Female Ejaculation

This is a favorite topic of a fetish. I am concentrating on the would be cocksucker, the one who wants to get his juices from that most wonderful female part, the place from which we all came.

I am not different. I covet all her juices regardless of the circumstances. All right, I might make some objections due to Sexually Transmitted Diseases, and such. However, if I were pushed, it would be difficult to decide. Vagina is my life’s passion. Therefore, you may see what I am trying to convey. I was borne by it; I have tried to imagine its glory during my early years before I ever saw one. I sensed and to an extent experienced its wonders through sight and scents, and on rare occasions, tactile feels later.

One might say that I have seen, smelled, tasted, and felt all that wonder. Maybe. I am not saying that I have seen it all. Maybe there is female ejaculation. Just that, there is no physiological reason or mechanism to back it up. I am sorry, but this is my report!

Female ejaculation is not like male ejaculation. The male has the physiology to support it. The female has other wonderful parts, but not this one. Whatever you may have seen or be led to believe, there is no such thing. So, please, give up your quest, and get to the reality of it: she has female parts that are even better. She does not ejaculate. She does not squirt the female equivalent of male semen. Nevertheless, when you get to experience what she does, you will no longer care.

If you still need the ejaculate proceeds, I suggest that you get together with a fully functional male, or a couple where the male has already ejaculated into the female. Nice scenario, and realistic. Whereas female ejaculation is not.

Bull

Those of us who are still alive go through continual evolution. It is a way of life.

Among other blogs I used to frequent those whose theme was cuckolding and hot wives. Those people knew how to have fun when the fun went out of their lives being just themselves.

I am also a believer of escalation. It has to do with human nature. One human cannot remain satisfied with status quo. We insist on enlarging the scenario, increasing the intensity, prolonging the duration, and taking on more challenges. You know what I mean. Yesterday you have suffered twenty strokes of the crop on your butt, tomorrow you will want twenty-four, or maybe the use of the cane. Yesterday you were happy with vanilla sex; tomorrow you will want cuckolding, threesomes, pegging, etc.

I am alive. I go through the evolution. Within my narrow experience I want escalation too. To what extent, I don’t know, since I have not reached many of my limits. There are many subjects with limits, and I am willing to try.

As for evolution, I no longer visit certain blogs that used to fascinate me. I am not suggesting that I lose interest, or that I want to end up with ultimate experiences. All I am saying is that “It has been fun, and now there are other things that draw my interest.” I still keep up with the various kinks, but not to the extent that I did before. I evolve.

The original theme of my blog was FLR. It still is, but I have extended my horizon. As of this time FLR is essential to my being, it is being practiced, but not the entire focus of my attention. I can now admit that I have other interests also. I have evolved.

This has put me into a broader perspective from which to appreciate (or not) the subjects whose authors still elaborate: FLR, cuckolding, chastity, orgasm denial, D/S, S/M, and a lot of other really fun stuff. I still like to read about them, I would love to practice some or to some extent all of them, just that they don’t drive my life. I could actually make a rational choice given extremely provocative alternatives, and end up with no regrets. Now, that is really saying something!

I have a lot more to say about this, but I need to get back to what the title of this post implies. The noun, bull, has been used in animal husbandry, in hot wives, in cuckolding, even in religion. Maybe in other contexts too, but my focus this time is limited to the use of bull in cuckolding. We all know what a bull is. It is a dumb brute of an animal with a huge penis. Which brings me to the point of this post. Some dominant and kinky females, or in the case of the fake blogs, males with fertile imagination, use or describe the use of human males for their purposes. These “human males” have only one purpose: fuck the dominant female, hence the use of the term “bull”.

As far as I can tell from the stories, the husband or male partner is either incapable or unwilling to do the service to or for her, therefore, she resorts to using a bull. Not the animal variety, but the human analogue.

I may be a bit jaundiced but even if I were inadequate in any respect to serve my wife, I would resent dealing with a bull. For my purposes, a bull is unintelligent, and needs to be controlled because of its strength and potential for destruction. So what does wifey want? Does she want a huge cock with sheer muscle behind it, or an instrument of pleasure with intelligence? Ok, I have both, but I must think of the poor schmucks who have neither, or at best, one. They have a problem. Then again, wifey has a problem when she realizes that her decision to marry the schmuck who has neither or only one of the attributes she so highly prizes is no longer adequate for her purposes. Now she wants a bull with a built in pile driver and no brain. Who is in charge there?

I may be going overboard with this, so I will back off. The only problem I have with this is the word used, “bull”. It just does not feel right. From every respect, the noun is wrong in the context. Look up the definition, and you will agree.

I could go with her wanting a “boyfriend, male friend, lover, guy-with-a-huge-cock”, whatever, but bull? A bull is an animal!

Servitude With Pain

I used to clean the Mistress bathroom once a week, but lately I have become slack about my responsibilities. But then, once in a while, MW reminds me in no uncertain terms. For the next few days I have bruises on my ass.

They have mostly faded by now. Today was my chore to clean the Mistress bathroom. That involves removing furniture, and other things that are sitting on horizontal surfaces. Then the real cleaning follows by vacuum cleaning the floor, scrubbing the toilet, sink, shower, bathtub, and the floor. You might think “So what?” Well, this bathroom is big and has lots of stuff in it to clean. That’s what. I do this in my natural state. When she shows up and decides to whip my ass, I must drop everything to accommodate her whim. When she is done, my ass hurts, and I go back to work. Somehow it seems right.

She had me in a CB2000 for some time, but I had to go out, so she removed the device. Of course, it would be silly of me to assume that I was free. She ordered me to install Kali’s teeth. This insidious but seemingly innocuous piece of plastic is more evil than the benign CBXXXX devices. Generally it hurts like hell when I sit in my car with tight pants on. After some experimentation, she no longer required me to wear it while I was on duty. We decided that if I were to end up in a hospital or under the care of medics, some judge would make an issue of my wearing such device while trying to be professional. So I no longer do that. Still, if I go out just to do our private business, the evil little plastic teeth are doing their thing. Once in a while when I just sit down behind the wheel of my truck I have to reach between my belt and my skin and adjust things. If anyone watches, he will, of course, think that I am playing with myself.

I have said before that Kali’s teeth is an evil device. The worst part is when during the night I wake to extreme pain due to the hardness of my cock pressing against the rows of sharp teeth (sometimes I wish that I could get it up to that extent on a whim when I am not sleeping). Of course, at this point further sleep is out of question. So, regardless of what time of the night it is, I get out of bed and go do something. By the time the little guy reverts to its flaccid form the pain is mostly gone, but then I can no longer hope to sleep, so I stay up.

Last evening she told me to wake her if I have this problem. I forgot, so when I got up due to the pain I stayed up for a while. I got sleepy, so I decided to go back to bed anyway. After a couple of hours of half-sleep I had another painful erection, so I woke her. She was so amused by it that she insisted on photographing it. Well, after my attention was swayed from the problem, the pain subsided, and so did the erection. But she managed to catch it in mid-flaccidity.

I usually experience a problem after long-term wearing of any chastity device so far. It results in swollen foreskin condition.

MW is kind enough to have me remove all devices with the exception of the PA ring, of course. You can see the impression the Kali’s teeth make. What is not obvious is that after the swelling goes away, there will be a pattern of pinprick like punctures encircling the little guy, each prick marking the place of one of Kali’s teeth.

It takes the little guy a couple of days or so to return to normal. The tiny punctures are healed, and then the fun begins again.

Supermodels

I have not been watching television for a while because of the shallowness of the already shallow crud they produce. I read a lot in various sources, but Hollywood, fashion, gossip, etc., I don’t frequent. So, I don’t know whether the term, “Supermodel” is still extant. Nevertheless, back then, I was irritated with it enough to turn off or toss whatever medium was promoting it in my face.

I used to admire the women who did fashion modeling some years before that. They were supposed to be extraordinarily beautiful so that women of our lives would have a model to covet and to mimic. Alas, these models have become corrupted over the years. When a so-called supermodel consists of skin and bone with no redeeming qualities otherwise, I draw the line.

I love women without qualification. Yes, there are bad women, but that’s not what I am relating here. I am talking about the charming qualities of women in general. In my own words, “I am versatile” when it comes to the appreciation of women. Tall or short, wide or thin, homely or beautiful, young or old, they all have charms that grab me by my private parts. I could hardly refuse any woman anything. Well, there are exceptions. For example, if she were not clean, I would try to stay away regardless of her distant charm. Other than that, anything goes.

The problem I have is with the assumed charm of females who look like victims of the concentration camps of the Nazi regime during world was two. The real victims were not subject of sexual or fashionable epitome of female charm. Neither are these deluded supermodels that starve themselves to look attractive. It does not work. I know that there are those who covet the skin and bones look. They are welcome to it, but generally they are in a minority.

Women should look the way they feel natural. Thin is OK, if they feel thin; voluptuous is fine if they feel voluptuous. Between the two is great also. In my often-quoted words, “It’s not what you have, but what you do with it.”

So, trying to be a stick figure of the average supermodel may do you harm in more ways that one. Please, dear women, just be yourselves. I so much appreciate that.

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

A lovely lady said on her blog the following: “It seems to me that our society places too much emphasis on both gender identity and sexual orientation.” I don’t want to explain the context, you can see it at Labels ... etc. Aug 30, 09

I usually don’t make excuses for the powers that be, for I am just as much a victim of my ineptitude as any other. Still, I want to point out some sober things. Our western society relies on stability. That is why laws have been made and enforced since Hammurabi (non-western, 1750 BC or so), so that we have a basis from which to decide.

Much of today’s basic laws are based on ascension. The decision way back then may have been arbitrary, but it was a way to ensure property and rights. It was sort of like, “the first born male shall inherit … and everyone else shall pick up what’s left, if any”. Ok, so it was based on the male having all that, and I am not debating its veracity. However, it provided stability throughout the centuries of civilization.

Today it is different, at least in the USA. There is no law that makes a first borne male automatically the inheritor and in charge. In spite of that, it is still customary for a woman to take on the man’s surname upon marriage. But the gender specification does not stop there. Say, I married my wife as a man, and she a woman. Later on I decide that I want to become a woman. She and I work out the details, and if she still has any use for me, she may stay with me and see the process to completion. But that’s just between her and me. I would have to deal with the at least some of the following:

• Health and life insurance companies with whom I deal
  
• Banks and investment firms with which I deal
• Social Security Administration (in the USA)
• Federal Bureau of Investigation (in the USA)
• Local, county, and state police
• Relatives and acquaintances who expect a male but not someone on the fringe
• Etc.
  

I don’t think that I would have to justify my gender change to all of those agencies, just that changing from George to Georgina would, at the least, confuse people to my economic decrement at the least. For example, if I were to be arrested for criminal speeding in an automobile, would I be booked as a male or as a female? Would I care at the time? Would I care afterward? Would I sue the police for incarcerating me with the wrong gender?

Then there is the matter of gender identification. For example, in a commercial health club, they have the men’s and the women’s dressing rooms and manner of expected apparel. Which would I choose? Personally, I have no problem sharing dressing room with the opposite gender. I try not to ogle, and keep my eyes to my space. Actually, I don’t walk around naked even in the men’s dressing room, since there is no requirement to do so. Some guys do, and I assume that some girls do also. But still, the time comes when in my gender change I begin to appear more feminine than masculine, so someone must decide. One side or the other is going to complain, and then the friggin' lawyers get into the act.

This, I think, is why there is “ … emphasis on both gender identity and sexual orientation,” as such. Things, even people, need to be sorted so that we can deal with them. There will always be the oddballs who get grief from all sides. Life is not fair, so we do the best we can under the circumstances.

If I were to open a business such as a health club, I would prefer to minize my expense and provide one dressing room for all. Even if 98 percent of the customers were to agree with that (not that they would), some 2 percent would sue me for not having a place to hide their genitalia from the opposite sex. So, I would have to provide equal access to privacy based on male versus female assessment. It’s not necessarily my preference, it’s not necessarily the law, but it is dictated by edict from the law that assures that even minorities get their say. Then there are the friggin’ lawyers who want to make a living from fomenting discontent among the malcontent and the avaricious. We can never fully satisfy the greedy.

Most of what I said above is irrelevant when one’s gender identification, or sexual preference is between consenting adults. That is where one can let it all hang out. I have seen photographs of transgendered males, transsexual males, and transvestites. Just as in real life, some can be considered beautiful, some passing, and some ugly as sin. Whatever they do with it is their own affair. This is where I would not try to cite a law that says, “a man is not allowed to dress like a woman” or such. Who gives a damn if some poor old sexually starved schmuck decides to put on a short skirt and a tank top? Or who gives a damn if I were to have sex with my neighbor’s husband as long as all agreed to it? A threesome or a foursome may even be better. Whether all are females, males, or a mix, who cares?

The bottom line is, for my purposes, gender identity is for first-line approach and identification. After that, we really don’t care unless we want to get into bed with them. Then we try to sort it out on a personal basis regardless of lawful description or distinction.

Did I Say That I Like Sex?

I am not sure that you can tell by my postings, but I do like sex. I also love sex. Not that I am a sex machine, but I could go on like the Energizer Bunny. Even when I don’t feel horny, I could and would produce for my partner whatever is desired. Within reason, of course. For example, I do have some thoughts of being penetrated from behind and …

Well, I don’t want to get into that just yet, if ever. The thing is, there are many benign sexual scenarios that I have not experienced, such as threesomes, and so on. I would love to be given the opportunity. I would also go with a lot of D/S give and take from all directions.

Women could do just about anything to me that would not cause major bleeding, and the police to haul us off to rehabilitation via “Bruno the Steel” or “Helga the Horns”. In the most hidden parts of my kinky brain I can see that men could also do things to me, but with limitations as described above. I don’t really want to be hurt, but I don’t mind feeling the pain. I don’t really want to be used, but I don’t mind serving. I don’t want to volunteer, but I would love to be forced.

Of course, none the above is likely. I am not in that lifestyle, and my wife would never forgive me if I tried. So all I can do is read and write about it. Both are fun, neither are productive, but if I have a few hours to relax, that’s what I do. My ultimate sex is orgasm for me or for my partner in sex, or both. I have no limits on the condition or the number as long as it is what at least one of us wants and the other approves. At that point anything goes.

Maybe in my next life …

By the way, at the beginning of my blog I stated that everything I write that represents MW or me or the two of us is true. On rare occasions I presented fiction, but I stated clearly that it was fiction and strictly for entertainment.

Of course, I also do a lot of pontification, which is in a different category from actual events and fiction. It is based on my experiences, my education, my values, and my feelings. As such, it is neither right, nor wrong, but simply an opinion. A few months ago I toyed with the idea of doing no more postings, deleting the blog, or changing the theme. I realized then that I have a need to write. I decided that I would reduce my emphasis on the daily FLR situation, and include other topics to broaden the venue while not completely breaking with FLR. The ratio of these different ideas changes as my mood or needs change.

What About Cuckolding?

What Prompted This Treatise?

Reading a recent post at Cuckolding Q+A the author said, “Is it just me or is there a sudden uptick in the number of women seeking cuckold relationships with submissive men?”

I am not concentrating on the subject although I do follow a few blogs whose theme includes or deals with it to a large extent. I think that the above quote shows a symptom of perception rather than a real trend of the underlying cause. More people are willing to talk in this relatively anonymous fashion of blogging. It may have theraputic values so what’s the harm?

Whether the trend is true or not, threre are some problematic relationships posted in blogs. Some blogs have gone extinct as the problems among the players escalated. Others persevered, and yet, new cuckold relationships have been proposed, fantasized, and implemented.

I have left comments on several of these blogs, and may have stepped on some toes with my assessment. This is a fun subject, so I am willing to deal with it to a small exent on this posting.

What Is Cuckoldry?

The simplest definition of the word cuckold is by Meriam Webster: A man whose wife is unfaithful.

It is obvious that the meaning has changed since the time this definition was made. But let’s try to find some reasons why the wife would be unfaithful in any sense of the word. By the way, I am not treating this broad subject to cover any relationship other than between a married man and wife. I also want to point out a fact: cuckoldry has to do with sex, and only sex.

Why Cuckoldry?

1. Her husband had been unfaithful, and therefore, she no longer feels committed to be true.
2. Her husband is long-term, or terminally ill, and incapable of providing her need.
3. She once loved her husband, but in the mean time, another stud came along who could provide all the sex she wants (but not necessarily the support for her present and future well being).
4. She was never serious about her husband, and hurting him in this way does not matter to her.
5. She has always wanted more than one sex partner, and being married had not changed that.
6. Her husband is sexually inadequate.
7. Her husband has hinted, maybe even helped her to becoming a cuckold.
8. Her husband has insisted that she help him fulfill his fantasy of being a cuckold.
9. Her husband went along with his own or somebody’s fantasy of his wanting to be humiliated, and be used by both his wife and the man who gives her sex.
10. Et. Cetera.

The above list is arranged in order of the severity of lack of a good excuse for cuckoldry. With the first few the woman may have an excuse, and the man may or should condone her acts. After that, the situation takes a different direction. Based on the incomplete list, cuckoldry is not necessarily a positive situation. The items starting with number 6 are fodder for the blogs whose theme, or at least partial theme, is cuckolding. It is also where fantasy enters the picture, whereas the first 5 items are based on reality.

I am not suggesting that items 6 and on are necessarily fantasy. What I mean is that the action of the partners involved is a result of fantasy. If they act on it, it becomes real.

Where The Rubber Meets The Road

A young couple, married or not, can do experimentation in sex covering a wide sort of excesses. They may learn from it, and become wiser. Some will continue the mistakes. What they have is enough chips to play the game for a while. The problem is, people don’t generally remain young, and able to pursue strange games without repurcussions. There are dsyfuncional people who try, and they end up in emergency rooms without funds to pay the cost, or worse, in the morgue.

Cuckoldry is not that dangerous, but it is right up there on the scale of the irresponsibility factor. As we age, we lose more of our chips in the game. The time comes when we need to be responsible for more than just ourselves. And that is when cuckoldry becomes potentially destructive to anyone around. That is when fantasy no longer should drive our actions. Sure, we can still play, but everything comes with a price. When all the chips are gone, it is time to stop playing.


About Item 6 above, give me a frigging break! This appears to be a common theme in the cuckoldry blogs. This is also a pathetic reason for cuckoldry. I know that there are still married couples that had not shared sex before marriage, but they are a dying breed. Most people today shared their little secrets, so if a man was inadequate, i.e., had a tiny cock, the woman would have known that. So why did she marry him if that was an issue? In addition, if it was not an issue then, why has it become an issue later?

About Items 7 and 8, unless she wants to have extramarital sex, this is an issue for a marriage counselor, and eventually for a divorce lawyer.

About Item 9, it seems that there is mutual satisfaction, so if nobody outside the three players is hurt as a result, then all is well. Then again, there is always more than what one assumes at the start. There are petty jealousies, hurt feelings, broken promises, unwarranted expenses, social embarrassments, sexualy transmitted deseases, unexpected pregnancies, etc. As long as you can sail through these rapids, you are all right, but watch your ass when they hit the rocks below.

When three people are involved, it is easy for two to take sides against the third. Regardless of how submissive or commited that third person is, he has a breaking point. There are some things that once broken, cannot be mended.

But Wait, There Is More

In all fairness, I have to admit that there are benign relationsips that persist, and need not result in pain and destruction. Even when a couple has young children this is a possibility. But then the relationship shifts from cuckoldry to a threesome or foursome, or just a stable relationship among friends with mutual respect and higly sexual expectation where nobody is truly being hurt or humiliated. The sumbmissive man in the relationship may still have to “serve” his wife or the other male, but that is part of the scenario to which all agreed. If it lasts, it is because they all want it to last. It is almost like a marrige between two men and a woman.

But this is not a situation when the wife finds some horny men over the internet, and the two or three of them end up in an overnight stay at a cheap motel while hubby is fantasysing at home. He waits for wifie to return to ride his face so that he can clean out the other men’s juices. It’s great to imagine while one is masturbating, but not to actually experience. Usually, life has some nasty surprises around every corner, and there is a very good chance that the nasties will show up more often than not.

The Children Know

We have been at this so long that all of our children know about some of what we do. We had never become blatant, but for example, my natural state at home is widely assumed due to joking remarks and a request to telephone before they visit.

A few weeks ago MW rented a couple of suites in a nearby resort to spend time with her friends, you know, the food and movie debauchery that none of them would do at home. When I went with her to help with luggage, etc., the plan was for me to stay overnight and then come home.

Prior to my leaving I planned to put away the signaling device, and any toys that would be indicative of our kinky tendency in sex play and lifestyle. I was also planning to lock our bedroom, and to turn off my computer. Makes sense, right?

My activities just before leaving assumed a rather stressful state. Things came up with which to deal, so my list of important chores sort-of fell into a crack. I did go through the steps, however, to turn off my computer.

At the resort later in the day we talked with one of our sons, over the phone, who indicated that he would go to our house to do some of his laundry. His being a fledgling, I said OK, and thought no more of that. After I returned home the next day I took care of some chores, then realized that I neglected to execute my plan before leaving. Our bedroom was not locked; even worse, the door was left wide open. My signaling device was left on top of my desk next to the computer. Worse even, my computer was still waiting for me to choose between “terminate this process” or “continue”. It ran into a problem so it did not shut down. What that meant, was that anyone could have run through all of my stuff, the browsing history, etc. All password-protected files were still open, … you get the picture.

I figured that our son came and saw all. I did not want to telephone him since I was trying to minimize his attention to our kink. I did not feel particularly good about it, but what was done, was done, so I went on.

A couple of days later I received some information that our son may have not actually come to the house at all. That would mean that he did not see any of our private stuff (this time), and that my computer secrets remained so.

Yesterday he came to visit. He and I discussed some current events in the living room. He asked, “Where’s Momma?”

“She is in her bedroom. She has been working hard, and is now relaxing with her computer.”

After we finished our business, he said, “May I visit her?”

“Of course, she would like that,” I casually replied.


After he left for home, I went to MW’s room and said, “The boy has left.”

“Yes. He probably saw all the whipping devices that were by the side of my bed.” She implied that I should have warned her before the boy went into her room.

We have fewer secrets as we go. Of course, the boy is not really a prude. I have seen handcuffs and chains in his room years before.

Oh, The Children!

I have obtained inspiration from Mistress Kathy’s blog, and have commented on them a number of times. She is a caring and loving leader in her marriage, and a disciplinarian to her submissive husband. She is also good at relating to us the way she sees things. We need not agree with everything she says, but it is fun reading, and she is right most of the time. This time she again inspired me to post by her statement:

“On some level I would like to talk with my daughter. I would like to tell her that as part of her father's love for me he gives me complete obedience. I would like to tell her that I train and discipline him to be a better husband. I want to tell her that sweet, obedient men are truly a gift from God to be appreciated and loved. However, this is a conversation that I can not find the words to start.”

We try to teach our children to do the right thing, so that they survive and prosper. But in Mistress Kathy’s statement there is more. She wants to give her daughter information that, she assumes, would improve the lives of everybody around her. Alas, social prejudices prevail. Pity.

My wife and I don’t blatantly display our lifestyle to anyone. Our children may have some suspicions about who is in charge, but have no knowledge that I get my ass whipped if I don’t behave. In a way, I see nothing wrong with their learning that. We are not imposing our particular lifestyle on them if this became known.

The problems are based on current mores. In a patriarchal society, which is mostly what we live in, the man should be in charge, but not necessarily discipline his wife, and certainly not in an abusive way. It would be equally bad if a wife were to discipline her husband in an abusive way. Justification for either is a matter of subscribing to a degree of D/S.

Another problem we face is that parents are supposed to educate children by example. If the parents are dysfunctional, what does that convey to the children? A man who abuses his children or wife is dysfunctional. He may disagree, but it clearly shows that he does not have the mental capacity to be rational and fair. The same goes for a woman who behaves similarly.

Now, if we step back a bit, and get into kinky stuff, we can rationalize a lot. If a woman loves to submit to a dominant man, and loves to be locked into a cage occasionally, or even receive corporal punishment, is anyone being abused? Her male partner may be doing all that to satisfy her need to be treated that way. Given that, I see nothing wrong with a woman satisfying her man’s need to be dominated in any way to which they both agree. But this is not something that either of them would want to discuss at great length with their children. It’s kind of like not discussing the details of their sexual intercourse: the children know that it happens, but the details are not necessary. I would also have a problem with the children seeing their father's ass whipped by their mother for some assumed misbehavior.

To impart any of this to our children it may be sufficient to demonstrate the basics. For example, how their father behaves with respect to their mother, with his children, and with people in general.

I don’t feel the need to impress anyone. I know that there is always some other person who is better than I am at whatever I am trying to prove about myself. At some point in my life I concluded that my actions speak more about me than any words. I let people make up their mind about me based on what they see me do. In the same sense, our children make up their mind about my wife and me. The nice thing about this is that I never have to explain the reason for whatever I do. If they don’t see it right away, they will in a while given the context.

My wife and I have agreed several times that it would be good to introduce FLR to our daughter and daughter-in-laws. However, we decide not to share this aspect of our life so blatantly. If our actions don’t demonstrate it, they probably would not benefit from it. If they already suspect, then they know more than we assume, and should know what to do with it.

Getting back to Mistress Kathy’s comment, I think that she could tell her daughter the generality of her relationship with her husband. Her daughter need not see it the same way, but it does not matter. Kathy should keep the details to herself, for they are irrelevant to the matter of educating her daughter. This would relive stress all around.

Bumps, Dents, Bruises, and Welts

This all got started a few days ago by MW. I have already posted about it a couple of times (see Phase of the Moon and She is on a Roll). We are not really into D/S that deeply, although I could go way more. The thigh and cock and ball bruises were photographed a few days after the event, so they have faded in the mean time.

After she got started on this project things progressed. It was not simply a benign over the knee bare hands spank. She used a paddle, so it was likely to leave a mark:

The right side turned out more in the pink, so the next day she decided to fix that by applying the crop to the left side more this time.

It appears, however, that she was still not satisfied with the results, so the next evening she did some combination as you can see.

But a good Domina’s job is never done.

By this time the right cheek had lost most of its character, so, she is planning to work on it with a cane next. In the often-quoted and undying words of Robin Williams in Popeye, “I can’t remember ever having so much fun and still be conscious.”

Now, if any of you think that I am complaining, you are wrong. I am, as MW and I often say, remarkable. She is simply using her talent for marking and later re-marking me. With her being an artist, to her I am like a formerly blank canvas, with her work in progress. One of these days she may even give a different kind of renewable gift. However, I must not be greedy. Any attention from her to me is a gift already. Then if she enjoys it, I appreciate it even more.

I Could Have ...

This is not about regret, rather, about alternate unreality.

I could have gone to law school.

I could have gone to medical school.

I could have become a politician to represent many of us.

I could have become a professional soldier.

I could have become a higher-ranking professional in law enforcement instead of choosing to remain on the street.

I could have succumbed to the charms of that sweet young woman while in college.

I could have stepped out into that line of fire.


The only regret I have is what I had not done when I should have.

Decisions at any time are based on wisdom and current data. Hindsight comes from the future; therefore, it is not available at the time of decision. Pity.

I stand by what I actually had done. Right or wrong, I took it from there, for that is reality. It is the sum of my deeds, and I accept the fallout. I can never go back to change course.

I don’t blame another person for what could or would not happen. My own decision always made the difference. Using blame is convenient, but worthless. Even blaming myself for bad decisions is worthless. My bad decisions may have hurt others, but guilt about those decisions hurt only me, and will change nothing. Right or wrong, past decisions may drive me in a different direction, but reality is always from there on. Taking responsibility for my decisions is a measure of my worth.

I have consciousness, therefore, I have free will. Only when free will is taken from me do I become blameless. But that is a paradox.

She Is On A Roll

She is on a roll … I joined her in the bedroom last night. She was already lying on the bed, displaying much of her beauty. I really wanted to dive in and take my pleasure there and then. But you know me: I am polite and considerate. That would have been a typical horny man’s act, whereas, I am pussyfied in that respect. I wait to be invited after showing my admiration. In this case the admiration was evidenced by my instant erection. But I don’t want to brag.

I showered, and then returned to her to apply the daily lotion to her feet and legs. That is a lovely ritual that we share. In some ways it is therapeutic. If we had tension between us, this simple act of love, kindness, and devotion mitigates it. We may not resolve deep issues, but we come away with good feeling at least.

She was watching a TV program while I was doing these lovely things. I asked her to move into a more convenient position so that she can continue viewing the display while I enjoy myself by giving her a full body massage. We did.

I don’t remember at what point or how she decided, but she sent me to fetch one of her riding crops. After my returns she ordered me to get into a position on hands and knees on the bed, then she began to impart pain to my ass and thighs. I know, this sounds clinical, but it was nothing like that. It was very personal. Actually, she was determined to leave some marks that would persist for some days, and made sure that she was progressing in that respect. From my point of view, it simply hurt like hell. But what do I know?

After the treatment we continued with her full body massage. I really, truly wished that she would tell me to serve her orally. She did not. The evening was good in any case. I fetched some dessert for her. After her dessert she turned off the TV and the light, and left to do some private thing in another room, letting me to go to sleep. This morning she asked me about the marks that she had left. I assured her that the marks were there. Not that I could actually see my own ass, but my hand did. The marks were still three dimensional. What a woman!

By the way, the bruises on the inside of my thighs from the night before are still prevalent. They don't hurt, but look enticing. They remind me of MW's doing things to me.

God, I love Women!

I need to be methodical about describing this feeling to be sure that nobody would be ignored. I know, there is a sexual component, and presenting it first speaks for itself. Yes, I covet, and desire women. For all I know, that may be my primary motivation for what follows. But I honestly claim a less ignoble motive than sex. There is nothing wrong with sex under the right circumstances, and it does tend to keep the human race viable. But for now sex is not the issue.

I think that all rational humans have a special place in their consciousness to store precious things. You know, like favorite mental trinkets from the past, views of nature’s grand demonstration of things way beyond our ken, memories of exact and limited nature, and our views of people whom we treasure.

I have a huge store of things I love. By far the most significant is for women. God, I love women! It is not simply a matter of orgasm, in case you think that my limited male mind is simply driven by that. More is to come, so to speak.

My first true love was for my mother. I know that she was not a saint, but if I had the power, I would have bestowed sainthood on her, with the exception of the obligation to live up to it. I just simply loved her, and would have given my life to or for her if needed. Alas, she left this life without my ability and participation to make a change. I feel guilty.

My second true love was, and is, for my sister. She is not quite as saintly as my mother, but close enough. She challenged me to become what I am today, and shares the responsibility for the result.

My third true love was, and is, for my wife. MW is the love of my life. I may bitch from time to time, but she is my prime directive. You, readers of this blog, are expected to correct me when I fail in expressing this repeatedly.

My fourth true love is for my daughter. MW and I produced this wonderful person, and she continues to give us joy and pain. She is beautiful in all ways. Everybody loves her.

My fifth love is for all the women whom our sons had brought into our family. MW and I remain, or try to remain un-judgmental. I love our daughter-in-laws. They are special women in our lives.

Then there is the rest of roughly half the population of earth: women. I would so much love to do justice to them. Not necessarily in a sexual manner, although that would be fun. It is more like making sure that they are given the opportunity to be whom and what they want to be. Even more so, that they are given some love, so that they can mature in a loving way themselves, and do what they are capable of doing.

God, I love women!

Followers ...

Dear People,

Those of you who have decided to sign up as "followers", and I don't take that lightly, I thank. I appreciate your interest in my foibles and occasional joy of life. I want to follow up on your link, but at the moment I am challenged. I need to find the way to link to your blog, website, or email, so that I can say "thank you" in a benign way. Meanwhile, know that I appreciate your interest.


As for those of you who attach yourselves to my hull like barnacles and offer only commercially despicable offers, please detach yourselves. You will get no business from me. You are just polluting the webspace.

Phase Of The Moon

It must be the phase of the moon that compels MW to do or not do these things. One of my wishes is for her to be turned on by whipping my ass, and then to use me for her satisfaction, and leaving me wanting more. Well, actually, some of that does happen, but not all necessarily connected in a causative way.

Just a few of hours after my last posting she summoned me to our bed, and gave me many strokes with a paddle whose photograph I have posted before here. Just out of the blue she did that. Aside from the skin on my ass being sore and hurting like hell while she was doing it, the experience was right out of my fantasies.

Later we were reclining in bed watching a movie. She said, “Get me some tit clamps.” Being a well-planned traveler, I always have my kit in order. I reached to my nightstand and produced a pair of excellent clamps connected with a piece of rawhide, and handed it to her. I knew that she was not intending to affix the device to herself, so I braced myself for the inevitable. Yes, she did affix the little buggers to my tits. As the movie progressed she began to do more. She whipped my cock, she whipped my balls, and she yanked the rawhide. Now, some of you might think that all that was pointless, and you might be right. But, I think that it was a gift from her to me. Hours later I thanked her profusely for my suffering and for her attention to me. No, I did not get my rocks off, and did not get to serve her orally either. However, it was a thrill anyway, and would not have missed it for even a glass of wine. Make that a barrel of wine.


It is now some hours later that I add this post script. I have had a chance to look at my thighs. The front and inside are showing bruises that could have been made only by MW's loving hands and tools. They are not excessive, but they remind me of the pain and pleasure we shared last night. Mostly my pain and her pleasure, but that is as it should be.

Back To Ignore And Denial

I have done much reading and produced juicy pre-cum over forced male chastity, and tease-and-denial stories. I still like to read them, but I am becoming jaded. The story needs to be more radical, or else, it does no longer give me the hardon and the subsequent production of pre-cum.

Right. Much like the old saying, “There aren’t any old jokes, just old people who have heard them all.” Yeah. I’m one of the old people, at least when it has to do with this subject.

I still get off on forced male chastity in a big way, but I tend to carry the fantasy to a higher plane. It needs to do with a woman who cares about the result. She needs to be involved. She might have stuff going on the side, but I must be attended from time to time. Yes, it is topping from the bottom, but it does not matter, because this is my fantasy.

There are extreme male fantasies that involve irrevocable acts, such as surgical removal and alteration of some parts. The fantasy is great, but the result is dismal. I don’t see myself happy, regardless of how subservient I may be to a woman or a man, if my cock or balls or both have been removed or altered surgically for real.

So you can see where my mind has traveled, at least to what I have admitted. In a more benign male chastity situation to which I am subjected for real, it has its good and bad periods. The bad periods have to do with the title of this posting that deals with "Ignore and Denial. As long as I am not encased in a chastity device, I can, and might, satisfy myself daily, or as often as I deem necessary. But something would be missing in this scenario.

Say, if I were single, I would do what I said above. But I am not single. I am married to my sweetheart. Could it be that she is not listening to my plaintive cries?

Well, Damn!

This is an update on the planned reunion with MW. She asked me to bring more essentials to her well being while at the resort with her friends, and in turn she would do things to me. I did bring clothes, coffee making apparata, and the toys that she requested. You know, toys like a riding crop, and such. I showed up with the goods that MW determined essential, had a wine, and visited with them. Later, the four of us, Anthea, Dolores, MW, and I, had a great dinner that Dolores prepared.

Dolores and I must have been fairly well into the wine. As I tried to make my exit for the night she came over to hug and do her special kiss on my lips. I usually can’t get away without at least a hug. I reciprocated for once, and grabbed her ass with both hands as we kissed. It was only later I realized that my automatic response to a kiss should be reserved to MW. OK, I am guilty. However, I enjoyed it for the moment. She has an ass that just asks to be grabbed.

MW and I spent the night in the same bed, but it was all just friendly time together. Yes, her naked ass was tempting, but by then she was asleep. Besides, I don’t do anything unless I am invited. She promised benefits to me in the morning, but the implementation fizzled. Her friends were supposed to leave for business purposes, and be gone for several hours. During this time MW assumed that she would do evil and wonderful things to me, and not worry about what noises I would make. Alas, her friends, being somewhat flaky in decision-making, stayed in.

Promises of consummation of certain things were not fulfilled. Instead of thoroughly perverted sex, we had a long and pleasant conversation while we shared my powerful coffee. Later I left for home taking a load of unessential stuff that we should not have brought with us in the first place. I was also having thoughts of furious masturbation.

But damn! I felt that I woud be cheating on her, so I did not do it. Not even later in the day.

MW Is On Vacation Again

By now, if you had been paying attention since way back, you would know that she does go on vacations without me. That also involves my setting it up for her, and for her friends. She had made all the arrangements with respect to reservations, time and date of grouping for the excursion, etc., also for my hauling the frigging luggage for a week’s stay. Holy cow! I think they could have existed in style for four weeks, rather than one. Then again, I am just a man who thinks that a bottle of wine, a good book, will sustain me for a day. Multiply that by seven, and you get the idea.

Just a note, I had to change the names of her two friends to avoid some reader identifying us.

I underestimated the amount of preparation that I had to endure. We were late. After stopping to buy essential groceries, we arrived at Anthea’s place. I drove our family vehicle in anticipation of accommodating all of her luggage. After several trips down and up the second story condo I had all Anthea's stuff stowed and ready to go. We drove to the resort that MW arranged. Nothing special about the trip, just that, I still had to deal with other details.

Check-in was a bore but uneventful. MW’s other friend, Dolores, was already there waiting for us. I wound my way around the quaintly laid out units to find the proper building, and parked our vehicle. Dolores and husband followed. While I took the next fifteen minutes to move all of Anthea’s and MW’s stuff into the adjacent units, Dolores’s husband struggled to move hers and some other stuff in as well. He was actually in the role of a driver, too, so he left after the lugging of luggage. I, on the other hand, stayed. Well, I took a good slug of Scotch to lubricate my bearings, and helped with stowing the goods.

Being late afternoon, MW realized that I needed sustenance. I had breakfast early, but nothing since then. I opened an excellent Cabernet in anticipation of relaxation. The three ladies partook and agreed about the goodness of this most excellent wine.

Damn, that was indeed a good bottle of wine. While I sipped my own glass of wine MW, being her sweet self, fixed me a great sandwich, which I then had for dinner. I did some required maintenance to support the three of them, then I retired to our suite while she and her friends enjoyed the evening in the adjoining suite. I am not into girl stuff, and they know it, so I get away with it. Besides, they get to dress in almost nothing, and MW does not want me to be there to make them feel uneasy. Right! As if I or they would feel uneasy? I would not. Still, MW is in charge, so I stayed in my uniform in our unit, while the ladies lounged in the other as they wished. Just one thin door away … Jeez, I hoped my hardon would not punch through that door. I read a book for some hours while MW checked on me from time to time. After that I went to sleep.

In the morning I was up early as usual. After coffee, I tried to use my laptop to check email and such. Alas, it all fizzled. I was unable to make a connection. I did some maintenance, some reading, and waited for MW to wake. When she did, I made more coffee, and we talked for hours. But, you know, when two people lie naked in bed, one thing leads to another. For the moment she suspended her “ignore and denial” rule (see Ignore And Denial) and dropped into her previous favorite, “tease and denial”. Oh yes, my tits were tender, my balls ached, and she gave me an order to show up two days later with the requisite toys. Then she got back to doing what she had been doing. It was hard for me to avoid dumping my balls during this, but with great attempt at control I managed. Actually, she just stopped short of my losing control. Several times.

I left for home, for I had work to do. After work here I am, waiting for two days to join her and suffer or enjoy what she is willing to give me. I may let you know the outcome. Meanwhile MW and friends are enjoying culinary delights that they do only once or twice a year. They also stay up much of the night watching chick flicks and drinking Champagne and such. They can be very decadent. I whish though, that I would be the main course. Alas, MW has other ideas. Meanwhile I read the dictionary to keep my mind off the stuff to come.

In Defense Of Deadly Force

Gun ownership is somewhat like Mr. Obama's Gov'ment Healthcare: it divides people into two groups. One group is completely for it, the other is completely against it. I don't think that we will ever agree on them. I have not received any flaming comments lately, so I thought that I would write something provocative and see what happens.

Gun Owners Are Nuts

A few days ago I listened to a state politician’s tirade against guns, calling every gun owner “a nut”, and “one who would shoot up the town at the slightest assumption of provocation”. Obviously, being elected to a state office does not have a pre-requisite of being rational. This man was clearly off the deep end.

It’s Not How Fast You Are …

Years ago I watched a Western movie in which a pipsqueak of a gunfighter forced an old codger into accepting his challenge. After the gun smoke cleared, the codger stood holding his hand on his bleeding ribs, saying, “It’s not how fast you’re with a gun, but where you put the bullet…” The pipsqueak lay in the dust before him.

Trained Killers

I went through basic training in one branch of the US armed forces. I succeeded, in theory, to a certain level, and I attained the badge of “expert rifleman”. What that meant then is that I could have maybe seven hits out of ten shots. The ones, who had more hits, were destined to specialize in becoming snipers if their demeanor could handle it. Becoming a sniper was neither my inclination, nor within my skill.

Some years later when I went through police academy one of the qualifying tests was what was called, “tactical”. I already knew where I was in reality: so-so, with respect to hitting the target. At the beginning of the test, my first target was a steel silhouette, one hundred yards away (three hundred feet, or 91.44 meters), which would pivot if I hit it with a bullet from my handgun as I was running to complete the test in the allotted number of seconds. I tried not to play John Wayne, so I stopped, aimed, and fired. Sonofagun! The target pivoted with a satisfying “plink” half a second after I pulled the trigger. I may have made history there, but I considered my prior mediocre achievements with respect to hitting the target, and attributed it to chance. The rest of the time, and later on the force when I had to re-qualify repeatedly I was adequate, but never that good. We have never been encouraged or tested to do fast draw, and I can think of several reasons for that.

Let’s face it; we were trained to be killers in both cases. In the armed forces it was part or the entire job. With the police, well, it was another situation with far more implications. Under the best of circumstances a police officer will never kill another human. Yet we expect him to disarm and arrest a dangerous or deranged criminal who is in a position to do great harm.

First consideration is whether I should pull the gun out of the holster at all. Next, making sure that I have a clearly defined target, and finally, whether to pull the trigger. The only times these considerations don’t apply is when the deadly danger is unavoidable: someone points a gun at me, wields a two-by-four within a short distance of my head, or drives a car at me deliberately, and so on. On the job it causes an automatic reaction of moving out of the line of fire and responding with whatever it takes.

Off the job, it is just like with the rest of you: if someone points a gun at me, he is not asking for a verbal answer. If he is, that is a really stupid and deadly way to go about it. Not my fault if he gets hurt. There are gray areas. Even when I see a person about to shoot another, I must evaluate the situation. Does the gunman pose a threat? Does he mean to kill? Most of us have never experienced this, and never will. Not having a gun in your possession all you can do is duck, keep your eyes open, and try to remember what takes place as someone is being killed. If you survive, you can tell the police about it. If you have a gun, you may be able to prevent a murder or a rape.

The perpetrator’s life is worth less than the victim’s, regardless of what the politically correct bleeding hearts try to tell you. If a woman does not ask to be raped, and she is being raped, the perpetrator of this crime forfeits his life, whether by the action of an armed citizen, or the jury after months or years of judicial deliberation. In my state, justifications for using deadly force are self defense against clear and deadly force, defense of another person against clear and deadly force, and stopping an on going or about to occur rape. However, regardless of how guilty a criminal might be, if he is running away after a crime, there is never a legal justification for deadly force. Pity.

Those of you who think that only the police should have guns may be right to a small extent. In an ideal law-abiding society with no criminals, even the police need not have guns. Then again, we would have no need for the police either.

We do not live in an ideal society. Making the possession of guns illegal is useless, because criminals and deranged people don’t abide the law, and will use guns as you and I use a fork with a meal: as they deem necessary. If a criminal knows that I may be armed, he is less likely to start anything illegal in my presence. That is the real purpose of being armed. Oh, and another: being prepared to use it when warranted.

Why Have Guns?

A gun is the choice of offensive weapon for today’s criminal. It’s small, any idiot can use it, fits in his pocket, and easy to obtain without a permit or traceability. Once on the job to use it, whether he escalates to the use of automatic weapons and bombs, or stays with a single handgun, it is unlikely that he could be disarmed or killed by using kind words, pepper spray, or a baton.

There have been several mass murders in the last two decades, none perpetrated by a man licensed to carry a concealed weapon. Take the Columbine incident as an example. The two killers, Harris and Klebold, were psychotic teenagers. In addition to legal and illegal guns they used propane tanks, nails, and explosives in homemade devices to add to their arsenal. Yes, it is illegal to bring a firearm to a school campus, but they were not concerned about that. After all, who was going to stop them? The propane tanks and nails are not specifically mentioned in federal or state statutes as being illegal on campus, but as I said, these killers were not worried about being legal.

My point is that killers will always find a way, and a legally armed citizen may be able to stop them. Somebody might get hurt in the process; then again, mass killers want somebody to get hurt. I would rather take a chance on having an armed citizen there as a deterrent or to minimize the damage, even if an innocent bystdander gets hit. We will never know what the outcome would have been with the presence of a couple of armed teachers, but I doubt it would have been worse. These killers did gun down an unarmed teacher who was trying to help the students to get away. I have been in hostage rescue situations, and can tell you that the bad guys can and should be disabled early in their transgression before they do their damage. You will get a different view from official police organizations, but only because they have to cover their asses with respect to law suits, which is why the swat team at Columbine did not go in there and take out the perps at the beginning. Individuals of the force will back me up on this.

Living Or Dieing By Your Decision

A philosophical argument on this issue would be based on my right to take another human’s life. Gun ownership is not a philosophical issue. I could use a propane tank, a pipe bomb, a motorized vehicle, a baseball bat, a knife, or anything to kill one or more people. Having a gun has little to do with my deranged motive.

My argument is not philosophical; rather, it is based on reasonable judgment. As such, you will have a counter-argument, and we may never agree. Keep in mind, however, that, you are, as an adult, responsible for your own actions. Also keep in mind that you are not responsible for the actions of another person. For example, a criminal in action is responsible for his own deeds. You cannot "cause him to do things", neither are you responsible for what he does. All you can do is sit back and wait for him to do his evil deed, or end his life abruptly if you have the means.

Since your mommy and daddy are not there to keep you from coming to harm, that responsibility is yours. The police is somewhat effective in crime disposal, but less so in crime prevention. They simply cannot always be there to protect you. Sometimes it is best if you protect yourself until the police arrive. If you live to tell them about it, you have done well.

To be sure, taking a life in self-defense or in the defense of another person is a tremendous responsibility and a life-long burden. Some people cannot live with it. I do not advocate killing, but as lawyers tend to say, “there are mitigating circumstances”.

Or as I say, “sometimes the lowlife asks for it”. Harris and Klebold asked for it, and since nobody complied (the swat team was still outside waiting for the bean counters to decide), they themselves satisfied their own need. However, between the time they began their methodical hunting and killing of unarmed people, and their self-inflicted exit, they had done much damage. I can’t help but think that even one armed person would have reduced their effectiveness in killing.

I know, it takes balls to intervene in a violent situation. But when someone is obviously going to kill me, and I have a gun, what could I lose? What would that heroic teacher at Columbine have lost by shooting back? Certainly not his life. He died of several gunshot wounds anyway. Having a gun he may have prevented some killing.

When The Magic Ends

You are infatuated. You are in love with love. You see romance even in the mundane flapping of an open shutter in the wind. You are happy to see him when he stumbles out of bed looking only partly awake. His unshaven chin is endearing, you rub it on your bare shoulder just to feel his difference from you: he is hard and prickly against your soft smoothness. You complement each other. You miss him when he reads in the bathroom for five minutes while he sits on the toilet. You plan the day of outings, the trip to the flea market, the sandwich shop in the old farmhouse, the buying of a nightie that the two of you discussed. Then you change your mind and want to stay in. You want to put on a CD to hear its music in the background while you lounge in panties only, and watch his reaction as he walks in to see you. You grab him and pull him to you. Your kiss, returned by him, lingers until both of you must change position as kissing fatigue sets in. You share strong coffee and talk of trivia. Then you do it again.


The morning is there, but you want another hour of sleep. You hear the shower. He is up already, getting ready to go to work. You think of his hard body under the water shedding its soapy sheen. You remember the last words from him the night before: “leave me alone”. You fought over expenses. His spending on yet another electronic gadget, and your spending on still more shoes and clothes. The card is maxed. Your job is about to expire. He spends many evenings surfing the net while you watch TV in the bedroom alone. You barely see each other any more. You think of the wild sex you used to have. In reality, the last time you did anything meaningful was months ago.



He has a business trip to attend, and will be gone for several days. You look forward to his being away so that you can relax and not have to deal with his sullen looks and his accusations of your being cold. You get a peck on the cheek as he leaves for his car carrying his suitcase. Not even a goodbye. Well fine! You will be just great alone for a change not having to dread his coldness.

He does not call. You get together with your girlfriend and have lunch and see a movie. You feel good for once, like you used to. Then you go home and want to call him and tell him that you want your best friend back. But you think that would be capitulating, so you dismiss that thought. Besides, he should be the one calling. But he does not call. You go to bed early after two glasses of wine. You cry. Then you weep. Then you feel devastated for having wasted your love on a useless piece of male. You sleep but have bad dreams.

You are up early because you are tired of trying to rest. You get on your treadmill and walk miles while listening to blues. Afterward you spend half an hour in the shower to remove your sweat, your body hair, and your pains. You feel better, and have a good breakfast. You cry for not having what you used to have: a friend, a lover, a soul mate who thinks that you cannot do wrong. After you recover you want to call him, but you know that he is at work, and he would resent the intrusion. You decide to write him a letter. You type on your computer,

Dear,

I miss the early days when we couldn’t do wrong, those days when all was magical and full of purpose and hope. What have we done wrong? Why have we lost that confidence we shared? Is our love gone, or are we just overwhelmed with worries of everyday problems?

I want us to renew our pledge that we believed in. We are still strong. We can mend our broken promises.

Please be willing to do so with me.

Love,
…

After thinking about it you kill the file. It would be like giving in, like admitting that you are at fault. You put on makeup, dress, and go out to do some shopping. The mall is lively, but you feel alone. The fun you used to have looking at and trying on clothes does nothing for you now. You sit at a table of an atrium café. You see a seedy and bored housewife with toddlers in tow and a baby in carriage trying to get through. An old couple is walking by with the woman bitching to the man for lagging behind, while the man is trying to navigate around the chairs with his cane. A couple of teenagers are goofing around with leftover foods on some tables. A four-year old is running away from his mother who is trying to keep her composure as she chases him. You see purpose in the lives of these people. You even wish to be one of them for a moment.

You leave. Instead of going home you take a drive without a destination. After an hour or so you feel stupid, and turn back. At home you turn on loud music, and open a bottle of wine. You wake in the dark. The phone is ringing…

You knock over some items as you stumble for the receiver. It is he: “Honey, I’m not feeling good about a lot of things. I left you without a hug. I hope you aren’t angry.”

You weren’t angry, really, until now. You try to compose yourself when you say, “I don’t trust myself to talk now. Maybe tomorrow.” You hang up the phone, which rings again almost immediately. You ignore it.


A few days later he returns. He keeps his distance assuming that you are still angry. You wish that he would come to you, yet you are not sure how you would handle it. He says, “Honey, do you want me to sleep in the other bedroom …?” He waits for an answer that is not coming. He takes his suitcase into the other bedroom, showers, and comes out dressed in casuals. You pass him in the hall on the way to your bedroom.

In the morning you lie awake. You wait to be sure that he is gone when you leave the room. You don't want a confrontation that you are not prepared to handle. You don’t know what you want.

Later the phone rings. You know it is he, so you don’t answer. You cry silently. You feel as if a part of you had just left you forever. You think of the song you heard yesterday, “Can’t We Try?” You decide that you should try, but don’t know what you want.

What destroyed what you had at the beginning?

Was it sex, or the lack of it?

Was it incompatibility?

Should you have not gotten together with him given what you have now?

Have you learned anything?

Does he no longer hold a value for you?

Does years of your life merit redemption?

Is it time to part?

Where will you go, and what will you do?

Will you repeat the experience? Is this the rest of your life?