In lieu of a Vintage Smut of the Week post, I’m going to tell you about my dad. He’s way more interesting and disturbing than any image I could dig up this week, and he just came for a visit so his imprint is still lingering in my house like a peanut M&M shaped ghost. My dad lives in Alabama, but has always worked out of the house. Consequently, he made a lot of friends and acquaintances in other states. When my mom divorced him five years ago, he set up shop in an RV and took his show in the road. Now he travels around visiting all of those people he met over the years, and lately he’s been spending summers in Watervliet, MI on a rural airport with some pilot buddies. Now, I love my dad, but in the interest of everyone involved, I like to keep a healthy number of states between me and my dad’s residences. A good buffer of mileage between us is exceedingly helpful in the prevention of sudden skirmishes, sniper attacks, and all-out war. If you know your geography, you’ll realize that Watervliet, MI is a distressingly short two hour drive away from Chicago. And my dad is retired. Bored. And seemingly, his sense of familial obligation is stronger than his desire to have a relaxing and stress-free evening. He’s seen some action over here during his self-imposed deployments. (Because frankly, I get annoyed at rants about ‘the illegals,’ and his mention of Coon-Asses to the lady at the post office. And this is mild. He’s really mellowed in his old age. He used to loooove stinky pussy jokes. There was one about lesbians using cans of tuna as air freshener that still haunts me.) But earlier this summer we signed a peace treaty and tried to make nice. What else can you do? And in keeping with the tradition of awkward father/daughter dinners, he drove over for one last visit before heading south again.
He arrived at about 6 PM, a little while before Mike got home from work. I immediately busied myself cleaning the kitchen and prepping dinner (idle hands when my dad visits are chokey hands.) While I took my stress out on an onion, he excavated a slim book from his over-packed bag — “How long is he planning to stay?” I thought–and put it under my nose.
“Lisa, look at this. I got something for Mike. Do you think he’ll like it? Before I give it to him.” He was very serious when he said this. I wiped my hands off on a towel and took it from him.
“A comic? Oh, it’s a manga, right?” I said. “I don’t know how into those Mike is, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate it…” My words started to trail off as I flipped to a page that depicted a lovely maiden girl getting fucked up the ass by a massive dragon man. Other big dragon men had apparently decided to join the party because there were several huge, scaly dragon cocks shooting dragon spooge onto her serene face.
“Oh, it’s porn.”
“Well,” my dad said as he looked over my shoulder, “I know it’s a little risqué, but I thought Mike was into that kind of thing.” He took it and flipped the page. “I thought this story was really cute. See? The dragon keeps sneezing and burning her dress off and she has to get fireproof underwear.”
“Yeah, but then look what the dragon does,” as I skipped ahead to the previously described scene.
“Like I said, it’s a little risqué, but I thought he’d like it. He’s into comics and shit, right?”
“Where did you get this?” I asked as I handed it back to him, thinking that perhaps there was some misunderstanding. That maybe he just picked up the wrong thing at some comic book store. Hoping and praying that he wouldn’t say what I knew he was going to say…
“At one of those adult bookstores on the way over.”
Right. My dad stopped to check out some porn and dildos and stuff on the the side of the interstate and, while browsing, decided to pick up his daughter’s husband a little bit of porn too. Like you do. I cringed as I wondered what else was in his bag.
Mike was a good sport about it, though. He’s always been very polite to my dad.