Month II and a Half

Hello little Tycoon.
This is what your daddy calls you all day.
When I say: "Can you hold him for a minute? I need to take a shower."
"Could you change his diaper?"
"Here, say Hi."

Invariably these are met with, "But he's juuust a little Tyke-oon."

I think it's become true as you certainly have gained a measure of power and prestige over your humble subjectants.
For example, I am awoken at 8 am with a sharp rap across my cheek and a stern, "Give me of your succulent bosom that I may suckle till I am sated.' I dutifully oblige and patiently keep awake until you take you're full, stretch langorously in your giraffe printed jammies, and curl back to sleep.

True to your tycoon-ness, you sleep in till the luxurious hour of 12, but seeing as you party until 2:00 am it's not really a surprise.

You have mastered the art of "Fist-to-Mouth". And you are more than willing to perform at all hours of the day. I approach your bouncy throne and inquire "What is your will, little manfreid?"

You reply with a vicious Mouththrust and a gurgle for good measure.


I painted a picture of a topless Black and White Woman which is displayed on the wall and this has become your Playboy of Choice. You stare, you chortle, you hold privy conversations with her monochromatic beauty, till I remove you from her presence. Then you shove your entire thumb and forefingers into your mouth in an act of defiance. "Grrakk"

It's true, the rumor you've heard, that I think he's pretty much the swellest character. But who doesn't love a tycoon, especially when they treat you with moon-calf eyes and a fixating crooked smile when he hears your voice, regales you with tales of his pre-existance and then shoves a meaningful fist in his maw?