The Secret Confessions of a Horny House Wife

You’ve heard of jock itch.  Guys get it.  Well I think women get notch itch.  I know I do.  I’ve got it right now. 

Just a few minutes ago, as I was getting ready for my afternoon “date” with Curt, I was finally really honest with myself about something.  I realized that I’m waiting for Curt to tell me he loves me.  And I’m doing the same with Valentine Dave.  I’m not even sure how I feel anymore about Curt.  Don’t get me wrong.  I know how I feel about the sex.  It’s cosmic.  But things between us seem to have fizzled a little.  We don’t e-mail much.  I don’t think about him as much.  We hardly talk on the phone. 

While on the other hand, things with Dave have become intensely intimate.  We continue to e-mail each other yearning, moody, love-steeped music every night.  We send each other lovely, tense, sexy e.e. cummings poetry.   And I think about him all day.  I even fantasize about having sex with him.  Yes!  I’m fantasizing about fucking Dave, the man who told me he wanted to “make love to me.”  [retch!...see previous post]

So why do I want to hear “I love you” from Curt?  OK, Horny Housewife, knock down the walls in your brain…get to the kernal inside…stop defending and protecting…just be truthful.

Because it’s a notch.  An I-Love-You-Notch.  I am wired to want to get as many people as possible to love me and then declare love to me. 

I’ve had a lot of love in my life.  I have a loving family.  I love my son more than the world, and the love I receive from him is my greatest treasure.  I’ve had romantic love more than a few times.  And I mean true, passionate, earth-moving romantic love.  Yet I still want more.  I’m like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter.  And I can’t get enough nuts. 

But that doesn’t totally make sense.  I’ve often thought my pattern with men was to find emotionally unavailable men, get them to love me, and then agonize as their love blinked on and off, like a neon sign with four letters made up of weak bulbs.  L-O-V-E. Dim…bright…dim….bright…dim…     And I’m standing under the sign saying things like, “I know if I could just change that one bulb, I could at least get that L working.  Wouldn’t that be beautiful?  Maybe if I call a neon sign repairman.  Maybe I could just climb up there myself.  Where did I put that ladder…”  And it’s all for another notch.  All so my little squirrel heart won’t starve over the winter…

But I’ve never been starving.  I’ve hardly ever been hungry.  So then why am I like a holocaust survivor, hoarding food I’ll probably never eat?  I don’t know.  Dear readers, do you know?  I’d love to know your thoughts about it. 

And as a token of my appreciation for your participation, I’ll report back on my afternoon with Curt.  And I promise not to leave out a single hot, sexy, hard, wet detail. 

HH