You're invited...

You are invited to join me at my new home on the internet, the Dragoness's Lair.

I'm hoping eventually to have all my erotic and/or fun musings in one place, just to keep my life saner.  I hope you'll follow my posts there.  Interaction keeps me posting.

Thank you for reading and following me here.  It means a lot to me.

Quiet Time

An artistic portrayal of an act performed on a woman, furtively while a formal party is in progress (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I'd been reading Robert's stories all evening.  His talent as an erotic writer was phenomenal, and the way he wrote had left me delighted as a fellow writer and extremely aroused as an avid reader of erotica.  Even with the pre-dinner noise in the house and my children crawling all over me, I'd still managed to steal a few minutes to read his stories.

I had come to a stopping point and was ready to get out of my work clothes and into something much more comfortable before dinner.  Locking the door to the bedroom, I slipped out of my clothes, stripping down to just my panties.  The cool, rain-kissed air coming through the open windows felt like the finest silk against my skin, and feeling a bit drowsy, I laid down across the bed and closed my eyes, letting my mind drift back over what I had read.

Like most erotic writers tend to do, Robert had written what he likes, and I'd already told him it seemed like he'd been peeking in the window at my last fling and me.  He had written of how sensitive his ears are, so as I lay across the bed, I imagined how they would taste, my tongue flicking over the soft lobes before tracing the sworls with the tip.  His stories led me to believe he has a deep appreciation for mind-blowing oral sex - both giving and receiving.  There's no way he could know of my oral talents (except in my own stories), nor could he know how much I like being brought to a screamingly intense orgasm at the behest of a lover's tongue and fingers.

As my mind played over the snapshots of his stories, my nether lips began to swell, the sensitive nubbin between them starting to grow and throb, emerging out from beneath its hood.  Idly, softly, my hand caressed my bare chest, rubbing over first one nipple, then the other, feeling the silky soft skin of my breasts.  I slid my other hand down my body, slipping my fingers beneath my panties to tease the hard nub.  Scenes from one of his stories played through my mind,  and I wondered if his oral skills are as good as what he'd written.

I could see his dark head between my thighs, his brown wavy hair tickling the pale golden flesh as his tongue teased over the moisture at the juncture of my legs.  My fingers rubbed over my my clit before dipping into my hole, drawing the nectar up the cleft between my lips.  His lips pursed over my bud, suckling it gently, increasing the pull.  I pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves between my fingers, my hips rising off the bed.  Robert's tongue lapped my pussy from perineum to the top of my clit.  Two fingertips spread my now flowing juices over my mound.  He slid two thick fingers into my slit while his mouth pulled and drew on my clitty.

I reached over and pulled my glass dildo from the drawer by the bed.  Its cool smoothness tantalized my hot skin as I worked it into my greedy hole, sliding it in, inch by inch.  My right hand held the ridged shaft while my left hand continued to torment the aching bud.  In my mind, Robert was there, curved fingers rubbing my G-spot, making my juices flow more insistently, bathing his fingers and creating a small puddle on the bed beneath me.  Finally, the dildo was buried all the way in me.  I slid it in and out, feeling the bumpy, bulbous head torment my G-spot and stretch my tight cunt.  My fingers pinched and pulled on my clit, inflicting enough pain to light up every nerve.  My fantasy lover kept lapping at my woman's flesh, drinking every drop of nectar flowing from my slit, as he slid a third finger into my swollen hole.  Faster and faster I worked the glass in and out, my fingers teasing my clit more.  The sucking sound of the dildo sliding in and out of my wet hole filled the room, intermingled with my moans and sighs, the slight creak of the bed springs as my hips pumped to meet my hands.  The wave of heat rose higher, sending me careening toward an intense orgasm.  After a few more thrusts, my body soared over, a muffled keening cry all the verbal release I dared as the walls of my love canal grasped and pulsed around my toy.  I continued teasing my clit, savoring the aftershocks as they rocked through my body.

With a luxurious sigh and stretch, I rose from the bed, mentally wished my fantasy lover adieu for the time being and got dressed.

I parked my car in the driveway and walked up to the door of his two-story house.  As I waited for him to answer the door, I looked around, appreciating the quiet neighborhood and spacious wooded lots.  He opened the door, smiling his greeting and opening his arms for a hug.  I smiled back as I stepped into his arms.  Oh my god, could he feel how hard my heart was pounding in my chest?  After long moments in his arms, I pulled back a little, looked up at him and said, "I'm glad to see you again."

Removing his hand from where it rested on my lower back, Jason pushed a chestnut curl from my face.  He said, "I'm happy to see you, too."  We stood there, gazes locked, and almost involuntarily, my lips strayed down to his lips.  His breath hitched slightly as he caught the direction I was looking, and as I looked back up into his eyes, I knew what would be coming next.  I'm not sure who moved first, but suddenly our lips were locked together.  His taste was aphrodesic, a toxic blend of him laced with strong coffee.  His tongue found mine, causing me to tremble in his arms as lightning raced through my veins, turning my blood molten, making it pool heavily in my center.  I pressed up against him as we kissed, feeling his arousal nudging against my belly.

After an endless kiss, we pulled away from each other, both breathless, heat arcing between us as we stood, still holding each other, staring in each other's eyes.  "So, um, shall we get going on that vid shoot?"

"Sure," Jason replied, stepping back to let me enter his house.  His lab puppy came rushing up to greet me, jumping excitedly, his tail wagging enthusiastically as I rubbed him.  Straightening up, I asked Jason where we were going to be setting up.  "I was thinking we'd do it in the den, if that works for you."

"Yeah, that's fine."  Jason already had his recorder set up, and he motioned me to a chair.  When I was ready, he started the interview, asking me questions about my business, how I got started in it and so forth.  After a few minutes, we wrapped, and he offered me the opportunity to preview the vid before he posted it on his YouTube channel.  I said, "That's OK; I'm sure it's fine.  I'll just wait to see it with your other subscribers."  He turned everything off, then came over to the chair where I was sitting.  He held out his hand, offering me his help in getting up.  I placed my hand in his and stood up, coming to stand right in front of him.

This time it was his eyes flickering to my lips.  I moistened my lips before raising my head.  Once more, my arms wrapped around his neck and my body pressed against his as his mouth devoured mine.  The kiss soon turned hot, and he broke it only long enough to take my hand and lead me down the hall to his bedroom.  Once there, he took me in his arms again, and the heat flared as our kiss resumed.  Without breaking our kiss, we fell onto the bed, with him landing on top of me.  Hands roamed and explored, discovering those places that ellicit sighs and moans.  Clothes landed in a heap on the floor.  Bare legs tangled together, and Jason nudged my knees apart with his.  My hips arched up, seeking his hardness, wanting him to fill the empty place inside me.  He reached over to his nightstand, grabbing a foil packet from the drawer.  I took the condom from him, covering him before he sank deep into me.

My legs wrapped around his flanks, heels lightly digging into his rear, and I met him thrust for thrust as he plunged deep into me, working his cock in and out in a steady, excrutiating, tantalizing rhythm, leaving me moaning and begging, his name coming hoarsely to my lips as I climbed toward what was promising to be a mind-blowing orgasm.  My back arched, nails scored his back and... Oh god...  There.  Oh, yes!  My world exploded in a million pieces as I came hard around him.  Still relentlessly pounding into me, Jason's body tensed moments later as he yelled out his release, the spasms in his cock echoing the after-tremors still rocking through me.

He collapsed on top of me, reaching between us to quickly remove the condom before softly kissing me.  We burrowed under the blankets, our bodies chilling in the aftermath of our passion, kisses building each other back up.

A Bloody Nightmare

2007 - Conversation with the Gent

"Did I tell you we've bought retirement property in that area?" he said to me over breakfast one day. 

Surprised, delighted, I invited, "No!  Do tell!  Where exactly?"

I listened as he told me the story of how his wife and he had found their dream retirement property.  How lovely, I thought.  He'll be in-state.  We lived 240 miles away at the time; he groused because I wanted to live 100 miles away.  Now I live 60 miles away and wish it were farther.  Or he'd sell the land.

2010 - Conversation with an old friend of 4+ years

[Him]  I've been thinking of moving down there.  I can be closer to you.

[Me]  But your whole life is there.  That's your hometown!

[Him]  I have no ties here anymore, and I can fly to see the kids.  I'd be closer to my younger one, at least for five years, anyway.

Aw, fuck!  I've made it known to one and all that I'm happily married and not looking to change that.  Despite hoping and praying for a land sale for the first gentleman, and for sanity for the second (or a great job offer in another state), my petitions to the Holy One well, didn't go unheeded, but weren't answered like I'd hoped.

Despite us living miles apart, enough so that our paths technically wouldn't ever have to cross, one day the fates conspired against me, the planets were totally out of whack and God was proving what a great sense of humor God has and *bam*.  I was vending at a local outdoor event, my husband by my side, enjoying the crowds, the sunshine, the fresh air and the energy of a good show.  We had our groove on and sales were brisk.

I looked up from straightening a display as I heard a familiar voice say, "Hi Sara" with a thick Massachusetts accent.  I smiled as I recognized my friend, who I hadn't seen in several months.

"Hi Bob!  How are ya?" I asked as I gave him a quick hug.  Releasing him, I stepped to my husband's side, sliding my arm through his.  "Have you met my husband Peter, yet?  Peter, this is my friend Bob.  Bob, my husband Peter."  Peter, who has not been blessed with height, bristled slightly as he reached out to shake Bob's hand, knowing his desires towards me.  The awkward moment passed as more customers came up, taking Peter's mind off Bob's presence.  Bob browsed a bit.

I was back in my own selling groove when I heard a woman say, "Oh, look!  Soaps!"  Prepared to meet my newest customer with a smile, I looked up, smile of welcome in place.  It froze on my face.  Time came to a screeching halt, the moment not unlike a 20-car pileup on the interstate during rush hour, topped off by a loaded tanker truck ramming the whole catastrophe.  I didn't recognize the woman at first, but then I saw her companion.  I knew him, and by "knew," I mean in both the social and the biblical senses.  In an instant it clicked; I'd seen her vapid, social, I-so-don't-want-to-be-here smile falsely beaming out at me from pictures on his office desk.

Refusing to back down, refusing to suddenly, cowardly take a bathroom break, I snuck in a slow, deep breath before greeting him.  "Hello, Jim.  And you must be Tina.  I've heard so much about you!" as I offered her my hand to shake along with a warm smile.  From behind me and beside me, I felt both Peter and Bob tense, the testosterone under the canopy flooding out the scents of soaps and lotions.

I had the satisfaction of seeing Jim's face suddenly leech of color, his normal olive complexion turning a sick shade of grey.  The ball was in my court.  I could either expose him for the philandering man he was, or handle it with class, grace and poise.  After I introduced myself, Tina was the first to speak.  Addressing both Jim and me, she asked, "So how do you two know each other?" 

By this point, beads of sweat had broken out on Jim's forehead and upper lip, and dark circles of prespiration were forming under his arms and in the center of his chest, owing nothing to the warm Spring day.  If anything, his complexion had turned pastier; honestly, I'd seen healthier color on corpses.  I smiled warmly, knowing that I really had nothing to lose here.  My husband knew, as did Bob.  She was the one left in the dark.  I knew this, and Jim knew this.  The guys could pretty much guess.  I started to go easy on Jim.  After all, we'd parted pretty amicably and I bore him no hard feelings or ill will.  Then I remembered and took courage from words a friend had told me:  "I won't lie to cover my ass, and I certainly won't lie to cover someone else's."

While Jim was still gasping for air like a landed trout, I took over the conversation.  "We met in an online adult forum.  Jim posted his erotic stories there and someone made sure we connected.  From there we started chatting, then talking on the phone, and well, it just went from there.  He is really an amazing erotic writer!  You must be so proud of him and such an inspiration to him!"

Tina looked confused and uncertain.  Finally Jim found his voice.  "Uh, I've never met this woman before in my life!  She's lying!" 

"Oh, my gosh!" I said.  "Oh, Jim, I felt certain you'd have told her after that whole broo-ha-ha when the SecNav found out about us and you almost lost your job.  Oh.  Well.  This is awkward."

Jim began to sputter and stammer.  I leveled him a look designed to shut him up, a look he correctly interpreted to mean, "Shut up or I start pulling out proof" as I reached in my pocket for my cell phone, still holding some of his texts.  With effort, he calmed himself while I apologized to Tina.  "I'm sorry.  I truly believed he'd have confessed to you.  Would you like to sit for a moment?"

"No, thank you," she replied woodenly.  "I'm just ready to leave."  As Jim followed after her, she added, "Alone."

He turned on me as she walked away.  "You little bitch!  How could you!  You've just ruined everything!"

Peter and Bob had been watching quietly but alert, every fiber of their beings focused on the exchange.  Peter was the first to speak.  "First, you haven't earned the right to call my wife a bitch.  Second, you're the one who can't keep your cock in your pants, so you've ruined your own life.  I suggest you move on."  At his words, both fear and a new respect coursed through me.  Never had I heard him so cold before.  It was formidable to witness.  And kinda sexy.

Still Jim blustered.  "Your wife's not exactly innocent in all this, either!  She seduced me.  I couldn't resist!" 

Then Bob piped up.  "You're no longer welcome here.  Leave."

"Who the hell are you?" Jim asked. 

I jumped in with introductions, hoping to diffuse the situation before it escalated.  "Peter, Bob, this is my ex-boyfriend Jim.  Jim, my husband Peter and my friend Bob."

Knowing he was out-manned and not wanting to cause any more of a scene, Jim turned around and walked off, going in the same direction Tina had toward the parking lot.  The tension under the canopy eased and Peter and I went back to selling.

"Well, oh my!  What do you have to do to get three men fighting over you, dearie?" asked an elderly lady who'd just arrived. 

"I'm not entirely sure, ma'am," I replied.  "Maybe it's the patchouli soap.  Patchouli has aphrodesiac properties."

"Well, I don't know about that at my age!  I'll take these," she said as she handed over a handful of soaps in varying scents. 

"Ooh, you're getting the Drama Queen!  Pretty sexy fragrance there," I affirmed as I rang her up.

"A lady as lovely as this one needs nothing extra," came a voice from behind my customer.  I hadn't seen Jeff walk up since I'd had my back turned toward the booth entrance.  The customer tittered at the compliment, blushing prettily.

"Jeff!" I exclaimed as I rushed to his arms for a hug.  "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I had some business in Jacksonville and thought I'd come see my favorite soapmaker while I was close by."

"Haha.  I'm your only soapmaker!  And did you make time to stop and see your dad?"

"Yes, dear."

Jeff and Peter had already met, so I introduced Bob to Jeff and between the three of us, we caught Jeff up on the events of the past half hour.  "Damn!  I hate that I missed that!" he said when we were done.

The display area was getting very crowded by this point, so Bob decided he needed to get going, which suited me just fine.  We still had three hours to go in the Market, and both Jeff and Peter were charming and outlandish enough to *wow* all the ladies, while I handled the few gents who stopped by.  One gentleman, a handsome older guy, gave me a winsome smile and asked, "So can I join in the fight for your affections?"

I chuckled and said, "That black-haired fella there has already won my affections, but with the right soap, you could have a bunch of ladies fighting for yours."  I bagged up a bar of Midnight Sands, Patchouli and Sub-Lime Sandalwood for him, scents that most of my lady customers sigh over and buy for their own men.

The day ended and Jeff was sweet enough to help us pack up our gear.  "So, Jeff, is your business in Jax wrapped up, or do you need to get back tonight?"

"I'm done there.  I finished a couple of days earlier than expected and sort of thought I'd explore your new territory a bit.  Tour me around?"

"Like you have to ask!  I'd be delighted to!  Where're you staying?"

"I was just going to play that by ear.  Figured I'd get a room in town."

"Heck, no!  You can stay with us.  We've got a guest room you can use.  Besides, if I'm playing tour guide, we may as well start from the same base."

That settled it, and we all headed back to our home to shower before dinner.  While Peter was washing my back, he said, "Honey, do you remember that fantasy I had right after you had the baby?"  Ohhh, my!  Indeed I did!  At that point, a nightmarish day had all the potential to turn into a seriously HOT fantasy-fulfilled night!

Riverfront

"Jeff."

Her voice carried on the breeze, seeming to float endlessly over the river below before landing with a soft bump in my ear.  I turned to see her standing at the top of the steps to the overlook, the warm July breeze tossing her sun-gilded pecan brown curls around her face.  Even if I hadn't recognized her honeyed voice with its dulcet drawl, I'd know that smile anywhere, for it was a smile that soothed my longest days and haunted my sweetest dreams.

"Hi, darlin'," she said, as she walked toward me, her skirt hugging her shapely hips and flirting with her knees.  My eyes traveled over the rest of this fine, compact package, noting the way the sun kissed her pale golden skin, the sumptuous shimmer of her silk cami top and the perfectly formed calves that ended with slender ankles and adorable little sandal-shod feet.  And... I had to smile as I noticed her pedicure.  Her toenails were painted a bright metallic blue, just as she'd written in the very first story she ever wrote for me.

I had maybe about ten seconds to register how scrumptious she looked before - Oh, thank you, God! - she was in my arms, standing on tiptoe just to press her voluptuous body closer to mine, her face buried in the side of my neck, I know memorizing my scent and branding it in her mind.  She does that - occupational hazard.  Her arms were around my neck and I could feel every curve imprinted on my body as her breasts flattened against my chest and the vee of her thighs cradled my increasingly tumescent shaft, burning it even through layers of clothes.

She pulled back slightly, giving up the crook of my neck and glancing a kiss along my jaw, her lips a whisper against my skin.  Her hot whisky eyes locked on mine moments before our lips touched.  With the first brush of her lips against mine, it seemed as if the river below us sucked all the oxygen from the air, leaving me lightheaded.  I cajoled her lips to part, nipping at the lush bottom one with my teeth and laving it with my tongue.  Her mouth opened to me, and I clamped my mouth over hers, desperate to breathe in each sigh and each moan, hoping to get some air to my oxygen-deprived brain.  Instead she challenged my tongue to a frenzied dance, coercing it to go slow and sensuously, then enticing it to a raucous Latin beat that only she could hear.  I kept on kissing her, my arms around her, my hands resting at the luscious curve at the top of her sweet, firm ass, holding her tightly, feeling like I'd go over the railing if I relaxed my grip at all.

Sara drew my tongue into her mouth, wrapping her lips around it and sucking lightly.  A low growl emanated from the back of my throat, surprising me in its intensity.  She took the growl and swallowed it with a sigh as she flicked the tip of my tongue with her own.  Slick and silky, her tongue caressed mine, explored every part of my mouth and sucked the rest of the oxygen from my brain.  I gave up on breathing and standing, sinking into Sara as my legs gave and I sank down onto the bench on the observation deck.  She straddled my lap, never releasing my lips as she coaxed more and more from me... More passion and more of me, I freely gave to her.

The breeze coming from the River cooled our sweat-glistening bodies where they pressed intimately against each other.  She shivered in my arms, her own passion growing...

American Social Economics for Non-Americans

In the beginning, there was Adam Smith.  Smith has been called the Father of Modern Economics, and he proposed that if merchants are allowed to promote their own self-interests, then the result will be good for their home municipality overall.  Take a baker, for example.  If a baker is going to promote his own self-interests - in this case, be successful in his business - then he will provide a top-notch product at a particular cost.  If he's unscrupulous in his quest, then likely he'll charge higher prices for his wares.  However, if a second baker opens shop, also offering a high quality product but at a more competitive price, then the first baker will be forced to close his doors or lower his prices in order to stay in business.  Meanwhile, the citizens in that area have a choice of which baker to patronize - or they may buy cinnamon rolls from one and Italian loaves from the other - and the citizens, as well as the bakers, will benefit.

Adam Smith's theories formed the basis for capitalism, an economic system based on free enterprise, unhindered by government interference.  This, in turn, helped form the foundation of what is commonly referred to as "The American Dream," the idea that with hard work and determination, everyone has the potential to achieve great things.  Smith, however, opposed the formation of monopolies, whereby one company had absolute control of an entire market.

This concept of a laissez-faire economic system has worked well for a few hundred years.  People work hard, make a living, make a life, pass both down to their children who either take over the family business or take their cut of the family money to a certain university and learn a new skill set which they can use to work hard and make their own way in the world.  Then along came the Great Depression and FDR's attempt to bail out the American people.

The plan was simple, and the plan was good.  Create jobs and invest a relatively small amount of money in helping people, initially farmers, then it spread to other strata of the population, allowing them to find other work.  Franklin Roosevelt's main and biggest program was the WPA - Works Progress Administration - which created jobs for millions of unemployed people, mainly men.  Few women were hired under the WPA, though those who were were trained and hired to sew linens and clothes for orphanages, hospitals and adoption centers.  The thinking behind this was, if two adults in the same family were hired, then that was one less job another breadwinner might get.  However, as many as 40% of women were heads of households, often taking care of up to five other people.

Roosevelt's New Deal laid the groundwork for much of what we've seen in America for the past 50 years.  The Social Security Act, which included welfare and social security, was a part of the New Deal, designed to be a temporary solution during the Great Depression.  The WPA ended in 1943 when employment in America skyrocketed as manufacturing companies had to hire a tremendous work force to keep up with war-time demand for planes, MREs, clothing for soldiers, weapons and so forth.  With the end of the Great Depression, it would make sense that all Depression-era government programs would end, but such wasn't the case.

Social Security was set up so that employees could pay out a little bit of their paychecks into a fund off which they could draw upon retirement.  FDR established social security as a way to help out workers as they got older.  Now, almost all of us in the private sector pay it, but the concern is that we'll never see it.  Ironically, Roosevelt was adamant that the funds would be safe from future politicians or even his contemporaries in Congress:  "We put those payroll contributions there so as to give the contributors a legal, moral, and political right to collect their pensions and unemployment benefits. With those taxes in there, no damn politician can ever scrap my social security program."

I tweeted earlier today that, I wonder if non-American nations have citizens who make a living off of sucking the goverment's teat for generation after generation?  Not so surprisingly, none of my non-American followers jumped in and said, "No, we don't."  Drive through certain areas of town - any larger city in America, really - and you'll see slums of row houses, porches sagging, screens torn, broken windows covered with plastic or cardboard, satellite dishes and $40,000.00+ vehicles (Hummers, Escalades, Beemers and Benzes), their inhabitants sitting on the front porch in the middle of the day, talking.  Ask any teacher who works at the schools who serve these neighborhoods, and they'll tell you stories about the violence endemic in such areas and how this student is fourth generation welfare.  Some of the students want a better life; others - probably the majority - don't care.  Why work 40 hours a week when you can sit at home and still get paid for it?

And that brings us to today.  In 1996, then President Clinton passed a law that would make welfare temporary, maxing out a five years, and some states imposed even stricter guidelines, such as showing proof of having looked for a job for a month before receiving benefits.  Instead of states getting paid per welfare recipient, they were given a flat amount of money based on population.  Under these new policies, unemployment dropped and the number of welfare recipients dropped, indicating some success with the program.  With the huge government bailout that began in 2009 at the individual level, forecasters predict that welfare will once again rise with unemployment. 

Under Roosevelt's presidency, the national dept rose over 120% as he spent billions of dollars to bail out America.  If we don't learn from history, we're liable to repeat it, and that's certainly true in America today.  Obama wants to spend trillions of dollars to pass his own personal-agenda legislation.  He says that this money will go to create new jobs.  Where?  In China?  Will any of this money actually stay in America, encouraging factory owners to hire American employees instead of outsourcing production to China?  Likely not.  In his campaign, Obama promised a complete withdrawal of US troops from Iraq by the end of 2010.  Well, it's February 2010, and that 21st century Viet Nam doesn't seem any closer to an end.  Talk about deceptive!  Instead of working to dramatically reduce the number of troops in Iraq, he now wants to send 60,000 troops into Afghanistan, meaning more money and lives squandered.

At the beginning of The Crisis, Thomas Paine wrote:

These are the times that try men's souls:  The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.

We are here.  These next almost three years of enduring the Obama administration with its double talk, higher taxes and free-for-all spending (well, free for professional welfare recipients, illegals and so forth, but not for hard-working, legal Americans) will certainly try our souls.  "What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly."  My conservative and libertarian brothers and sisters, while we do our Christian, biblically-mandated duty and pray for this administration, we also find and support that one candidate who will bring our country back to a more even keel, restoring balance and peace, not fear and dread.

Just Don't Get It

This is a rewrite/update on an article I wrote a few years ago.  A friend reading it said, "You make it sound like it's all the husband's fault."  Unless a man's wife has given him her permission and blessing to screw around on her, it is his fault!

Last night, the wife of the friend whose marriage I was trying to save by posting My Confession read that article, but we're not sure if she recognized her husband in it or not.  Either she's blind, in denial or he hasn't confessed to her exactly what brought about his most recent devotion to her.  I'm glad that she's getting the attention she needs from her husband, but come ON, people!  I wonder if she knows exactly how many other women he's been with, both online and in real life?  I wonder if she knows how ferociously he's pursued me, to the point where I had to give up the warm-and-fuzzy friendlies and be exceptionally blunt (after trying to tell him nicely, but repeatedly, that I have no interest in meeting, let alone an affair)?  I think he said one time that she doesn't know about all of them.  I pity her.

I was thinking about this earlier...  If I had a dollar for every single time a man blamed his wife for his decision to screw around on her, we'd be living on a half-acre plot of prime waterfront real estate in our 3 BR/2.5 BA dream home with guest cottage.  Plus, I'd have my own brick-and-mortar shop, the foundation for a ministry, a new car and a fishing boat for my husband.  Really, I'm tired of hearing it.

Let's get this straight...  It doesn't matter if your wife puts out three times a day or three times a year, you still have no business screwing around on her.  I've heard it all...

"She doesn't have as high a sex drive as I do."

"She has no libido."

"She doesn't want sex."

"She only wants it once a week."

"She doesn't want to experiment like I do."

And the list goes on, and on... and on.

Stop blaming your wife!  Bottom line is, you are choosing to forsake your marriage vows, that promise you made to "forsake all others," so you can have the sex you want with the security of your wife still there by your side.  You want to have your cake and eat it, too.  Not only are you breaking your marriage vows, but you're also exposing her to god-only-knows-what kinds of sexually transmitted diseases.  That little honey who's willing to sneak away from her husband for a weekend of mind-blowing, chandelier-swinging monkey love with you has probably done this before, maybe even several times.  Do you know all the men she's been with?  Likely not.  I mean, geez... Can you be any more selfish?

If your wife's not interested in having sex with you, then you need to look at what you're doing that's resulting in her lack of desire.  Do you come home from work, all tired and stinky, change into bum wear and sit down in front of the TV until she gets dinner finished, only to return to the TV afterward?  When's the last time you showed appreciation for all she does for you - washing your clothes, cooking your meals, keeping the house straight, taking care of the children?  How long has it been since you two got dressed up and went out to eat without the kids in tow? 

Do you take care of yourself?  Do you expect your wife always to look like a Victoria's Secret model while you more closely resemble Homer Simpson?  Do you go to bed with facial stubble every night?  Have you ever surprised your wife with a little "manscaping"?  (Try that out when you'd like some oral sex, but don't make it conditional - respect her "no.")

I've known my share of men, all with their excuses for cheating.  "My wife is such a nag, and she never wants to have sex anymore."  "My wife's too out of it on pain meds to be interested in sex."  Reality check...  If I were married to you, I wouldn't want to have sex with you, either.  The husband of the nag has a cock the size of a roll of nickels - length and width - sweats profusely and looks like one of the mole people.  The pain med addict's husband smokes, has a million tattoos, has the world's worst haircut in the history of barbers and a cock even smaller than the first guy's.  (I later theorized that excessive drug use - both bragged about having done every drug known to man - leads to diminished size.)

If your wife isn't interested, look in the mirror.  Likely, you're the reason.