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Author Dean Littner

 

Thank All of You

My son Justice was having trouble sleeping and my husband Houston had forbidden me from giving him sips of brandy to get him to knock out.

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Kid Problems

Like every parent, I have children and with those come other problems.  My oldest son Justice was getting picked on at elementary school and my youngest, Houston Jr., expected me to change his diaper and on top of that even feed him, god!  The only thing that wasn’t a problem was my husband Houston Sr. and that’s because after a long day of work, he would come home and drill me with love. 

I recently started to have body issues again but this time I decided to not have plastic surgery to solve them.  I had a husband who loved me for me and I didn’t need to look young and fit anymore.  Being in my 40s with the stress of parenthood and the joy of foodhood, I began to love food in ways I hadn’t before or had previously accepted within myself.  Food food food.  Have you ever taken taco shells, filled them with ice cream, dipped them in magic shell chocolate, and eaten them one after the other while shooting whipped cream in your mouth crying over reruns of 1980s daytime soap operas till the housecleaning pills kicked in? I have.

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Rules

Rule 1) Do not apologize for your first world problems. It is more important to get upset about things that people in other countries will never even get the chance to get upset about rather than suck it up and think ‘well, I’m just lucky to be here.’ You are not lucky, you are alive here instead of over there by coincidence, and your third world made paper cup for your $10 coffee drink just doesn’t fit right with the lid and your precious drink from agrarian cultured people picked beans is now spilling even with the help of that plastic plunger plugging your sippy hole. Read more…

Sometimes, One Time and Other Times

Sometimes, we look at ourselves in the mirror and we think ‘what happened to that beautiful little girl?’  I’ll tell you what happened, A) she’s a man, B) she’s old and not little, and C) she’s turned her beautiful years into lock boxes of drug and sex abuse leaving a dried out piece of fruit person that stares in the mirror and wonders further ‘will Botox bring my little girl back, will hyaluronic acid injections do it, the laser, the peels, the knife, how, how do I bring her back?!’ She is no longer.  She is of memory.  She is of other.  ‘Who are you dried fruit face person and what have we become?’ we ask our dried fruit face. 

We open our mouth to answer and say, “I’m still me, I’m still that sunny little girl I am.”

But the noise that comes out of our mouth sounds like: a hurt cat, a dying frog, a drowning bag of puppies, a deranged goat, and another goat but much more deranged than the first.  We close our mouth.  We remain tight lipped.  It’s probably not a good time to speak…  It’s now time to look down at our body, oh wait, bad idea, look back up, wait, that’s the mirror, please look away, okay, that’s better.  Clothes, we’ll cover ourselves with clothes and then look again.  Black slimming clothes.  Play some music.  This song reminds us of when we could really move.  Try it, do that move where you spring forward onto your hands and then back again, and… oh fuck, you’re on the ground now.  You look back at the mirror and see a collapsed pile of sad person and think ‘did I hear something snap?’ it may have been your mind.  A sudden and apparent spiral into complete and utter insanity or a broken wrist, both may be true.

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I Had it All

I wanted it all and I had it all: husband, money, kids, bed modeling fame, friends I could buy or was in the process of buying, neighbors that were blackmailed into accepting gays, and I was still pretty.

“It’s just hard to take you seriously sometimes,” Houston said to me.

“I am seriously!” I exclaimed.

“So let me get this straight,” Houston began, “you want me to pay a sitter $600 so you can run off and make $200 in bed modeling?”

“I know, I was totally surprised that someone my age would make that much money in bed modeling but I’m officially really famous,” I agreed, “I also have longevity in the industry.”

Houston didn’t respond, he just grabbed his travel bag for work and left me in the house without any money for a sitter.  Shock poured all over my body.  I had already agreed to model, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this, and I had to figure out what to do with the kids.

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Pick a Baby

I always say “if you bite off more than you can chew, just swallow bigger” and life is full of big swallows.  Our lesbians, Careen & JillAnne, were both about to pop out babies from our gay DNA party 9 months ago and our baby broker additionally hooked up a third kid just in case none of the other babies were cute.  Oh my god, we needed to pick a baby.

“Can I talk to you?” My husband Houston came to me holding pictures of 3D ultrasounds and medical examination reports, “why are there so many babies again, why all this?”

I picked up the pictures, “Honey, I knew you’d forget why, therefore, I recorded a Sally Jessy Raphael from 1988 about this very topic and I really think you should watch it.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Houston baulked, “just tell me.”

“Okay,” I said while picking up the cutest in utero baby photo, “look, this kid is cute and he has Houston Jr. written all over his little fetal face but maybe he’s really all crazy cakes and we just don’t know it yet and all these examinations and tests make me feel like science things are happening in hopes that the kid we eventually pick isn’t stupid,” I paused and continued, “anyway, Sally said and it’s true.”

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Sexnesia

I turned over in my marital bed and faced my husband Houston.  He had hot man sweat glistening all over his burly muscle body and this got me all sexed up.  I ran a hand from his strong jaw down through his furry chest and cupped over his manhood. Read more…

Town Slut

Sometimes when I’m alone, I touch myself and I call it “my own private adventure story” because this is my adventure and this is my private alone time and this is my story.  It was on a cold winter’s morn in LA (70 degrees…) that an unexpected event happened and changed the course of my day. I was having “my own private adventure story” time because my husband was at work and unable to pleasure me and suddenly there was a knock at the door. Read more…

Turning 40 and Gay Death

I don’t look at turning 40 as the end, I look at it as a rebirth but in order to be reborn, you must have gay death.  I had just a few more months of being my old pretty gay self at 39, the horizon of 40 was near, and I only needed to embrace my destiny.  I was currently married with one child, planning a 2nd child with lesbian friends, and finally finally finally had money and didn’t need to struggle as a useless bed model ever again, what could I possibly be missing before gay death?  Ummm, a $20,000 swimsuit! Read more…

Houston and I Can Cook

Houston, my rich restaurateur husband, came home from work one night and he seemed upset.
 
“Honey bear, what’s wrong muscle daddy hairykins?” I asked in my adult voice.
 
“We lost a cook at the restaurant tonight and tomorrow, I have a full house, ugh… I can cook but the front of the house will be without me and we need help,” Houston said in his concerned thinking voice.
 
I didn’t skip a beat, “My love, we share our problems together and we also share our solutions, hello, I’m your front of the house guy and I will shine for you.”
 
Houston smiled and grabbed me closer to him.  He began to kiss me softly on my lips and then made his way to my ear where he nibbled on my lobe.  Suddenly, he ripped off my shirt and pushed me up against the kitchen counter.  I ripped his shirt off as well and we grinded chests peck to peck.  Houston then reached down the back of my pants and found my starfish.  I eagerly unzipped my pants and quickly unzipped Houston’s while pulling out his erect pulsating penis.  Just then, a bottle of cooking oil fell from the shelf above us and covered our bodies.  Glistening with oil, our muscles rubbed, flexed, and gleamed.  Houston slid me around and found his way into my wet cookie hole.
 
“Yes!” I yelled, “get up in it.”
 
I reached down between my legs and fondled Houston’s shaft as it rammed inside my crack, my oiled fingers coaxed Houston’s balls as he moaned and grunted with each push into me.  I reached further back and managed a finger inside his perky hole while I tapped and dialed for his prostate.
 
We both came violently and I screamed, “Everything, everything, EVERYTHING!!!!”
 
After our volcanic orgasms, I heard a voice on the other side of the kitchen counter, “Daddy Dean, will you read me a story for bed?”
 
My son Justice had a knack for walking in on Houston and I, especially when we were having sex everywhere, god.  I grabbed a kitchen towel and covered up my sin.
 
“Honey, go back to your room so Daddy & Big Daddy Houston can wear clothes again, then I’ll grab that magazine on nursing care that you like so much,” I calmly stated.
 
“Okay Daddies,” Justice left.
 
The next night, the restaurant was packed with a line out the door, and just fun little me to manage everything.  I thrived in the excitement of it all.
 
“This is so exciting!” I told a couple as I walked them to their table.
 
“What’s exciting?” They asked.
 
“This!” I said.
 
I then left them to go seat the next table.  I was incredibly turned on by everything.
 
“How is the lobster?” A young woman asked.
 
I closed my eyes and imagined lobster, “Ooooh, it is so sexy, it is full of sex,” I then opened my eyes.
 
She then asked, “How is the venison?”
 
“I don’t know what that is but let me imagine it,” I closed my eyes again, “oooooh, sooo big, it’s soooo big, mmmmm.”
 
I checked on Houston in the kitchen and he was working very hard, this got me even more excited.  I loved seeing my man cook and sweat.
 
“Dean, we need to push more desserts,” Houston grabbed a dessert tray, “here, take these around the restaurant and really sell them.”
 
“I would love to model these desserts,” I told Houston as he passed the tray to me.
 
I walked over to a table full of business men and propped the tray on a Read more…

Suicide Note

Picture a circle of people and everybody is holding hands, some people are unable to feel the hands they are holding so they drop out of the circle, at some point after scrambling to reconnect hands, the circle feels a presence missing, the remaining members are closer together but the circle is now smaller and less.  What if that same energy that it took to scramble and reconnect the circle was directed towards the people at risk of dropping out, would they stay? Read more…

How to Buy A Baby

I’ve always thought the belief that gay parents will successfully teach their kids to be gay was a total and complete logic fail.  I mean, kids rebel substantially enough from what they are “taught” based on what their hormones have in store for them, they will be gay or straight, and everything in between, regardless. Do you really think a kid who is “taught” to be straight is going to tell you they are gay if all the messages received from their parents and the surrounding community is hatred towards them?  You may think you have produced the straightest child ever but they are just straight to the cocksucking contest.  I think the real problem is that the children of gay parents run the risk of being open minded and accepting.  There are a lot of open minded accepting individuals of all genders and accepting gay people does not mean you are gay, silly, it just means you would probably make out for a bit, that’s all.    Read more…

My Wedding

When Houston proposed to me, it was the happiest day of my life.  Read more…

Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #5

I received all of my required surgeries, taught my son how to speak words, and found the man of my dreams (my Houston), it couldn’t be that easy, something had to go wrong.  I started to worry… Read more…

Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #4

Arms dealers are apparently cranky.  There I was on a date with Viktor Soghanalian, the arms dealer, and he was really boring until he pulled out a gun and threatened to shoot me because I thought the restaurant owner, Houston from Tomö Finland, was hot, which he was.  Houston was probably the hottest man I’ve ever met and I guess that gets you shot or something when you tell a jealous date about it. Read more…

Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #3

I had a new face.  I looked in the mirror and I didn’t see old, and I didn’t see tired, and I didn’t see me, thank god!  Maybe a few people (12 or so…) had to give up their surgeries (lives) for me but I looked great.  I wanted a new back.  Mine had been flopped upon so many times over the years that my sexy arch had collapsed and when I got on all fours, I looked like a carnival horse.  Separately, my dates with rich men were going well and my 3 year old son Justice was learning how to speak.  I was starting to treat Justice more like a person and less like a reason to receive Federal assistance.  My favorite color became red.
 
“Gin or vadva?” Little Justice asked as he played with his baby martini making kit I got for him.
 
“VOD-ka it’s vodka, say it right or no man will ever love you honey,” I said.
 
After I finished Justice’s best martini yet, we headed to Home Depot to find a baby sitter for the night.  I had a date with an arms dealer who smelled like husband and by husband I mean: buy me things forever.
 
“Hey you, niñera de mi bebé por favor, tengo las drogas o el sexo para usted,” I yelled to the crowd of day laborers (i.e. baby sitters).
 
I gave my kid to the most handsome laborer and promised to bring back drugs and sex tomorrow as payment when I picked Justice up from behind the Home Depot.  He promised not to sell Justice or at least to call me first if there was a really good offer that exceeded the lifetime cost of my eventual nursing care needs that Justice was doomed to provide.
 
“Wish me luck,” I blew kisses to the laborers and left for my date.
 
“So then I told the Warlord, ‘just try not paying Viktor Soghanalian and see whose war your child soldiers fight then!’ and so he paid me in wives that I traded for this watch that I bought for you tonight,” Viktor the arms dealer gloated as he fitted the watch on my wrist.
 
“I love it,” My eyes batted.
 
I listened to Viktor Soghanalian tell stories about his experiences dealing with international things that I didn’t care about and every now and then my ears perked up to words like: jewels, gold, yacht, private jet, and a few other things I did care about. When I first started getting surgeries to look hotter, I didn’t count on there being many suitors, but now that I was back on top and a popular bed model again, there were dates galore and I wanted to choose my rich husbands wisely.  I liked the idea that Viktor would be travelling around selling arms all the time and that meant I could spend his money without supervision; however, he wore all white to our date and that made him look tacky, especially with his all gold teeth.  Oh dear, I had to end the date without getting shot.
 
“Thank you for the watch that cost all those Warlord’s wives, I really must be going,” I started to get up.
 
“Wait!” Viktor yelled, “sit down, we haven’t even eaten yet.”
 
Viktor had cleared out an entire 5 star Finnish style restaurant for our date tonight and if I wasn’t gonna marry him, I at least could pretend I was going to sleep with him for food.
 
“Hello, my name is Houston and I am the owner of this and many fine Finnish restaurants around the globe, welcome to Lovii Dovii, we feature cuisine from my home town of Tomö,” The most handsome man I have ever met in my life said.
 
I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Houston, he was so sexy, I started to drip.  Houston wore sleek dress pants with a deep red designer shirt that draped his muscular chest, I wanted to rip that shirt off of hi Read more…

Summer Apology Letter

Dear Summer,
 
It seems like just yesterday you gave birth to me.  You are my Mother, Summer, my Mother.  Anyway, last time you came around, it was so much fun!  Everyone encircled me saying, “Wow, you’re so thin, look at you, not an ounce of fat, I hate you skinny damn bitch,” AND I loved it.  Then, slowly, when Fall began, the encircling stopped.  I thought it was a fluke at first because I still took my clothes off all the time… but less people seemed to care.  Then everything started to shrink in the wash, my jeans got too tight, and I had to buy new jeans.  The weird thing is that my size in the store didn’t seem to fit anymore either.  I mean, when did they start making all of the clothes smaller?  Eventually, no one seemed to care that my shirt was off at all.  I even approached people about this and they weirdly acted like I wasn’t hot.  I felt the same inside, what happened, and why didn’t they think I was as hot as I am?
 
It’s because of you Summer.  I simply forgot about you and I’m sorry.  I know there are no excuses for forgetting about you but here are my excuses:
 
#1.  I gave up on dieting.  I know it seems obvious that when you stop watching what you eat, things get out of control and the fatness begins but I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!  They opened up a fried chicken restaurant near my house, called Chick’s Fried-Flamers, and I have been eating there every day.  I think I need to stop eating there though because I read online that they hate gay people and their big plan is to make us all fat and unattractive to everyone but god.
 
#2.  I stopped shaving my back.  I have been told that not everyone loves a full head of back hair but my back hair took over everything.  I thought I was just being free and fun by running through a crowd shirtless until my back hair would catch on things like: lollipops, car keys, cameras, phones, eye glasses, pets, and people who hated being dragged by back hair.  It’s just that my arms got too pudgy to reach around and shave it all, sorry.
 
#3.  BBQs.  There is a BBQ every day in Southern California, even on that one half-day of rain we get every few years.  BBQ is not and never will be healthy for you.  If you eat BBQ, throw it up right away, and run before it gets you.  BBQ got me.
 
#4.  Workouts got in the way of sex. I thought having lots of sex made me hot but I guess it’s the other way around.  I overscheduled sex and under scheduled the gym.
 
#5.  Famine.  That’s right, famine is also to blame!  Every time I watch late night TV coming down off of my party drugs, they show endless third world ribby kids in these “save the children” dramas.  So much so, that I relate to these children as if they were my peers.  I love them a lot.  Then I run to 24 hour Taco Bell starving and I eat enough for the whole village because I can and they can’t.  They remain thin because we don’t share the same stomach.  It’s their problem.
 
Well Summer, I thought I owed you an apology before I get this junk liposucked out of me.  I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me and please keep me skinnier a little longer next time.

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Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #2

One thing I noticed from my recent plastic surgeries was, getting sliced up hurts but it is well worth it.  I had 5 friends suddenly disappear and leave me surgeries in their Wills/suicide notes, how convenient and nice and unrelated to any of my doing… I went from an aging bed model that couldn’t get steady work to an on fire bed model superstar!  Even Marco (the best bed model of all time) got jealous of my resurgence and new success.  All of this was fun but my goal was not simply to be a great bed model and get work again.  Entering my late thirties made me realize that I needed stability and reason in my life, therefore, I planned on using my fake looks to marry rich and be set for life.  I started paying more attention to things like Doctors, Lawyers, Politicians, and Drug Lords.  These things made money.  I also started thinking about generativity (a big word).  Generativity is the need to raise a family and thus produce free nursing care.  Why pay someone for health care when you can guilt a son into changing crapped sheets while fitting you into a comfy diaper, right?  Luckily, I already had a son (my 3 year old Justice); I just needed to start teaching him things like words and how to do more than fix me a cocktail. Read more…

Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #1

When you’re in your 20’s, you think you will be young and pretty forever.  When you’re in your 30’s, you start to see the people around you fall apart and it makes you wonder, ‘Am I next?’  One day, my friend Marvin came to me with a problem.  Read more…

Sit Back and Watch

The “Psychic’s” Responsibility: Read more…

The Streets of Fitness

I was at the gym working on my off-season body with Lance and Preston.  We were getting really sweaty and my endorphins were pumping ecstatically.  Read more…

Letters to Dean

I have a box of letters that people have sent to me over the years.  I normally don’t read…  Reading makes me feel like I’m walking into an inside joke that I just don’t get; however, I recently decided to give it another try and finally read the letters in the box that I haven’t opened till now.  Read more…

I Can Help Too

I was having a wonderful session with my Therapist.  We were working through a lot; he uncovered that I hate pretzels because they look like dogs treats, my favorite items are mirrors because they look like me, and that I love money because.  Read more…

Pills

If anybody knows anything about me, it’s that I like popping pills.  They are just so easy to ingest or chew, you may carry them everywhere, and you never know how much fun you’re gonna have or just how many you may take.  I used to be afraid of pills but then I tried them all and felt even better about not being afraid.  Now, I know what you’re thinking… ‘what a pill popper’ right?  Oh, maybe that is what you’re thinking but think no longer.  Read more…

Cooking With Friends

My friend Julita makes a lot of money from a restaurant that she owns and cooks specialty dishes for.  Other than that, she’s totally fun and we get to hang out.  Julita called me up one night with a problem.  Read more…