Hard On Dad

In my Father’s Day, they didn’t dole out little blue pills to raise, as it were, a man’s hope of initiating an act of sexual "congress". Heterosapien males didn’t have a gaggle of Twitternet® breast flashers to eyeball if they needed assistance in arousing goodly intentions in their peckers, either. Back then, if a man was unable to sustain an erection and move heaven and earth for his intended, he properly jumped off a cliff or joined the bloody priesthood. He didn’t get on the telly and announce his woes to the world. Projectile dysfunction was a disgrace not discussed in polite society and the perversions of aural sex were unheard of. Fortunately, my father, the late Royal Air Force (RAF) Intelligence Officer Aldridge “AJ” Johns, had no issues related to flaccidity or perversity. I am living proof that dad was capable in the rigorous demands of the bedroom, where foreplay — not to mention floor play — meant four hours of play and he was always on his game, which is to say, dear old mum. Indeed, he was as proud of his missionary position as he was his standing in the military. It is with deep, rather penetrating, emotion that I salute him and all stand-up gents who answer to the name Dad on this day. Bravo, Citizen Seed Planters! #FathersDay