April 7th in Posso's Prompts

“My bf and I were having dinner with my family and I asked for my daddy to pass the sriracha my bf and my dad both reached for it” - a quote submitted for a tweet by @collegefession

Here’s a good bar story for you that occurred just tonight.

The bar I worked at had a band that was large in Dane County, at least 20 years ago, out to a play a live setup. Apparently from what I was informed, these guys had some national radio play and were close to breaking though into popularity at one point. In my head at 8pm on a Saturday night, this translates to “Ah fuck, I’m gonna be busy with weathered old rocker bags trying to look like they’re 25 pulling all their fat into bedazzled hip huggers and four sizes too small leopard print tube tops.” Sorry if I perfectly described your mom, or better yet, your date.
This kind lady, mid 40s, gorgeous floral tattoo sleeve and blueish tinted silver hair all done up cute (you know, if I had a type, she would fit it pretty spot on) was ordering jager bombs left and right Saturday night. She was ripping them in front of burly, built biker dudes dressed in leather cuts and beards down to their saggy man boobs. After her third one in about 35 minutes, she comes up through the crowd, points at me, and when she gets closer, grabs me by the nastiest neckbeard I’ve ever had and yells,
“Gimme another jager bomb, daddy!”

At this point I cringe and throw my whole head into my eyeroll - she looks like she could be my mom - and go on making her shot. I hate the whole daddy theme right now, mainly because I have a dead ex that was all over it because of her infatuation with power struggles. There’s a whole sexual movement where women want to be dominated by men and call them daddy and it makes my stomach twist. I don’t want to be spanking you and have you call me ‘Daddy’ - in what way does that make me want to be erect with happiness at any point?
When I serve the nasty bomb shot to her, she grabs my hand, interlocks my fingers, and makes sure she goes to my ring finger to see if I’m marked, like a vulture scans for carrion. She rubbed my finger to make sure I wasn’t just faking single, you know, cause if you wear a ring long enough, it becomes ridiculously smooth.
“Oooh. I’m glad to see daddy can be all mine.” she says.

At this point I can’t tell if I’m turned on or close to miming a vomit face at her. This lady is definitely attractive and I’m in the state of soberness lately where I’m just so fucking bored with my life that doinking a rebellious milf would actually be the best story I’ve had in quite some time, when I hear a voice behind her go,

“Mom, goddamnit. You’re embarrassing me.” Her daughter appears behind her and she says to her daughter, “this ones mine, leave him alone.”

As I’m telling this to regulars this Sunday morning, I’m getting the laughs I figured I’d get, then the “daddies, papis, big poppas, daaaaaaaads” I knew I’d get, but then something happened to me that I thought I only did to people: I got song trolled on the jukebox.

They played, among others
Big Poppa by The Notorious B.I.G.
Daddy by Die Antwoord
Hey Daddy (Daddy’s Home) by Usher
And then my friends got involved with the deep cuts into my life
Oh Daddy by Fleetwood Mac
And of course
Father Figure by George Michael.

I hate when my favorite game gets spun back on me. The worst part tonight though was when one of the few girls at silk (the local strip club where I met my first real love and frequent because I know a lot of them still there from my days dating Heather) I didn’t know comes up, grabs me by the face and with the biggest fake smile goes, “you know you want a lap dance, daddy.”
I’m still cringing as I get the glitter out of my beard.