Filed under: Detective Curt, love, mommies, motherhood, parenthood, parenting | Tags: affairs, cheating, love, marriage, motherhood, parenthood, parenting, relationships, sex, sick kids
This is one of those days I want to run away from home. I’ve been stuck in the house with my son (let us call him Spencer) for more than a week because he’s had a bad case of bronchitis. And, as all mothers (and a few fathers) know, the fastest train into the heart of insanity is a week stuck indoors with a sick, crying, sweet, annoying, funny, smart, dripping, cootie-infected, almost three year old. It forces one to examine not only one’s role as a parent, and not only the powerful influences of too much television, not enough exercise, isolation from friends, and lack of sleep, and not only the shaky foundation of one’s marriage, but the very meaning of life as well.
About a week ago my feet were planted firmly on the ground. Yes, my marriage was falling apart. Yes, I was having an illicit sexual relationship with Curt, my favorite police detective. Yes, I was trolling the Internet for new sexual partners. But I was functioning. I was holding it all together. Witness, friends, the changes ensuing from the passing of one bronchially-infected week. Today, I am a crying, screaming, impatient, short (of temperament, not stature..actually, of stature too, but I was that way before…), desperate mess.
I used to think I wanted another baby someday, when I was in a healthy and loving relationship. Today, I’m done having children. I used to think I could live a fairly happy life with my husband, son, boyfriend, and occasional additional liaisons. Today, divorce seems imminent and I’m daydreaming about what I’m going to do with my husband’s room. (We’ve never slept in the same room.) I used to relate to my son with an attitude of respect, encouragement, and humor, anchored with firm boundaries and reliable consequences. Today, I get impatient and angry with the slightest infraction and shout in a shrewish voice at the drop of a hat. What has happened to me?
Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to be a parent. Maybe I never should have married my husband. Maybe I should run away with my boyfriend. Maybe I should end it all with my boyfreind. Maybe I should move to Indiana (the Cross Roads of America). Maybe I should become a group fitness instructor. Maybe my parents never loved me. Maybe my blog will make me famous. (0 hits yesterday…maybe not!). Maybe I should just lay on the couch and stay up all night watching TV. Maybe I should drag the TV out to the curb and have my sanitation department’s Bulky Item Pick-Up take it away to the dump. Maybe I should go to bed (by myself). Maybe I should go to bed (with someone new). Maybe I should go to bed and go to sleep.
Would you like to know the real answer? All of the lowest points in my journey as a mother and some of the lowest points in my life have occured at the end of Spencer’s long illnesses. And even as I’m questioning all of my decisions, relationships, and emotions, I know somewhere in the very back of my head that in just a few more days, things will be better again. Spencey will be better again. We’ll see our friends. He’ll go back to school and I’ll have a play date with my detective. I’ll begin looking for a job again. But I don’t know about my marriage.
It feels like other parts of my life are like the ocean. There’s a high tide and low tide. Things get better or worse. During the ebb I know things will get better. During the flow I know things might get worse. But my marriage is feeling more like a bird bath. (Pardon the stupid analogy.) It was full of water eight years ago. Happy, sparkling, squeaky clean birds… But every day the water level decreases by just a little and I don’t think it’s ever going to fill up again. Poor, sad, dirty birdies… Honestly, I’ve been this close before to divorce, but I’ve never been so calm and collected about it. In the past, when I was staring over the marital cliff looking down at divorce I was always hysterically sad. Today I’m feeling kind of optimistic about it. Over the summer I gave up my silly delusion that there were some magic words I could recite or some magic tricks I could perform to make my husband want me again. And ever since, my marriage feels more like a weight on my shoulders than my favorite team playing in the World Series. And I just feel like I want to be free.
Tomorrow Spencer will be almost all better. Tuesday he will go back to school. Tuesday I’m also having lunch with David, who I haven’t told you much about yet. Thursday it’s me and Curt at a cheap motel with a bottle of whiskey and my garter belts and stockings and his warm delicious body. Maybe Friday I’ll know what to do with my life. Focus on the flow, Horny Housewife. Focus on the flow.
Filed under: Cheating Website, Detective Curt, domination, submission | Tags: affairs, cheating, domination, love, relationships, sex, submission
I just spent about an hour reading posts from “Submissive Reflections,” a blog written by Sarah McBroden. When I stood up there was a warm puddle in my panties. I definitely have this huge hunger to be dominated, used, disciplined, and generally told what to do. And lately I’ve begun to pursue my fantasies.
I’ve been on The Married-People-Cheating website (where I met Curt) looking for someone who wants to dominate the way I want to submit. The yin to my yang. A few weeks ago I met someone I actually got as far as talking with on the phone. We made a date for coffee for two weeks after we had talked. But in the meantime he sent me some really weird e-mails that didn’t make any sense to me. My instinct told me to stop things, so I did.
Then yesterday I had a nice IM session with someone from the Married-People-Cheating website. Same fantasies: check. He told me what to do with a lot of authority: check. He told me to call him Master: check. He didn’t seem like a serial killer (I know, famous last words!): check. Then he e-mailed me his picture. He was way too boyish looking. He’s only two years older than me, and I’m really into older men. He’s not bad looking. (He’s not really great looking, but I didn’t need that.) I guess his looks just didn’t turn me on. I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe just meet him for lunch and see if his orders for me overcome my concerns about his boyish mediocre looks.
There are a couple of other dominant men I’m also e-mailing. One of them is really fascinating. I won’t get into details here, but he’s extremely tall and has very long hair. He turns me on, but he scares me a little. Maybe I’ll just IM him and never meet him…
Spoke to Curt today on the phone. I was in the supermarket, where everyone knows me, so I had to just sit on the floor in a corner of the store and listen as Curt told me what he wanted to do to me. He pointed out that the position I was in, having to sit still, not touch myself, or even respond with my own dirty talk was kind of the same as him tying me up. Of course that only turned me on more. I e-mailed him the link to Submissive Reflections. Can’t wait to see what he says about it.
Filed under: Bulb, Detective Curt, domination, emerson, falling, love, poetry | Tags: affairs, cheating, emerson, love, obsession, relationships, rhodora, sex
I’ve been thinking lately about whether or not I’m in love with Curt, the man I’m having an affair with. Two or three weeks ago I would have said oh yes, for sure. I thought about him all the time. I had in-depth fantasies about him telling me he loved me. I also had anguished fantasies about what he might be doing with other women and how foolish he would think me for loving him.
I’ve never been in love with anyone who wasn’t in love with me. It’s sort of made me irrationally confident that Curt loves me. (“Men X, Y, and Z loved me when I loved them, so if I love Curt, then he must love me too.”) But I was in “normal” relationships with those other men. And this relationship is based on sex. Does based on sex mean it’s not anchored in love, or can’t grow into love?
Maybe if the seed of this relationship is sex, it’s just growing into a different kind of love. Like before I was always planting vegetable seeds, with the wholesome aim of harvesting a nourishing crop of decent, nutritious carrots. And with Curt I’ve planted an exotic bulb that’s grown into a spectacular flower, stunning looking, delightful to behold, and with no practical application whatever.
Whenever I get a message from Curt on my cell phone my stomach turns a somersault. I love to hear his voice. When he calls me
“sweetheart” I melt into a little puddle on the floor. All these things point to love, don’t they? But I ask myself, could Curt and I ever last together in the real world?
But why does that matter? Why, to categorize this as LOVE, do we need to be capable of having a traditional public monogamist relationship? It reminds me of a poem I memorized in high school, when I was naive and entirely inexperienced:
The Rhodora
On being asked, Whence is the flower?
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
Ralph Emerson
Maybe my love for Curt (yes, I’ll call it love) is it’s own excuse for being. Maybe what I can learn from loving Curt is how to sit by a small pond, in the woods, all by myself, and find peace and feel love with my exotic, erotic bulb.
Filed under: Detective Curt, Husband, Orgasm, marriage | Tags: affairs, cheating, love, orgasms, sex
My husband had it!
We went out last night with friends, came home drunk, got high with another couple (EXTREMELY RARE!), and after they went home Husband Steve actually consented to sleep in my bed with me. (We usually sleep in separate rooms.) Once in my bed, he spooned me and started rubbing his hands all over me. I reciprocated. He wasn’t getting very hard, which led me to wonder whether his lack of interest in sex has more to do with erectile dysfunction than with issues in our relationship. It’s also possible, though, that he wasn’t getting hard because he was very high and very drunk. But I have to hand it to him: he was determined to give me the gift I’ve been wanting most for my birthday: an orgasm.
He let me give him head for a couple of minutes, but when he laid me down and put his tongue between my legs, I said to myself: “Aha! This will be an interesting experiment.” You see, last night was the first time since I’ve been sleeping with Curt (and failing to come with him) that my husband has attempted to give me an “O”-my-God. I wanted to see whether I was failing to come with Curt because my orgasm was just plain gone or whether it had something to do with the motel/can’t-concentrate/Curt is too cute/slight guilt over cheating situation. I am happy to report, Dear Reader, that last night I came. And it was good. Steve, his usual inhibitions dulled through inebriation, actually inserted a finger into my ass, along with the usual two fingers in my vagina and tongue on my clit. He was patient (the longer it’s been the longer it takes me, and it’s been a looonnnnggg time) and diligent and I had a really respectable orgasm. I going to give it a 7.
So, my friends, I have a question for you.
Do I mention to Curt that I came with my husband? Curt is not only gorgeous and sexy and good in bed. He’s also been patient, sensitive, and concerned with my orgasmic frustration. He comes at this issue with with the attitude of a good friend who really wants to help me solve a problem. So far, he’s shown no jealousy. (Then again, I’ve shown him no jealousy even though I’ve felt jealous about him often. But I’m a chick, right? More on my feelings later. (Love? Not love? Lust for sure. Occasional fantasies of marrying each other, having more babies, and making my friends really really jealous.)) The best thing about coming with my husband is that maybe it oiled the old machinery and now I’m poised to come next time with Curt. I sure hope so. It’s consistently the hottest sex I’ve ever had. Not coming with him is like eating a really wonderful meal and then at the end finding there’s no dessert.
Filed under: Birthday, Detective Curt, First Post, Husband, Orgasm, marriage, parenthood | Tags: affairs, cheating, love, love and sex, sex, women and sex
Today is my 35th birthday. I’ve been having sex with Curt (a very cute police detective with a very long penis) for one month and 19 days. I’ve been married to Steve (depressive, sarcastic Dennis Leary type) for three and a half years. My son (smart, funny, my treasure) is almost three. These are the men in my life. Oh, and there’s also Dave. I think I’m going to start having sex with Dave soon. But I’ll get to him later. Here’s my biggest problem: I’ve lost my orgasm. It’s gone. I don’t know where I left it. Under the passenger seat in my car? In the diaper aisle at the super market? Once I found my keys in the refrigerator. Maybe I’ll check there.
But really, this is starting to upset me. I’ve always been like a machine. The first time my first boyfriend gave me oral, I fantasized about about a strange faceless older man telling me what to do and I came. Since then my fantasies have become more sadistic, more involved, more (should I say this?…yes…this is anonymous…) humiliating, violent, hot. But I always come. And Curt is really amazing at oral. He totally knows what he is doing.
I think the bottom line is that I’m distracted. I’m in a hotel room with a very hot guy who is very into me. The whole thing is really fucking hot. It’s a time when normally I would really want to be in the moment. But being in the moment means I can’t access those hot fantasies in the intense, urgent way I’ve been able to before. And my brain is wired to make my body come with certain fantasies, and I just can’t quite get to those fantasies when I’m with Curt. I try, but I can’t get there.
And I’m also worried Curt is going to lose interest in me. I had always felt sexually sophisticated and superior because I always came. It was a badge of vaginal honor. I know Curt is disappointed on some level with me (the rest of our sex is totally hot) because I’m not coming.
It’s all just piling up.
And today is my birthday. And it makes me wonder if I’m getting old and what has become of my life and will I ever come with a man again? Happy Birthday to me.
