Filed under: Valentine Dave, divorce, domination, love, marriage, motherhood, sex, submission | Tags: affairs, cheating wife, divorce, fruit trees, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, marriage, milf, relationships, sex, women in their thirties
Have you ever heard that a fruit tree, just before it dies, will suddenly bear a rich crop of fruit? It’s as though on a cellular level, the tree understands that it will soon be no more, and so it produces an abundance of offspring so that at least its seed will go forth into the universe to carry on the tree’s DNA, its species, its genus, its family.
Lately I suspect I’m less horny housewife and more dying fruit tree.
A year ago I was a stay-at-home mom with a beautiful little boy. All of my friends had children the same age as my son, and about half had second babies. I knew for sure I wanted another child, but something held me back from pursuing that with my husband. Some pragmatic, level-headed voice (We’ll name her Truth) said, “You don’t again want to go through the effort and isolation of pregnancy and being the mother of a new baby without a supportive, loving partner.”
It was then that Truth (she happened to be naked and standing under harsh florescent lights that revealed every pimple, hair follicle, and tiny line around her eyes) looked me squarely in the face and said, “You are not going to get what you really want, sweetie. Make due.”
You cant’ always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might get what you need.
So I accepted that life is short and that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my time on earth waiting for love, passion, sex, and attention from a man who was never going to give my those things. I went looking for love, and grasped at whatever I could get my ravenous, grabby hands on: tall, muscular handsome bodies; huge penises and little ones; friendships and flirtations; attention and praise; oral, vaginal, and anal; and, here and there, in stops and starts, Love.
As you know, of course, I pursued the sex like a demon out of hell. Why was I (am I) so very very horny? Why, for that matter, are women in their mid-thirties so very very horny? It is because we are all of us dying fruit trees. Of course.
Our bodies are urging: launch your seed into the universe. Dispatch it post haste. Don’t delay. Find a man. Ready your loins for him. Welcome him with open lips. And that is what I have done.
There’s a little pink pill I swallow every single day which thwarts all of my body’s earnest, urgent plans, but it doesn’t thwart the urge. It doesn’t stop the wetness. It doesn’t satisfy the hunger. I am so very very hungry.
♥♥♥
This morning as I was driving to work, my head spinning with dying trees and ripening fruit, a song that Valentine Dave had sent me suddenly began playing on my iPod. (“Shuffle Songs” may be the death of me…) Dave loved me so much. He worshipped me. No one before or since him has loved me so completely or so sweetly or so completely sweetly. Why wasn’t he enough for me? Why didn’t I leap into his arms, kiss him passionately (he was a great kisser), and say “Yes, I’ll love you and be with you forever!” That was what he wanted. Why didn’t I?
Another man I knew years ago just got in touch with me on Facebook. He made it clear that, all those years ago when we knew each other, he was charmed by me. We hadn’t talked in about twelve years (and we barely knew each other then), yet he remembered me and has thought about me all this time and went out of his way to find me. He felt it was risky to contact me, yet he took the chance. He likes me and I like him, yet I won’t pursue anything. Why not? He is sweet. He is smart. He is thoughtful and sensitive. He wants me and respects me and would handle my heart with great care. And there you have his excluding sin.
I’m just beginning to realize the connection between my sexual fetishes and my personal relationship choices. All of this past year’s delicious spanking, humiliation, and bondage has been a reflection of an entire adult life lived with men who mostly ignored, neglected, or merely tolerated me.
But why? I’m considered a catch. Why, time and time again, do I turn my back on men who adore and bore me in order to follow after the fascinating assholes? The sporadic surfers who only want me to be a surfboard in their closets, in case they wake up one morning with a fleeting yen for my sand, my salt, and my crashing waves.
♥♥♥
I do it all to myself, of course. I make these choices and pursue these men. Maybe I’m not a dying fruit tree, after all, so much as a suicidal one.
Again, I am concluding that this life of a marriage without substance and extramarital relationships without stability cannot be a long-term solution for me. It’s scary to say it, but I want love. I want friendship. I want hot, nasty sex as well as hushed, safe, warm holding. I have no idea where it will come from, or if it ever will come, but I’m giving myself permission to want it.
I don’t want my fruit to wind up rotting, juicy and rancid, on the ground. Someone pick my crop. Sample my fruit. Taste my sweetness.
♥, HH
I wrote this post this morning and felt depressed all day. It was hours later I remembered that today is my wedding anniversary.
Filed under: Morty | Tags: cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, marriage, milf, relationships, steely dan
Very strangely, this CD holds the all-time record for longest amount of time in my car’s 6-disc CD changer. This song, in particular, sounds better the louder you play it.
And for some reason, I’ve always really related to the woman he sings about here:
It was still September
When your daddy was quite surprised
To find you with the working girls
In the county jail
I guess it’s just a steely, horny world.
♥, HH
Filed under: Detective Curt, Morty, blogosphere | Tags: affairs, cheating, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, love, relationships, sex
I spoke with Morty on the phone again today. This was telephone conversation number three. I like him, and I’m not just saying that because he’s reading this. Hands-down, without any doubt, I am having the very best cyber-sex with him that I have ever had with anyone. He is at least as sick as I am.
We live on opposite coasts, and I can’t help thinking that if he were here, there would be no Mike or Detective Curt in the picture. But to what extent am I idealizing him because of his geographic unattainability?
Here’s another thing. I cringe to even type it, but I keep having fleetingly romantic thoughts about him. Every time I do, Mr. C,in his three-piece suit, with his briefcase, mustache, and handsome, serious expression, pops into my head with his excellent, terrifying description of the possible danger of having a relationship with a reader. ”This blog, my girl,” he tells me for the fiftieth time in his deep, British voice, ”is a blueprint for misuse” for any suitor of mine.
“I know,” I tell him. “You are right.”
Constance affectionately bats her eyelashes at me. “Sweetie,” she tells me, “we just want you to wise about all this.” I give her a hug and tell her I will be. And yet…
♥♥♥
It’s funny that things with Detective Curt have reignited recently. In so many ways, that relationship was the polar opposite of this one with Morty. All of my feelings for and thoughts about Detective Curt were completely veiled to him, whereas Morty turns on his computer a couple of days each week and is confronted with my emotional-sexual diarrhea (or gripping, raw self-exploration, depending on your taste in blogs).
Will it all scare him away? Will it give him the perfect opportunity to abuse my tender heart and eager loins?
Or, doesn’t it matter? Maybe what is important here is not Morty and his reactions, but me and my actions. I suppose it’s progress that I’m making the choice to own and own up to my feelings and desires, and that I am verbalizing them, not only to thousands of blogosphere strangers, but to a man I like, which is actually even scarier.
How’s that for gripping, raw, self-exploration? (Or emotional-sexual diarrhea, depending on your taste in blogs…)
♥, HH
Filed under: Cops, Detective Curt, kissing a cop, sex with cops | Tags: affairs, cheating, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, marriage, online dating, sex
Below please find an edited-for-anonymity version of a recent e-mail exchange with our surfer friend Detective Curt. He is in blue. I am in red.
If you’re new here and want to catch up on Detective Curt and why I call him the surfer, here’s the post to read: Surfing with Detective Curt. If you want get the flavor of our relationship, read this short story I wrote about my time with him: XX Man.
Curt was my first extra-marital man and, looking back, my relationship with him was marked by a complete lack of communication about what was happening between us. As a result, I think I assumed an imagined a lot. Perhaps he did too.
Why did we fail to talk about subjects like how we felt about each other, whether we would see other people, and whether or not we were satistfied and wanted to continue seeing each other? I think for me, I was so new at this whole extra-marital affairs thing that I was afraid of appearing too needy or emotionally attached. (In fact, I was very needy and emotionally attached.)
Now I think that perhaps Detective Curt sensed I was withholding strong feelings and assumed I was dissatisfied with him. At the time, I thought he was just losing interest in me.
The bottom line is that I had an incredibly strong school girl crush on him. That’s the best way to describe it. And despite the fact that it’s been six months since I’ve seen him, and I’ve since had more satisfying relationships, emotionally and sexually, I still want him. But how much?
Detective Curt: Hi. How are you? I think of you often, and hope all is well. Hope to hear from you!
Horny Housewife: Hey, you. Hope you are well too. I have a new job at XX and that’s keeping me busy. Big change, but good. How are you?
DC: wow, no kidding…that’s great! How are things at home? What happened? I never heard back from you, and didn’t want to bug. I figured you had a lot going on. I think of you often and was wondering how you were.
HH: Things at home….got to the point where my husband was looking for an apartment… Then we sat down together and talked about things. He made some promises which he has mostly kept, and so things are OK and we are still together, which is better for Spencer. I’m not sure how it is for me.
Fun with a wink with Detective Curt…temptation is such a powerful force…
x, HH
things for you at home.
x, HH.
so much we didn’t talk about, that I was distracted by the mysteries of our relationship, and that colored everything. And then you seemed to slowly and then rapidly lose interest in me. And that just made me
withdraw more.
In fact, I assumed you weren’t pursuing sexual stuff we had talked about because you just weren’t interested. Isn’t that just a little bit true? Come on. You can tell me now.. It’s like your surfboard story. I
felt like your surfboard that had just lost its thrill for you. And when I e-mailed you that time and mentioned the surf board story and tried to be honest about my perception of what was going on between us, I felt like you sort of ignored what I was saying, and then I gave up.
Your emails were only responses to mine, and I didn’t feel comfortable with that. I assumed you were having stuff going on at home. I wanted to pursue the fantasies we had talked about but was a little uncomfortable becasue I wasn’t sure how far you wanted to go with it, and I didn’t want to push.
Then I think I just kind of did a test of my own, and waited to see if you would email me.
Filed under: Detective Curt, Mike, Morty, domination, submission, work | Tags: affairs, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, horny working woman, Housewife, love, marriage, relationships, sex, working woman
Yesterday I’m at my new job and I’m sitting in another woman’s office, observing her work with a client. I don’t need to be able to do what she does, but I supervise her, so I need to understand it. I’m tired. Really tired. For the past two weeks this has been my routine every day:
- Wake up early.
- Go to work.
- Work all day.
- Pick up son.
- Go home, try to spend some quality time with him.
- Husband comes home.
- Fall asleep for 15 minutes (because I can’t help it).
- Wake up and make my son’s lunch for the next day.
- Wash dishes.
- Do some writing on the computer (because I REFUSE to give up my writing, no matter how tired I may be).
- Go to bed
- Repeat.
So yesterday I am positively bleary-eyed in this woman’s office, trying unsuccessfully to stifle yawns and literally concentrating on keeping my eyes open as widely as possible, when suddenly the e-mail that Morty had sent me that morning flashes through my head:
“I’m going to put you on your stomach in a dirty hotel room. No air conditioning. Your hands will be tied tightly to the bedpost while sweat pours down your back, between the crack of your ass…”
And suddenly my eyes begin to open of their own accord.
And then I think about Detective Curt, because he’s been e-mailing me lately and I still have that school-girl crush on him, and I’m a sucker for the crazy e-mails he sends me that read like they are written by a 1950s cowboy. (Come to think of it, that’s the perfect way to describe him: he is VERY Marlboro Man.) And suddenly, I’m not yawning.
And finally, I think about my last encounter with Mike and the way he had me on my hands and knees for like a half hour while he used me like a table to eat his Taco Bell off of, and then casually played with my ass and pussy while I was down there, (my wrists and ankles aching), like I was just his toy and his possession. And suddenly, sitting in that office, I didn’t want to fall asleep at all. In fact, I’m sure it appeared to the woman I was observing that I was positively fascinated by every word she uttered.
Of course, when I stood up I had a huge warm puddle in my panties, and so I made a mental note to remember two things about being a horny working woman:
- When bored in a meeting, think about sex.
- Keep an extra pair of panties in my desk drawer.
♥, HH
Filed under: Detective Curt, Uncategorized | Tags: cheating, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, love, milf, sex
Detective Curt e-mailed me this morning. Does he just want to make sure his surfboard is still in the closet where he left it, or does he actually want to ride some waves? (Surfing with Curt) The Subject line of his e-mail was “Miss You.” I never understand what he wants from me.
I don’t think I’ll make myself available, but his Dreamy Meter reading was always off the charts. Ahh…temptation is such a difficult thing for me these days.
Filed under: Mike, Morty, blogosphere, domination, submission | Tags: affairs, cheating, cheating wife, horny, horny housewife, Housewife, internet dating, love, milfs, relationships, sex, whores
Last week, as I was getting dressed after all the incredible sex with Mike, I caught him looking at me oddly.
“What?” I asked him.
He smiled and said “Looking at you, I would never guess that you were such a filthy whore.”
I interpreted that, of course, as a great compliment. He meant that to the world I appear to be an upstanding, if MILFY, mother and wife, rather than the slutty sex maniac with a near constant puddle in her panties that I am. I suppose that I enjoy feeling secretly whorish, but I don’t consider myself a whore.
On the other hand, the Sex-tistics may belie my claim. Let’s do the numbers:
I lost my virginity when I was 19. Between the ages of 19 and 35 I had sex with five men. In the past eight months of my thirty-fifth year I’ve had sex with five more men, doubling my total number of sex partners in less than a year. Another way to put it is this: until this year, in the time I’ve been sexually active, I’ve averaged .312 men per year. This year, I’m moving through men at a pace of 6.6 per year. That’s quite a jump, isn’t it? But does that make me a whore? Well, yes and no.
Yes, because, umm, I’ve fucked five men who were not my husband in the past eight months. I can’t argue with that. No, because I felt like I was friends with each of them. Some I loved. Some I didn’t. But I liked and knew every one of them. Here is why I’m thinking about this, and I’m going to need your help.
Yesterday I talked on the phone with Morty for the first time. For the last couple of weeks he and I have been having a fantastically hot e-mail relationship. We like the same things. He wrote me that he wanted to have sex with me in an alley, then walk away from me without looking back. I wrote him that I wanted him to stuff my panties in my mouth while he fucked me. (Thanks for that, No Limits Slave Girl. You’re such an inspiration to me.) So it’s been really hot and, like I said, we like the same stuff.
All this is not exactly romantic. I understand that. And yet, I was growing rather fond of him. I hoped that Morty and I would develop an important friendship based on mutual affection, respect, and the desire to fuck each other’s brains out. But then our first phone conversation went something like this:
Morty: Hi, baby. [I love it when he calls me baby.]
HH: Hi, Morty. It’s nice to finally be talking to you. Isn’t this a kind of a strange situation? How was your day?
Morty: My day was fine. What are you wearing?
HH: Oh. A black A-line skirt made from eyelet fabric. It’s got kind of a 1950s style to it. And a black peasant shirt. Do you know what a peasant shirt is? Oh you do? Okay. And a red belt. [HH feels ridiculous because she knows Morty wanted to hear about her underwear.]
Morty: [Breathing heavily into the phone in a way that the Horny Housewife knows indicates he is manipulating his penis] Do you know what I’m going to do to you? I’m going to meet you in a hotel room and slap your face and put you down on your knees and make you suck my cock.
At this point, I was at a loss. I felt like a should have been into what Morty was talking about. After all, that stuff totally worked for me online. On the other hand, I suddenly felt like a phone sex operator. “Just dial 976-Horny Housewife and I’ll pick up and get you off. (ten dollars per minute)“ What was I supposed to do? Ever a people pleaser, I was tempted to talk dirty to Morty to satisfy his expectations of me.
But I stopped myself from doing that and instead there was an awkward silence, which was followed by about two minutes of non-sexual small talk, and then another attempt by Morty at phone sex. I wasn’t sure whether I was being prudish or he was being presumptuous, or maybe it was just that our expectations of the phone conversation (or even this relationship) were completely different.
Every other one of this year’s five men has had a mostly normal first phone conversation with me. Even Detective Curt, who I’m pretty sure is a sex addict, and with whom I had really dirty and really satisfying cyber-sex before our first phone conversation, chatted with me about his job and kids between minor flirtatious comments. What was the difference here? The difference is that Morty reads this blog. He knows my history. He knows what I’ve done. Was it that inside information that caused him to assume it was okay to talk dirty to me before he be had made small talk for even five minutes?
Here is where you come in, Lankrypt, Rothko, Joe, Toby, Spartan, Blogus, Mr. C, and all of my other male readers. What would you have done? And really, be honest. Would you have assumed I wanted to get you off on the phone in the middle of the day while I was sitting in my car in the parking structure of my new job?
Morty knew I wasn’t into it, and he’s since written me some very nice romantic things. But I can’t figure out if he’s trying to play me or if he means them. And just for the record, I don’t need to be romanced. I just need to be friended. I’m not a Pollyanna. And I’m not a whore. I’m just a horny housewife.
♥, HH
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 4th of july, anal, cheating, cheating wife, divorce, horny, horny housewife, love, marriage, milf, sex
The 4th of July is about patriotism and love of country. OK. I’m fine with all that. But do you know what I find really fucking sexy about the 4th? Revolution!
Can you imagine a whole society of people who got together and decided that they didn’t like the way things had been done for the past thousand or so years, so they were going to change it? What courage. What brilliance. What balls. I’ll bet Thomas Jefferson was a great fucking lay.
So in honor of the 4th of July, let us all commit ourselves to a previously unthinkable revolution. Leave your wife! Suck off your neighbor! Tell your girlfriend you want to tie her up and fuck her in the ass! If she gives you a dubious look, just tell her it’s the patriotic thing to do.
♥, HH
Filed under: Mike, Morty, Valentine Dave, blogosphere, domination, sex, submission | Tags: anal, cheating, cheating wife, cyber-sex, horny, horny housewife, houseiwfe, love, milf, relationships, sex
Two nights ago I had cyber-sex with Morty, the guy I’ve been flirting with for the past week. I met him when he read my blog and sent me a e-mail telling me he liked the way I described cumming with Mike’s penis in my ass.
I just read the previous paragraph and I’m laughing hysterically. What has become of my LIFE?!!!
Anyway, he is smart and handsome and is excellent at calling me his slave and giving me orders. Plus, I believe he knows how to handle a gun, and you know how I am about men who pack heat. I kind of like him. Will not fall in love. Will not fall in love. Will not fall in love. Don’t panic, Morty. I now chant that after every encounter with an attractive man. I just very briefly met with my new boss yesterday and guess what? He’s pretty cute. Will not fall in love with boss. Will not fall in love with boss. Will not fall in love with boss. There are two lines I absolutely will not cross: (1) will not sleep with husbands of friends and (2) will not sleep with the boss.
But here is a line I have crossed: sexual encounter with blog reader. I always said I wouldn’t. It seemed like it would screw everything up. I’m still afraid it will.
This blog is my space. I strive for complete honesty here. I am often more honest here with you than I am in my head with myself, and that’s the value. But I’m now very aware Morty will be reading what I write, and one of two things will have to happen. Either:
- I will stop being honest here. For instance, I wouldn’t write about the small amount of poop that leaked out of my ass the first time I had anal with Mike. (See, Morty, it’s not all sexy, is it? By the way, dear readers, I’ve instituted a strict pre-anal enema policy. What do you do, College Hooker Boy? I’ve been meaning to ask you…) Although, if I’m not honest with my blogo-friends, all is lost. Or,
- I will just have to continue being as honest here as I can, and if Morty doesn’t find me attractive anymore, then oh well. Am I brave enough to do that? I think I’m going to try to be.
Here’s another sticky wicket: Morty and I are just having incredibly hot cyber-sex. There is no physical contact at all. But can I still be totally honest here about the other men in my life? Can I still describe in lurid detail exactly what Mike is going to do to me tomorrow when I see him? (Fuck my brains out, I’m sure…I can’t wait…Morty has gotten me all hot and bothered and now Mike will benefit from it. Not a bad deal for Mike.) Can I still talk about the utter anguish I feel when a song that Valentine Dave gave me plays on my i-pod?
By the way, I really do miss Valentine Dave. I don’t miss the mediocre sex, but I do miss the way he held me. I miss the way he kissed me. I miss the way he adored me. I miss his face. I miss getting his e-mails. I miss the smell of him. The missing of him hurts my heart sometimes.
I think the answer to all of these questions is that this is a good way for me to practice putting myself first, a thing that I am really bad at. This blog is for me. In fact, it is me. I won’t compromise it in order to appear perfect to a man. I won’t give it up in order not to hurt the feelings of a guy, even one I like a lot. Morty is a big boy and, after all, he knew the job was dangerous when he took it.
(Don’t you love Super Chicken?)
So this will be an interesting experiment:
Question: Can the Horny Housewife be completely honest with herself and her readers, while being observed by a man whom she wishes to attract?
Answer: Prognosis Negative.
Just kidding. I couldn’t resist making a Dark Victory reference. Bette Davis rules. Skip to about 35 seconds in the clip below.
The real answer is I think I can do it. But if you notice me sugar coating encounters with Morty, if you notice me omitting embarrassing, lurid details of sexploits with Mike, if you find that I’m being anything but totally upfront and completely honest with you, then call me on it, okay? Because you’re here because I’m honest with you, and I’m here because you keep me honest.
HH
