
You know what this sexy mom really wants for Mother’s Day, Big Boy? Actually, a Kleenex would be great since you’re sitting closer to the box. My hay fever is driving me crazy—or is it driving you wild? I bet you like my nose all runny, don’t you, you filthy dad?
Want to touch one of my mom boobs? I bet you do. Okay, but not that one because the baby bit me while he was nursing earlier. How about the other one? That’s right, the one that’s half a cup size smaller. You just go nuts on that, buddy, while I blow my nose and work on this Chocolove bar.
How about if I make a trail of little chocolate squares from your chest down to your navel? I will eat them each slowly and seductively and then fall asleep when I get to your dad crotch. That’s right, I could sleep on your dad crotch all night long. Or at least for about two hours, until the kids wake up after sensing that one of us is partially naked in the other’s presence.
You really know how to satisfy me. Sexually, I mean. And I just want you to know that every inch of this white hot mom body is yours. All yours, until one of us dies, because we are married in the eyes of the government, and that is hot.
Now, make this mother happy and sex me with your big dad hands while I thrash around in ecstasy like the flounder we saw out of its tank at the aquarium that one time.
Illustration by Kevin Alvir