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But her little pussy needs a rest, so I give her only one more stroke before withdrawing.
“That felt nice,” she said, rolling over onto her back.
I flop down beside her and slide a present under her pillow. “You did indeed feel nice. The birthday fairy brought you something.”
“I can feel it.” She pats my hard-on.
“Better be careful or you’re going to have to do something with that,” I warn.
“All these promises”—she clicks her tongue—“and so little follow-through.”
Quick as lightning, I roll over and pin her arms above her head. “Woman, if you don’t stop, things are going to happen that your big head may want, but your poor little pussy does not.”
She bats her eyelashes at me. I groan and drop to her side, afraid that I might give in.
“All these sexual torments hold no power over you. You get off on them,” I complain.
“Yes.” She grins unrepentantly.
Fuck, I love this woman.
“I brought you a birthday present. It’s under your pillow.” I fold my arms under my head and wait.
She fishes under the pillow and pulls out the 1 kilo gold bar I stashed. It has the mint embossed into the gold along with her birthday. “Con.”
“Abigail.”
“Con.”
“Abigail.”
“I said I wanted a gold bar. As in singular and now I have…” Her brow furrows as she tries to remember how many she’s accumulated. ”Well, I don’t remember but aren’t you supposed to give me presents during important days?”
“It’s your birthday. That seems important.”
“You gave me a gold bar last week celebrating the tenth year of walking through Bryant Park.”
“I know. It was very special.” I wipe a fake tear away.
She bops me on the arm with the gold bar. I pretend like it hurts.
“Ouch, babe. That’s solid gold there.”
She drops the bar on the cover and leans over to rub the not-very-sore spot.
“It hurts lower,” I tell her.
I get another whack just for that. I flip her over, toss the gold bar onto the floor and start to tickle her. She screeches with laughter. I shut her up with my mouth and have my hand on her hip when two small beings jump on my back. I release Abigail and try to fight off the little terrors. “Grrr, who are these beasts?”
“Daddy, it’s me,” cries Katy, my oldest.
“It’s the pwiwate dwead wobewt,” growls Portia, my youngest. She continues to hit my shoulders with her tiny three-year-old fists while Katy has crawled into her mother’s lap.
“It’s Dead Pirate Robertssssss,” Katy corrects.
“It’s dwead pwiwate wobewthththththth,” Portia repeats.
I stuff my face in the pillow and laugh, my shoulders shaking so hard that Portia falls off. I gather myself and compose my face before sitting up and pulling my baby girl into my lap.
“She’s not saying it right, Daddy,” whines Katy.
“She’s got no teeth, Katy,” I explain.
“I duuu tuuuu whawve tweewth,” protests the little one. She bares her clenched baby teeth.
“Yes, and very fine ones, too,” Abigail reassures the baby.
I don’t know how my wife holds it together in front of these children. I’m nearly grinding my molars to dust to keep from busting out laughing every ten minutes, but Abigail told me I have to pretend like I’m serious so as not to cause hurt feelings. I did laugh one time when Portia was telling me how her baby bum hurt from all the sitting she was required to do in front of the television. I tried to tell Portia she didn’t have to watch television nor did she have to sit while watching television, but she said that it’s the pwowhite thing to do. If the characters on screen are going to sing and dance for her, the least she can do is sit nicely because isn’t that what we taught her? “Mwannews, daddy,” she’d said.
I set Portia in my lap and kiss her sweet-smelling head. My eyes lock with Abigail’s. “Thank you,” I mouth.
She tilts her head and asks, “For what?”
“For giving me all of this.” I wave my hand at our two girls.
“You’ve given me these.” She nods her head toward the gold bar. “It seems an even trade.”
“Are you kidding? There’s not enough gold bars in existence to pay for a life like this.” Two healthy daughters, a wife who still loves me, enough money in the bank to make sure my family wants for nothing? It’s a precious, incalculable treasure.
“Daddy, I want a gold bar!” Katy announces, holding up the shiny gift with two hands.
“Mwe twoo!” Portia crows. She reaches out and tries to take the bar from her sister but tumbles over face first into the covers.
