My Dad Loves Queefs

It was the summer of 1996, and I was listening to an ex convict telling my dad an off color joke about a woman of ill repute and a man of the cloth. I remember tensing up as I braced myself for the tongue lashing my father was about to give this man for his lack of moral fiber. To my dismay my father belted out a healthy guffaw.

I was shocked! My father had a sense of humor.

So we were headed out to a job, and I was tired of listening to 1010WINS. I turned the channel to Howard Stern and heard them hyping up a world record about to be broken. I turned it up only to hear that this talented athlete was about to break the world record for squeezing gas out of her vagina. I learned that the technical term in the sport is "queefing".

Years before my father would have turned the radio off and dropped me off at confession. He feigned disinterest but his smirk told me that he was full of glee as we were about to witness "queefing" history.

I felt the chills run up my spine as the first queef squeaked out and each succeeding queef after sent me into a frenzy. I couldn't contain my euphoria as she squeezed out the record breaking vaginal emission. I pumped my fist in celebration.

I looked over and saw my dad's face full of a joy. It was the first bonding experience we had as grown men. I have spoke to guys that talk about having their first beer with their dad, but my dad doesn't drink. We bonded as men listening to world queefing history being made.

A few days ago my sister's lapdog was having some digestive problems and broke wind in my face. My eyes filled up with tears, and it wasn't because of the gaseous fecal matter sprayed in my face. It sounded like the record breaking queef that I heard that day bonding with my father.

Hey, call me an old softy but the sound of weak flatulent emissions of any kind gets me nostalgic.