"Where's mom?" my youngest son Joey is hollering as he hits my leg repeatedly with some kind of toy. Just how I wanted to wake up today. But with three boys it's a miracle I get any fucking sleep.
"She's out shopping with your aunts," I manage to mumble as I roll out of bed. A quick look at the clock reveals it is half past seven. Too early for this crap. I head to the bathroom; morning business and all.
"But I want mom here," he whines while stomping his feet. Cause that's certain to make her appear. Or so goes your logic when you're six.
Jason bursts into the bathroom the moment I sit. "I want eggs for breakfast. James is going to make them since mom left us," he declares. This one is eight. Not really much smarter than the six-year-old to be honest.
"James is not making breakfast unless you're all eating cereal." Shit, even then the kid would manage to destroy the house with nothing but milk.
Jason puts his hands on his hips defiantly, "He says he's the cook now since mom left and your food sucks." He knows he's pushing it, so he runs out. Maybe he is smarter than I give him credit for.
I head downstairs to make sure the ten year old isn't burning the house down. Before I reach the kitchen the smoke alarm starts blaring. Joey runs past me, naked, hollering "FIRE! FIRE!". He was dressed minutes ago, where the hell did his clothes go?
"Damn James!" Smoke is billowing out the kitchen window as I round the corner. The smell of burnt eggs lingers heavily in my nose. I turn off the stove and almost admire the near black color of what once may have been eggs.
"I'm old enough to cook," he huffs and storms out. Sure I'll clean this up, then I'll make some damned eggs if there is any left that is.
Jason comes in, sticking up for his brother, "Mom left us and someone has to feed us. At least James tried cause you were sleeping."
I yell for James to get back in here with Jason. "Jesus Christ guys. Your mom went shopping - she's entitled to do that on occasion. She didn't leave us," I rant, "And it's not even eight in the morning yet. I haven't had my coffee, I barely stopped the house from going up in flames, and your little brother is running around without clothes. You boys are making me wish I was the one out shopping on Black Friday!"
I start the coffee; I'm gonna need a lot of it today. "Pull it together, find your brother, dress yourselves, and I will feed us," I say, as authoritative as I could muster, sans coffee and all. They run off and I feel good. That'll teach 'em.
It is a short lived feeling though. I get the eggs but the carton is full of shells and runny yolk. I notice the sink completely full of what seems like every utensil we own. There's a mound of jelly on the counter for no discernible reason. Joey runs through, at least with clothes on now, screaming he doesn't want to be an orphan. Fuck my life.
I grab the Fruity Specks, chocolate milk (why is there no white milk?), spoons and bowls, and take them to the table just as the boys arrive. "No talking. Eat up." They look at me weird. "Most important meal of the day, right here." Fuck it, I go to drink my coffee. They'll survive. Maybe.
I clean up the kitchen while drinking a few cups of coffee. I let the boys go down to the basement and play one of my video games after they finish eating. The kind of game Sarah says is too gory and too violent for them. I grab the Bran Oats for my own bowl of cereal so we don't break all the rules. "You need the extra fiber," she has told me more than once, usually while staring me down with her dark eyes. I just wont tell her it was with chocolate milk.
Halfway through my cereal I get a text from her. "How's it going babe?"
"Great!" I send back. "Miss you!" I throw in a kissy face. "How's it going out there?"
"Snagging lots of deals. Miss you 2. Be back later." She didn't return my kissy face. Teenagers break up over that sort of thing nowadays. I think. Oh hell, I eat Bran Oats because "Extra Fiber for Over Forties!" Who am I kidding, I know nothing about teenagers.
I wash the breakfast dishes, go upstairs to make the bed and get dressed. Then back downstairs I grab my phone and see Sarah sent another text. "Maybe it's a kissy face," I hope as I open it. But it is so much better. Her tits packed nice and tight inside a lacy red bra. Might be a new bra, I don't immediately recognize it, but it's hard to look away from that nice cleavage long enough to care. I feel my dick bulging against my jeans, pissed that I just changed out of my sweat pants.
"Damn!" I text back. I consider sending a dick pic back. But she is with my two sisters and my brother's wife. Makes it kind of weird but I really want an excuse to pull it out. I go upstairs to think.
"You like it?" She asks. "Or this one better?" Another pic comes through, this time she's in a purple bra. Thicker than the red one but more of her breasts are showing. Maybe some sort of push-up one?
In the bedroom, I sit in the oversize reading chair next to our bed. No choice now, I have to unbutton my jeans and pull my it out just to be able to sit right. "Love them both," I type.
"Found a third!" the text reads above another picture. A sheer black bra barely covers half her breasts. This one was taken from another angle, more of a side view, which clearly shows her hard nipples through the thin fabric.
Now I know she's asking for it. I stroke myself a few times to get a nice glistening of precum on the head. I snap a photo with my right hand, gripping my shaft with the other. I caption it "He approves of them all". I keep stroking after I send it, scrolling through the pictures, unable to decide on a favorite.
"Put it back in your pants Gabe!" She replies. I send back a sad face. "I got plans for him tonight." Now I send a happy face. Thanks goodness for emojis. It's difficult to text with one hand.
