The Morning After
I’m not as anxious as I thought I’d be around Alyna and the kids. I certainly feel as guilty as I imagined I would, but I don’t feel anxious. No part of me thinks Alyna will ever find out that less than ten hours ago I had my dick in my intern’s pussy and my finger in her asshole literally right where our children are sitting as I strap them in for a trip to see Brave, which looks like an even bigger steaming pile of shit than most movies I’m forced to pay for and sit through at the behest of my children.
As I click Andy’s seatbelt he reaches out and digs at something on the back of the driver’s seat and says, “What’s this, Daddy?” I turn around and see that he’s trying to scrape off a spot of what can only be my dried semen from the night before. It must have been an errant drop that found its way out of the condom when I flung it out of the window. I can feel my intestines twisting into knots.
I say, “That’s just some dirt or something, bud,” as my mind frantically races through every possible fucking thing that could have been left in the car in the aftermath of a rushed fuck with a twenty-one-year-old the night before. I mean, if my fucking cum is on the back of the seat, Holly’s dirty thong could be hanging off the rearview mirror. I do as thorough a scan of the backseat as I can without drawing too much attention from Alyna, who is sitting in the passenger’s seat reading something on her phone. As I click Jane into her car seat, I look under the front seats for any errant hair clips, earrings, or other things I would never be able to explain away. I see nothing and hope I’m not missing anything.
I pop back up from the floorboards and see that Andy is really digging away at my dried cum. It’s like he’s one of the guys at the car wash detailing my car or something. I know that, at some point while I’m driving, he’s going to scratch some off and put it in his mouth. That’s what kids fucking do. I won’t be able to stop it. It should seem far more disgusting than it does to me, but I chalk it up to the fact that my immediate concern over getting caught fucking another girl is far more pressing than worrying about the implications of my four-year-old son touching and possibly eating my dried semen.
For the entire drive to the theater I can hear and feel Andy scratching away like a little fucking gerbil. Luckily Alyna never really pays his little excavation much attention. I imagine her inspecting the spot close enough to smell it and identify it as semen. I concoct an elaborate excuse that involves me having to masturbate in the car because she got pissed the last time I did it in the house. I assume she’d buy the bullshit excuse after finding me jerking off to babysitter porn. It might result in me having to undergo voluntary sex-addict counseling or something, but that beats getting caught cheating.
When we get to the parking structure, I get Andy out first and look at the spot where my cum was. There’s still a little white crusty spot, but it’s about a fourth as big as it was when he started scratching at it, and he’s biting his index fingernail. I am a terrible father.