We made love again this morning as we always do. Just as soon as I opened my eyes, we were cuddling, kissing, groping, and eventually fucking.
Sex didn’t feel as good as it felt yesterday afternoon when my husband pitched me up until the countertop in the bathroom, spread my legs wide open and went to town sliding his massive cock into my swollen pink pussy. She was hungry like a beggar and hung onto his dick like it was yesterday’s promise. He moved slowly articulating each moment with increasingly more sensation, and I embraced his chest with gusto holding on for dear life.
My pussy didn’t cum, but she felt like she would. Not touching my clit has been such an antagonizing challenge ripe with small victories and obvious problems. As I focused on his dick yesterday evening, I began to feel more, more than I usually do. There was a tingling at my opening and raw emotion down deep inside. I could feel him run along the ridges of my feminine cave like an advanced climber. He rode me fast then slow then fast again. The mirrors showed every breathtaking side.
The room was barely lit yet ever so quiet. We made love, both of us without climaxing, for over an hour. Same position but beautifully intimate feeling.
It seems to always be that way… when you experience greatness in the flesh. The next time you aim for it, like a ghost, it vanishes. This morning my pussy felt numb, void of all pleasure. Focusing on the feeling didn’t affect anything. The position did matter at all either. Finally I simply said he needed to cum in me so we could get started on our day, get ready for the Mardi Gras parade. And he did.
Mardi Gras is one of my favorite times of year. Some people love Christmas. Others say Halloween is their favorite holiday. But for me, loud colorful Carnival and the onslaught of weekend parades brings me the most cheer.
Today was different for me. I became keenly aware of how little my husband does to help prepare for the week-long party before Lent. In fact, he does nothing. All week I’ve been on the fence about various Fat Tuesday festivities and which ones I wanted our family to attend. We usually ride in a few parades, but my energy hasn’t been what it normally is and my husband’s lack overall of involvement has reared it’s ugly little head again.
I’m all alone. I’m here for him, but he’s not here for me.
Going to parades requires some advanced planning like knowing where to park, what time to get there, what’s the weather going to be like, will we need food or drinks, and should we bring seats?
Riding in a parade requires other preparations like gathering and buying throws, coordinating costumes, and decorating the floats. It’s easier if you’re teaming up with 10-15 people, but one the parades we ride just our family in the float, so all of the preparations fall solely on… you guessed it… me!
Since we’ve married I’ve noticed a slow migration away from social activities. I used to throw house parties yet stopped altogether when my husband didn’t help with planning, prepping, cooking or cleanup, and seemed to be happy bad mouthing the attendees and showing me how little I was getting out of the affair.
We used to go out dancing and would say yes to formal balls, but the longer we’ve been together, the more likely my husband will have something else he’d rather do like work or fish or play on his tractor. And if I do really want to do something and convince him to join me, his overall lack of enthusiasm and disinterest in logistics makes the entire experience both boring and stressful for me which serves as a painfully slow way of teaching me I don’t really like it that much either.
It’s like I’m being sucked of all of my joy from the very relationship that promises to bring me so much. I question though what love really is if you know your wife most adores dancing around on a bright sunny March afternoon shouting Throw me something, Mister but you conveniently forget she even wanted to go, arrive late, sit there not saying a word, and try to leave at the earliest sign of a break. Your wife, who makes your fucking breakfast in the morning and sucks your dick every night, really really really loves a great parade, and even if you don’t, if you love her, wouldn’t you still try to help her have a good time?
And don’t get me started on all of the parties we miss and the gatherings we don’t attend. I get tired of carrying the fun stick and trying to spread my joy to someone who seems uninterested in any attempt to scrap up his own. So I don’t go and sit home alone instead.
I feel like men will do anything to catch a woman just to put her in a cage. As if she’s a pet, something furry and sweet, they want to keep her. They think the very light that made her irresistible will continue to glow even as they drag her further and further away from her source and the very things that make her that way.
I swore to my husband today, that he will never go with me to another Mardi Gras parade. He’s not fun anymore and doesn’t seem to even want to try. I’m finding my fun tribe, my glitter booty-shaking partners in crime. I’m busting out of this shitty little fucked up Bonnie and Clyde.
As if that wasn’t enough, he had the audacity to say sarcastically to me he was surprised the “laundry fairy” had shown up as he slurped down his favorite homemade smoothie. Fuck that. You don’t get to keep me, my dear. I’m not a pet. I need excitement, I need novelty. I need to be the star I am for real. Get used to seeing less of me.