Step-Parent “Romance”: A precautionary tale

“We’ll never have children together,” I said to the man who used to be my lover.  “We’ll always be lovers.”

“We’ll hve it all,” he agreed.  “Satin sheets and negligees. Candle light and romance.”

“Yours and mine.”


“They’ll grow together.”

“Learn from each other.”

“A ready made family.”

“No babies.”

“No diapers.”

“No two a.m. feedings.”

“You’ll never be too tired for me,” he growled, biting my neck.

“Never,” I purred, wriggling sensuously.

In small doses, we brought them together.  A weekend here. An overnight there.  Museums and picnics. Sleigh rides and swimming.

The two older ones went off together.  The two little ones played together.  The two grown ups snuck off for afternoon “naps”.

Congratulating ourselves, we married…

The second thing to go, after the grape juice splattered satin sheets, is the sexy negiligee.

“What if one of the children comes in?” I protest, clutching my faded cotton night gown to my neck.

“Nonsense!” he decrees, lunging for me.

A knock on the door knocks the moment beyond recall.

“Are there anymore potato chips? one of the big ones wants to know. It is exactly two a.m.

Both the little ones wet their beds. Every night.

“Must be we both have colds in our stomachs,” mine suggests to his.

“Must be that air conditioner making us cold,” his suggests to mine.

They become great friends, having this shared problem.  My man and I glower at each other as we each take turns washing stinky sheets.

As for dinner…. “I don’t eat chicken.”

“I don’t eat dark meat.”

“I’m not hungry now.” (Later, when my feet are up with a good book ,this one will want a three course meal.)

“Does anyone want the last piece?” All four do. Every time. A slippery ear of buttered corn lands in my man’s lap as he tries to break it four ways.  A man looks different with butter and corn kernels dripping down his pants…

The three boys share one large room.

“Like a dorm, ” we tell them.  “Like a camp.”

Like occupied territory.  There are boundary lines.  There are zones.  I find one asleep on the living room couch.

“They won’t let me walk through their part to get to my part, ” he blithely explains. Even he, the vanquished, accepts the schoolboy logic of this.

“He won’t pick up his filthy clothes off the floor!” the other shrieks, less blithely.

His, like their father, are neat.

Mine, like me, are slobs.

“You really should try to teach them better habits,” my lover who has become someone’s father says through clenched teeth.

“So what’s the big deal – a few clothes on the floor?” hisses mother hen who used to be a pussy cat.

The hottest moment in months comes  when we find his little boy in the upstairs closet with my little girl.

“Well it was her idea to pull our pants down,” he gallantly explains.

“But he wanted to. He liked it!” my baby vamp protests.

A long lost twinkle sparkles in my husbands eyes. We make a date for later. Upstairs in the closet.

Copyright 2008 Psychscribe



5 Responses to “Step-Parent “Romance”: A precautionary tale”

  1. giannakali Says:

    Beautiful! Loved it.

  2. Jennifer Says:

    How sweet. Gives me hope.

  3. amberfireinus Says:


  4. gem Says:

    It got me to think and wonder if this tale would happen to me.

  5. psychscribe Says:

    jennifer: i tried to post a comment on your blog but apparently you can’t do that unless you register with blogger?

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