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.

My Confession

He persued me ardently.  I can't say relentlessly, because, ever the gentleman, he'd have humbly accepted any "no" I'd give him.  His goal was to make sure I didn't want to say "no."

We met in an online community, spurred along by a well-meaning "friend" who wanted to see his romantic dreams (i.e., a relationship with me) come true.  Months of chatting gave way to phone calls and texts, eventually leading up to a meet and some nights together out of town.  We lasted just a hair over a year, start to finish, but circumstances were such that our last face-to-face was months before we ended.

My dear friend Rio posits that adultery is an affair with the self.  Looking back, I can certainly see how that could be.  Where was I then?  I was in a painfully stressful job at a hospice agency (not a job that should be stressful for someone called to do crisis care), beginning to dodge barbs by my politically-motivated bitch boss.  Things with my husband had been strained.  We still did all the usual husband-wife things, but he was closed to me and between the job and making sure his needs were met, I was empty.  Then, add on a then three-year-old little girl.  For those of you who haven't experienced this age of childhood, yet, believe me when I tell you that three makes the terrible twos look like orgasmic sex while eating chocolate cheesecake by comparison.  Yeah, three's that rough.

The gentleman had his daily activities - carpool, work, community activities, property owners' association presidential duties - plus his own family.  At the age of 50, his wife felt they were "past the point" of needing physical - and, I later found out, emotional - intimacy.  Their grown daughter, knowing how, um, dehydrated her parents' love life was, told her father that if he left her mom, then she'd cut him out of her life.  Emotional blackmail at its finest.  The gent seemingly had it all - beautiful family, grandchildren by his children from his first marriage, six-figure job, nice house in the DC suburbs, peer esteem - but his romantic heart was withering in his chest and he was stuck.

It was in being together that we experienced our individual self-doms again, and how glorious it was!  Being in a relationship like that is like experiencing the blush of teenage love without the hormones, acne and awkwardness of the teen years.  It feels like a return to the freedom of life before marriage, before children and before a profession.  We had our song(s), our pet names, our secrets...  All the juicy fun parts of being "in love."

I was composing an email to my best friend Jeff (yes, the hero from many of my stories) earlier in the week and described that relationship as looking for someone to mend the brokenness.  All people are broken, but when parts of your life are broken worse than usual, we seek a way to fix them.  For some people, it could be through turning to drugs or alcohol.  Others turn to religion to the exclusion of all else.  Still others turn toward another person.  That's what the Gent and I did.

I've described the areas of my brokenness at that time - job troubles and a disconnect in my marriage.  The Gent's brokenness was two-part.  One, he once described himself as "broken" physically.  Too many nights DJ'ing in clubs with black lights permanently damaged his night vision, a fall on ice in Winter '05 had left him with some residual shoulder pain, and he also has osteoporosis in his hip, either from age or resulting from that same fall.  He also was dealing with emotional and social brokenness, deprived of the most basic of intimacies from his family - caring and unconditional love and acceptance.  We sought mending in the other, using our relationship to help us heal the broken places in our lives.

The end began as I started to mend my brokenness apart from our relationship.  I was unjustifiably terminated from my job, relieving me of that stress and giving me time and opportunity to nurture and grow my own business.  Months of gazing at my sleeping husband after chatting with my Gent for hours a night, wishing my lawfully wedded husband would romance me as the Gentleman did, finally came to fruition when he began to give back what I'd been needing from him, beginning with his forgiveness for my infidelity.  Our daughter turned four and the sun came out again.

As my husband and I talked about it afterwards, I said, "I wouldn't do it again, but I can't honestly say I regret it."  Reading me perfectly, able to speak the words for which I was searching, he said, "Because it brought me back to you."  That was it exactly.  No way in the world would I do it again.  Ironically, that one act did more for our marriage than all the Christian marriage counseling books and seminars could've ever done. 

This week, I've been watching the romance between two people on Twitter.  My instincts and some subtle nuances in their Tweets seem to indicate that at least he is married in real life and their relationship is beginning online.  These are exciting times for these two as they delve into the joy and excitement of  being "in love."  Yes, I put those words in quotes, because "in love" has an average life span of 2 years.  It takes going through life's trials and tribulations with someone right there by your side - all the way down to holding their head while they're puking their guts out from a GI virus - for the blush of "in love" to give way to the deep richness of true love.  I hope these two are able to wake up and realize all they're at risk of losing before it's too late.  I got lucky, but not all spouses are as forgiving as mine.

Last thoughts...

Like Rio's other friends she mentions in her article, I'd never have married the guy.  He considered me the wife of his heart and dreamily reflected on how nice it'd be if we could have children, but I knew early on that, even if we were free to marry each other, I'd have reservations.  The biggest one?  He doesn't cook.  He said one time, "I could cook.  I could read a recipe and figure out what to do.  I just choose not to."  I know it seems like a little thing, as well as being particularly feminist, but my husband and I rotate nights cooking dinner, and he likes to be as creative in the kitchen as I do.  Given that the Gentleman retires this year, I was seeing him sitting at home while I worked, then have to come home, tend to kids and fix dinner - every night.  No, thank you!

At the time we were together, given the Gentleman's travel schedule, I strongly suspected that his wife wasn't "past the point" of getting sex from someone else; she just didn't want it from him.  Granted, he wasn't the same dark-haired, physically fit specimen from the early years of their marriage (he showed me pictures), but I'm sure she wasn't as lovely as she was when they first met and married, but he still loved her and wanted the fulness of married life with her.  I still maintain that she was stepping out on him.

The so-called "friend" who was so hot to get us together had motives far from the Gentleman's love life in mind.  This friend, who we believed the whole time was a bisexual female, ended up being a male.  For some unknown reason, he/she targeted me, wanting to break my husband and me up, and was using the Gentleman to do it so he'd get the blame for it.  Now that person is posing as the "woman's" sister (supposedly the "woman" died in a boating accident off Florida two years ago.  Uh huh... Whatever).

I know this confession will come as a shock to those of you who know me personally - or semi-personally - especially how I am now.  I have my life back, and it's the life that's a fabulous fit for me.  I won't say I'm in love with my husband.  I remember feeling that way a couple of years ago and thinking, Darn!  These feelings are going to eventually go away.  And they did, and that's OK, because now we're a unit.  When you're "in love," the other person has no faults.  Trust me, my husband has just as many faults as I do.  He's no more perfect than I am, but he's perfect for me, and I have true love with him.  A few guys in the past two years have spoken sweet words of love, desire and devotion to me, but I just gently tell them how much I appreciate their friendship, subtly making it clear that I'm not interested in more.  I have my guy friends, boundaries in place, and we wouldn't change a thing about our friendships, including how much they respect my marriage relationship.

This was reprinted with permission by Rio Denali, along with an epilogue.  You can find it here on her blog, Rio Dances on the Sand.

The Massage

His eyes pierced me, his green eyes gazing into my soul as he poured the massage oil into his hand, watching me hotly as he warmed the cool liquid before letting it slowly drip from his hands onto my skin. My lips parted on a moan and my eyes fluttered shut at the first sensual caress, the oil making his hands glide effortlessly over the dips and mounds of my waist before they moved up to cup and rub my full, aching breasts. He kneaded the pale globes, his fingers occasionally brushing the darkened aureolae, taunting the sensitive peaks with the touch they were craving.


Leaving my breasts, he slicked the oil down to my belly, softly caressing the firm mound where the baby grew. Responding to his touch, the baby kicked against his hand. With a soft chuckle, he continued to rub oil over the taut skin before moving his hand down to my bare woman's mound. Oil-slickened fingers parted my folds, finding the hard nubbin hidden in their depths, before venturing further down to my slit. The oil mixed with my juices as he teasingly slid just the tip of his finger into my hole.

He left my core to refresh the oil in his hands before slicking the oil down my legs, rubbing and caressing the muscular, curvy limbs. I rolled to my side on his request so he could work his magic on the back of my body. Fireworks went off as he rubbed the sensitive bottoms of my feet, his fingers slipping in between my toes. His hands kneaded my calves, then teased the hollows behind my knees, soliciting a groan of pleasure. Strong fingers lightly massaged the backs of my thighs, working up to the soft, firm globes of my ass. A single digit dipped in the valley, teasing the tight pucker.

Unable to bear the teasing any longer, I rolled over suddenly, taking advantage of his momentary surprise to grab the bottle of massage oil.