I’ve been married to Barbara for over three years and I’m filing for legal separation today. After reassessing my feelings for Barbara and taking a thorough inventory of our relationship, I’ve decided that it’s time to man up, grow a set of testicles and cut her from my life like the malignant tumor she is.
Let's start with sex:
We were at an amazing resort in French Polynesia on the first day of our honeymoon. We were in an over-the-water bungalows, there were lavish buffets, still, blue lagoons where the water was crystal-clear to the bottom. Wow, it was the dream trip of a life time. There were beautiful young svelte bronze bodies in skimpy attire everywhere. Was I blown away?
Then I had this great idea, "Let's have sex!" I mean what the hell? It was our honeymoon, after all.
"I'm tired," was Barbara’s whiny response.
"Yeah, but it's our honeymoon. We're in paradise, for crying out loud, let's get it on."
"I guess if I have to," Barbara whined.
Boy did that make me horny.
The next couple of days were a study in sexual procrastination and avoidant behavior on her part.
Trying to finagle sex from Barbara had, overnight, become like pulling teeth. Suddenly there were politics involved. Not like the entire year before, when she was good to go, 24/7/365. Be it blowjobs-swallowing-dog style-missionary-spankings -or whatever she’d always been ready..
At the risk of presenting a disjointed, or lacking in continuity picture let me interrupt myself and pose a question. What on earth, outside of regular, willing, and adventurous sex, does Barbara or any woman think they have to offer a man?
Does Barbara really think I married her for her company … her intellect? Does she think I find following her through Target with a shopping cart more interesting than kicking back with my male friends? Does she think she has a single insight into politics, philosophy, religion, life, sports, finance, or general trivia that has ever shed a single photon of illumination upon my perspective? She does not.
Let me be clear: there is nothing, besides the promise of regular, enjoyable sex that I wanted from her that would have ever made me consider committing to her for the rest of my life.
Once sex became an unwilling labor for Barbara, I stopped wanting even that.
Men want willing sex.
Rapists want unwilling sex.
"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place." - Billy Crystal
Outside of willing, eager participation in sex, women are nothing but a nuisance, a liability, an annoying distraction, interrupting my otherwise constant state of serenity and my flow of good ideas.
Oh, back to my story: It was day four of our honeymoon when Barbara proclaimed, "I'm not expected to have sex with you every day."
"Of course not," I politely answered. "But this is our honeymoon. We're on the other side of the world, in the South Pacific. People would kill to be where we are right now."
I should have noted the huge red flag waving when, some weeks earlier when Barbara tried to make the case that it would be fun to take some friends along on our honeymoon with us. Maybe even her grandmother and we could all hang out the whole time. "Wouldn't that be fun?" she’d said.
Let me answer all women on the planet here and now: Hell no! That would not, by any stretch of the imagination, be fun.
It was about the same day that I realized how poor a conversationalist Barbara was. Somehow, over the prior year, when she was fucking me six ways from Sunday, I had overlooked and/or simply rationalized the gigantic reality that she was, quite simply, stupid as a post.
Anyway, there I was, ten grand into the most potentially romantic, amorous, and otherwise amazing bonding experience ever put together and I had as my companion a tyrant who refused to have sex...or who offered nastily, "If you want me to pretend I like it, I will."
It was then, immediately, that my eyes started to wander.
He was the Frenchman who worked behind the counter at our hotel...an intern from some hotel school program in France. He was a little goofy looking: big, bulgy eyes, a bit of a swayback. Still, he was kind of sexy somehow. Upon checking in, I’d thought he was a typical Frenchie, who was uncharacteristically friendly.
Then one evening, as I was exchanging some traveler's checks for the local currency while Barbara laid on her already-becoming-lazy ass in the room, he asked, “How’s your honeymoon going?”
I was at a loss for words. I'm sure my facial expression told the whole story.
Perceptive creature that he was, he flashed an unmistakable look and touched my hand for much too long to be accidental. "Have you been to the spa?" he asked me.
I answered that I hadn’t.
"Oh, you really must see it." Then he said something to his manager in French and, in no time flat, he was kindly walking me down the darkened path to the spa. Good Lord. He took me off to the side to a dark seclude part of the spa. It was like those cheesy porn movies of old where the mailman shows up at the door to deliver a ‘package’ and the tenant's towel falls off. Wow … and when that towel fell was he ever hung. Being 100% heterosexual, I don’t know what came over me but within seconds, I dropped to my knees and was face to face with a nine inch uncut cock inhaling the heady aroma of scent of soap mixed fresh sweat. The head, oh that silky reddish/purple plum shaped head, massive, hard, soft, and warm head, was oh so inviting.
I knelt, frozen, thinking about how I got to this point, when my gaze feel on the lobes under the slit of his head.
Trance like, I lean forward and his gigantic cock was in my mouth, something that hadn’t happened since some innocent childhood experimentation.
Yes, it was that easy.
Can I just add one more ironic detail? His name was actually Maurice! How poetic is that?
Let me ask you something Barbara. Did you ever even wonder why I stopped hounding you about sex on our honeymoon? I'm sure you, in your way of rationalizing things, thought that you’d won and that I’d accepted your embargo. It was, in fact, simply because that need was being met elsewhere. Two weeks into our sham of a marriage, I was getting serviced somewhere else. Between Maurice and a couple of the muscular bronze cabaña boys, I was either sucking two or three dicks a day or banging the svelte little Polynesian girls that worked in the hotel and club.
As unbelievable as it sounds, it was happening. I have to tell you, more pleasurable than the strange, new, clandestine sex itself was the satisfaction of completely undermining your false and inflated sense of power. Let me assure you Barbara that was just the beginning. How the check list has grown and how those numbers keep moving closer to thirty.
Somehow you, Barbara took on this persona of a wife in control. I listened, almost laughing out loud, as you gave relationship advice to your girlfriends, colleagues and cousins over the phone. You were so confident. Had I closed my eyes, I would have thought Oprah Winfrey was waxing philosophical in the background.
After the honeymoon, the drought continued. Barbara grudgingly gave it up once a week for a while. And she had become rather critical. She called it ‘coaching me’ or ‘teaching me what she liked.’
Funny, Barbara had never had a single complaint before we got married. It was all wild and free back then. In a matter of weeks, the occasional sex she was willing to give up became a chore for me, not even worth the effort, too humiliating and frustrating to bother with.
Eventually, I lost all interest in Barbara.
When I did decide to give her a go, I found myself having to conjure up all sorts of visions of all sorts of illicit encounters in order to be able to perform for Barbara. In contrast, I was having no difficulty whatsoever outside the marriage. I was getting pussy and dick right and left. Eventually, I was able to use the excitement of my extramarital affairs to conjure up some grudging wood for her.
Let me be clear, so that the memories can start to click back into place for Barbara, I have tagged, slept with, blown and had trysts with almost every restaurant host and hostess with whom she ever though I was too friendly with.
I have followed up on every counter guy or girl, every book clerk, every sales-assistant, masseuse and apprentice, both male and female...even the parts girl at the car dealership. Everyone, male or female who ever gave that knowing flash...that tacit go-ahead… and, yes...Karen, one of Barbara’s girlfriends.
Anytime anyone gave me the eye, I’ve gone back later and talked to them.
I’ve closed the deal with more of them than I would ever have thought possible in my wildest dreams. The head I have received and given in elevators, in dressing rooms, in staircases, in their apartments (twenty minutes, in-and-out while out running errands). ; the soccer moms shopping at target...the men and women I’ve encountered buying oranges at Whole Foods, or walking their dogs.
I closed with Barbara’s girlfriend at a party. Karen slip into the restroom and sucked my dick. Then for almost two weeks while her husband Carl was out of town on business I was by her house almost every day fucking her brains out. When she invited me over the next day, I wasn't going to pass up a chance to fuck a former beauty queen so I went.
When I walked in her bedroom, I didn't say anything I just started stripping my clothes off. As I stepped out of my pants my hard cock sprang into view. It had been rock hard virtually since I had first walked through Karen’s front door.
I moved forward so that my cock hovered between Karen’s parted thighs. As Karen watched in total fascination, I spread her legs wider. Then I grabbed her hips and Karen cried out with glee as I entered her. Her high-pitched squeal caused me to look down and smile.
Karen’s long legs were soon up over my shoulders and she was moaning and gasping in time with my steady powerful thrusting. Karen’s fingers dug into the cheeks of my ass, urging me on, as if trying to pull me in deeper each time I plunged into her. I was pumping her methodically, pushing my all the way in. The whimpered with desire as I slowly pulled it almost all the way out and then almost brutally ramming it back in so hard and deep that our flesh made slapping noises as our bodies connected.
Putting her legs over my shoulders, Karen started to work her hips, ramming her pussy up, meeting my thrusts halfway. In seconds, amid her garbled moaning, I heard Karen choke out the words, “I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming.”
Giving in to the moment, I gripped her hips tightly as I bucked uncontrollably into Karen as I cummed long and hard. Karen’s gorgeous ass bounced wildly on my cock, her clutching pussy sucking the cum out of me as if it were a mouth. It was then that I realized that she was a much better fuck than Barbara.
I guess I was sensitive after I started sucking dicks, but I was always offended when the guys at parties started gay bashing. Funny thing that the ones who did all the shit talking were 99% of the time the ones who were gay their selves, they were just in denial. Case in point was Karen’s husband Carl. He was always one of the most outspoken. Then at a party about 6-months after Karen and my little thing, I was at a party and forgot to lock the bathroom door.
He caught me standing at the commode taking a piss. It was like he’d never seen a dick before. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. I joking made a statement about him sucking it. He then made a few comments back that were sexual but I took as a joke. Then I said, "Suck it," and thrust my crotch at him.
I’m not even sure he realized what he was saying, when he blurted out, "OK."
Stunned I stammered, "You really want to?"
And he answered. "Yea OK."
Then I said, "You want to give me a hand job?"
But he quickly replied, "I'll give you a blowjob if you want?"
Cautiously I said, "OK then."
Then I walked over, locked the door and then sat down on the counter. As he watched I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock back out. Carl walked over and without saying anything got down on his knees and licked my cock. But this was his first gay sexual experience so he was kind of nervous and ended up just giving me a hand job.
The hand job went fine. I cummed all over Carl’s hand and he wiped it off. Carl didn't know what to say so he said nothing but I said, "Thanks man."
I didn’t talk to Carl for about two weeks. Then I found out that Barbara was going to be out of town with her mother for a couple of days so I gave him a call. When he answered we chatted for a couple of minutes before I asked him, “Do you want to come over on Wednesday?”
He said, "OK sure."
When Wednesday rolled around Carl and I was chilling out with a cold beer when he asked, “Do you want a blowjob?” and of course I agreed.
The blowjob was amazing; I enjoyed it a lot more then the hand job.
Carl dropped to his knees and watched me unzip and open my pants. When I pulled down my underwear, my flaccid cock just flopped out. Smiling, I stroked it a few times and then Carl grabbed it, stuck it in his mouth and started sucking it.
Without realizing it, he started to moan as he bobbed up and down on my now hard shaft. It didn't take long before my cock swelled even larger. He didn't want me to cum in his mouth because he still felt a bit weird about sucking my cock. So instead he pulled off and let me cum on his face.
After I cummed, I zipped up again and Carl and I went back to our beer.
When he went home, as he left, Carl said, "We should do this again sometime." But for one reason or another we never did.
A year passed and a good friend, Kenny asked me over to watch football and I said, “I’d love to.”
Carl who I hadn't had a proper 1-on-1 conversation with in a year also said he would come, too.
Before the game started, Kenny had to drive over to his brother’s house so his other friend Rusty went with him leaving Carl and I alone at his house. I sat down in the den and made small talk with Carl but I got this vibe that something might happen. But I thought it was just me so I left the room and went into the bathroom. Carl got up and followed me down the hallway towards the bathroom. When I looked back at him, he grabbed his cock through his pants and said, "Want to suck it?"
I was so caught off-guard but I still agreed. When Carl went to get some tissues I asked, "What are you doing?"
He said, "For when I cum."
I told him, “That’s not necessary. I didn't have a problem swallowing.”
"Oh, OK awesome," he beamed.
As we went into the spare bedroom Carl said, “I’ve never had my cock sucked by a guy before.”
Carl pulled his cock out and sat down on the bed and I got on my knees in front of him. As I grabbed his cock, he said, "I can't believe we are doing this in Kenny’s house."
I thought that was funny since he'd been the one who asked me to blow him. Of course he did mention something about being really horny. Bobbing my head rhythmically in his lap, I enjoy sucking on Carl’s cock for about five or so minutes. As I massaged his hard shaft with my talented lips and tongue Carl writhed on the bed, legs parted as wide as he could get them with his pants around his ankles and with his hands spread across the back of my neck and shoulders.
"Oh, fuck, you're good at that," Carl muttered, the wet sucking and slurping sounds made by my eager mouth only enhanced his pleasure, giving him the impression that I was enjoying what I was doing.
My only response was a muffled and apparently agreeable moan. As I sucked my hand manipulated his balls, rolling the fleshy sack in my fingers.
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" moaned Carl as he started pumping his hips up and down. Careless of my comfort, wanting only to get off his cock slammed again against the back of my throat. His cock tingled electrically in my mouth, swelling to the limit of stiffness before erupting. He gasped and spasmmed, moaning loudly and shaking as I sucked every last drop of cum from his straining dick, laving the head of his cock with massaging swirls of my tongue.
When I finally lifted up my head, lips decorated with a slimy film of cum, we heard a car pull up outside. Our friends were back earlier then we’d expected but fortunately we’d finished.
I went back to the living room and Carl went to the bathroom to straighten his clothes.
Because we weren’t alone we didn't talk about what had happened for the rest of the day. We only made small talk having to do with the game we were watching. When we decided to call it a day, to get him alone so we could talk I asked Carl if he could give me a lift home. To my surprise he said, "Sorry I'm going straight to Brandon’s house".
I didn't believe that for a second but I couldn't say much so I got a lift from Rusty instead.
I swear to you that I’ve had the most exciting sex of my entire life over the past three years of marriage...and none of it has ever been with Barbara. I once got my cock sucked in the parking lot of an expensive restaurant after I left an extremely big tip. It was raining, so while Barbara was waiting at the front door for me to pick her up the waitress ducked out the back door and met me at our car. She jumped in the passenger door, leaned across the seat and sucked my dick. Then she kissed me with her cum coated lips and flew back inside and I drove on around and picked up Barbara as if nothing had happened. Life is good.
Now Barbara wants a baby. Let me just say that if I were some outsider hearing this story; I would pronounce a complete idiot the man who would stupidly impregnate her. Little does Barbara know that two years ago to protect myself from this I went to the doctor and got a reversible vasectomy.
Not no … but hell NO! I'm getting out while the getting is good, baby and child support-free. And thank god for preneps.
It occurred to me that I may have to pay three years of alimony. Let me say in advance that it will be worth every penny to be rid of Barbara at last.
Women of the world, heed this advice. Heed it good; and don't you ever think that you and your magic vagina are the exception to these few very simple rules: Take care of your man. Treat him right. Shower him with love and respect, and yes, I mean take care of his physical needs...satisfy him sexually.
Wear him out. If you want to guarantee fidelity in your marriage, there is a simple way to achieve that … never let your husband leave the house with a single drop of cum remaining in his balls. Trust me, if he is not dumping it at home, he is dumping it somewhere, unless he is a hopelessly unattractive, beat-down loser.
When you use sex for power and control, you do damage to your marriage that can never be undone.
When a woman withholds sex and affection from her husband she drives a wedge between her and her man … not only that, she drives him elsewhere to get his needs met. It’s that simple. For the record, let me assure you that the world is literally brimming with both men and women who are very happy to be a friendly port in the long, nasty storm. There are people out there who take satisfaction in undermining your hollow little conquest of controlling the sex in your marriage.
Let me further assure you ladies that there is no such thing as controlling your man sexually. There are too many adult bookstores with their viewing booths with glory holes where he can get his needs met with none of the drama that a disgruntled wife brings to the mix. All a guy has to do is stick his cock through the glory hole and get his cock sucked by the anonymous mouth on the other side of the wall. Or if he’s so inclined, he can stick his finger through the hole and suck the anonymous cock that comes back through.
The simple reality is that even if he isn’t into adult bookstores, if he has any game at all and doesn’t have a parasitic twin growing out of his forehead, the world is full of other offers from charming young ladies. I’ve fucked many young women at lunch and then had them wait on Barbara and I at dinner. Many times at dinner, I’ve excused myself to go to the restroom and sucked our waiter’s dick in a broom closet or stall in the restroom. I use to get a perverse pleasure in going back to the table with a young man’s cum on my lips and breath and kissing Barbara on the lips.
A wife can only control whether her husband is getting any at home or not. If she wants to control her man, she should give him all the sex he wants.
If a woman wants to lose control of her man, go ahead and cut him off.
Let me add a further tidbit of wisdom at no extra charge. There is an old saying: Women get married hoping everything will change, men get married hoping everything will stay the same.
Women, if somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re waiting for the day when your male partner is bound by contract, finances, and perhaps biology, so that you can cut off the sex and become a mini tyrant...don't get married. Join a convent. Work at an orphanage or a pre-school. Adopt a child on your own. Find some way to fulfill your maternal instincts that doesn’t involve marrying under false pretenses.
Your man would not have stuck around before the marriage if it were loveless and sexless. He also does not want a marriage that is sexless.
There are a million things a woman can do to have a child or children without suckering in some poor dope, too naive to foresee her evil plan.
Are you an honorable person? Then live honorably.
Don’t live in breach of the spirit of the marriage contract.
Trust me, the sex a woman is willingly giving up as a sell job before the marriage is the only commodity she has to barter that makes it worthwhile for her man to tolerate the rest of what comes with her. Don't sucker a man in and then expect him to comply with your skewed and artificial construct of fidelity.
If woman breach the spirit of the marriage contract, she loses all trust and intimacy with her man. If man were to change his nature, our species would vanish in less than a hundred years.
Cutting her man off is not only disrespectful, it is simply counterproductive.
The quality of a woman’s relationship, his attachment to her, his dedication and sexual fidelity, will be determined by his feelings of access, of being welcomed and embraced, of desirability. We are who we are. We are hard-wired creatures of nature. It is biological. Deal with it, or don't; but don't' do it under false pretenses.
Let me further comment, that, after we were married Barbara stopped cooking.
She stopped cleaning anything.
She didn't do dishes.
She didn't vacuum.
She didn't dust.
She didn't do laundry.
She left her dirty dishes all over the house.
She spent money like it is going out of style and nothing ever made her happy, except unlimited shopping.
Her infidelity manifested itself on a thousand fronts that were not sexual.
Let me ask you something Barbara, what good are you to anyone?
Good luck finding your next sucker, now that you're thirty one, fat and much less attractive than before.
By the way, I shall not miss your nagging, your complaining, or your ‘making me a better man’ as you like to call it.
I shall not miss your car driving tips.
I’ve already got a nice apartment and I’ve purchased a new flat screen TV and home entertainment system that will neither nag me, not interrupt me while I'm watching the occasional game.
I have also decided to splurge on a cleaning lady in my new place. Finally, I'll have a woman who gets things done...and the price will be known and agreed upon up-front.
So, Barbara Honey...Pumpkin...you stupid, narcissistic cow...how do you feel now?
Do you feel powerful?
Or is the helium beginning to seep from your balloon?
How many of women sitting at their desks at this very moment are wondering if it is not their husband that is going to leave them?
Do you know what's strange? I used to think infidelity was wrong. Now I think it’s perfectly alright and justified. If a woman’s husband is out fooling around; it's because she’s not doing her job.
Not only is he justified in fooling around, she has it coming. She deserves it. One breach of contract deserves another.
Men of the world, a woman who changes the terms of your sexual arrangement after marriage deserves infidelity. She plays a two-edged game...violating her implied duty as a wife, yet still holding you to the letter of your contract. It is the oldest, cheapest manipulation in the book and, very likely, the root cause of the oldest profession in the world… prostitution.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines infidelity as "unfaithfulness or disloyalty to a person," among other things.
Let me redefine it for you.
Fidelity is living and being, on a daily basis, contract or no contract, the person you have represented yourself to be. In business contracts, we use the term "good faith" a lot to describe the expectation that both parties of a contract will behave in such a manner as will benefit both parties as much as possible.
For instance, if a record company signs a contract with an artist, both parties agree to act "in good faith," meaning that the company will do everything in its power to represent the artist favorably, and sell records.
The artist, in return, agrees to put their best efforts into their records, their performances, and whatever promotional activities may be expected. Without the expectation of that somewhat ambiguous "good faith," either party could choose, at any time, to not honor the spirit of the contract, thereby creating disadvantage for both parties. "Good faith," is an absolute must.
A marriage is the same.
Perhaps the "faithful" part of the vows goes deeper than sexual fidelity. I believe it means a woman put her best foot forward, always and in all things. I believe it means that she does not allow herself to become a fat lazy, nagging, complaining shrew who doesn't want to have sex with her partner any more.
Any deviation from who she represented herself to be before and upon signing the contract is, in fact, a failure to meet the implied "good faith" of the marriage contract.
Any false personality a woman creates in order to bag her partner and then shed as soon as she was married is a misrepresentation.
We need to stop defining infidelity as sexual only. Infidelity has many faces and many manifestations. When a woman stops trying as a partner, or decides to renege on what she previously offered, she is in fact being disloyal, unfaithful and false to her partner. The idea that unfaithfulness is physical, via the sex act only is a semantic game we need to no longer play.
Husbands need to start calling their wives on it. I would go as far as to say that prenups need to include specifics as to sexual frequency, sexual behavior, including attitude and division of household chores.
After all has been said and done, it may surprise you all to know that, in my humble opinion, most men don't fool around because of the sex itself, it's really about the validation, the feelings of being wanted and valued. Women, if you want your man to seek his validation elsewhere, then you know exactly what to do. Cut him off.
Men, make it part of your own personal credo to fool around if your wife cuts you off. Let all women know that they have it coming. Let them know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the minute they cut you off, protest, make a fuss, or become grudging about sex, you’ll walk out that front door and get it somewhere else.
So there you have it. The confession of a man who sleeps with both sexes, but who identifies as heterosexual. Nonetheless, I have no desire for any kind of emotional relationship with men, other than sucking their dicks and have no interest in dropping women.
I'm sure gay men think I'm just afraid to come out, but they would be wrong.
The end …