My Two Cockblockers

I would like to introduce you to my two sons, Ethan and Alex. Known around my house as Cockblocker 1 and Cockblocker 2. Pioneers of their time, my two boys have reinvented the term and have taken cock blocking to levels unseen by any man before.

If cockblocking were an art my boys would be Picasso and Dali. If cockblocking were a sport my sons would be Abner Doubleday and James Naismith. If cockblocking were a religion my boys would be the Buddha and Mohammed.

I’ve spent years fighting off all the other guys to finally win the heart of my wife. Only to get married, commit to a lifetime of love, buy a hearty home and fill it with my biggest competition yet. Unlike my first-born daughter, these two beautifully bred boys have taken me down time and time again like.

Ethan, my oldest and the original cockblocker, put up a monumental fight. He spent the better part of 24 months attached to my wife’s every breath. Breastfeeding, regular feeding, sleeping on her, sleeping next to her, waking her up, taking naps with one eye open, screaming, kicking, climbing out of his crib. And this was during the daylight hours. Once the sun set, Ethan’s measures of cockblocking soared to great new heights.

First driving me to a crazed depletion of sanity with sleepless nights followed by tiresome days. Then preying on my wife by pushing her to levels of dementia that the idea of having sex with me completely escaped her mindscape. Like a time-tested torture treatment Ethan used sleep deprivation to break us. Not only did he not allow us the time to have sex, but he tortured us with sleeplessness that we didn’t even want to have sex if we had the time. He drove us mad, absolutely mad. And crazy people don’t have sex, and they certainly don’t make love.

The pinnacle came somewhere in the twentieth month when at 3 in the morning over a combination of sleepless nights, sharing my bed and an unnatural envy against my own baby I became overcome with anger and madness. I shouted for all the neighbors to hear, “FUCK! This is going to go on for the rest of our lives!”

I believed this to the bottom of my heart with all my constitution that the rest of our lives were going to be spent with my son in our bed. I believed that in 15 years I’d be pushing over my big high-schooler and wrestling him for the covers.

Any parent understands this feeling. Every parent knows exactly endless raising little children can feel. Especially raising babies. They have a way of destroying your memory of normalcy. When Ethan woke us up for the six-hundredth consecutive night I could not foresee a time when this habit would heal. After 20 months this pattern of sleepless nights felt infinite, like it might outlast time itself.

Then one night he gave up. He went to bed and slept steadily for days, then weeks, then consecutive months. Our house was peaceful again. My wife and I were getting sleep, feeling alive, feeling like human beings.

We had a beautiful home saturated of love and emotion. We had an engaged four-year old daughter, Abby who was as charming as Audrey Hepburn. And there was Ethan, a well-rested gentleman who was allowing his parents some space. Just enough space to make us believe that the last two years were not hell after all. Just enough space to think that any hardship we had over the last 24 months was all worth while. Just enough space to trick us into procreating again.

So here comes Alex, our second son and current cockblocker. Alex hones a particular unique form of cockblocking. Alex borrows from Ethan’s repertoire of sleepless nights, bed sharing and latching on to his mother at all times. But Alex’s toolbox also contains “the mock 'em’, the “sock 'em” and the quite literal “cockblock 'em.”

When breastfeeding he giggles at me, sometimes lifting his head to show me exactly what I’m missing. When being held by wife he likes to stare right at me with his transparent blue eyes and grabs a handful of my wife’s bosom. He cups a breast like a glass of cabernet then winks at me.

In the middle of the night while laying between us Alex rolls over and punches me in the head. My wife tells me this is an unintentional spasm of an unconscious mind. Though I’ve seen him do it. I’ve seen him size me up with eyes ajar, lift his arm and come down on my face with a fist. I’ve thought about sleeping with a helmet.

And in the middle of the day when I find occasion to hug my wife, Alex actually pushes me away, steps between us and yup, blocks my cock.

It actually makes me giggle, all this cockblocking. Am I jealous of my boys? Of course. Am I backed up in the pants? Sometimes. But I know I’ll have the last laugh. I know there will come a day when one of my boys will have a girl on our doorstep, or in the den, or in his dorm and I’ll come knocking.

This blog was originally posted in February 2010 at http://www.mypatheticblog.tumblr.com/. Since then we've added a third cockblocking boy to our bunch