Tag Archives: married erotics

Used to Losing in Court

I cried a river yesterday.

Court and I were not made for each other, that’s for sure. I’m way too emotional in an environment of the mind. My husband should have come with me, he should have been by my side. I didn’t think about it until it was too late and the attorneys were rattling off compromises like auctioneers. I was feeling alone and overwhelmed, not sure who to trust, not wanting to fuck my decision up, not wanting to ever come back again.

A few miles from the courthouse is a deep pile of rocks that line a point by the ocean. It’s secluded and peaceful because few people brave the climb down to find it. Barefoot is how I got down with my heels in my hand. I cried harder down there, engulfed in the late February wind, the loud haunting call of the seagulls, the overcast sadness on everything and the repeating words coming from within. You lost again. You always lose to him. Your ex always wins.

Back to Fab

My husband was on his back when I joined him in bed last night. We talked like lovers do about our day, what we loved about dinner, and the sex we had the night before.

“Your face was buried in my pussy, sweetheart. It was terrific! I wrote all about it on my blog,” I said rubbing his chest up and down taking into account the length of the generally long hairs that cover his body. They are shorter now. He must have done a quick shave.

Like a Downtown Parade

He ate me out for an hour at least, licking my clit and fingering my pussy. I liked the short strokes pressing on the back side of my clit. My husband calls that the little dick guy. I don’t know exactly which of his fingers he was using, but it felt kinda like a thumb. […]

In Her Pearls

Our alarm went off and we assumed the puzzle piece position of our love. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stella, my queen, my whore, my lover. I’m so in love with you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day my king. I love you so much too.”

I ordered my own red, pink and white roses, and planned to make tacos for dinner. I hope he doesn’t buy chocolate hearts and dorky cards. He should know at this point I’m picky and only eat a few types of dark chocolate.

That Red Sweater

You know sometimes you just next to stay home, watch Netflix, and drink wine and let your usual yoga class slip by unattended. That was my night last night except that I also cooked dinner in my new InstaPot, red beans and rice with grass fed turkey sausage. It took a few glasses of wine before I could figure out how to use the darn thing without hurting myself.

While it heated up, I whipped up some mashed cauliflower with real mozzarella cheese. My husband loves that stuff but I accidentally ate it all between sips of my pinot. Oops. Not sure eating an entire head of cauliflower is healthy however you want to spin it. I believe that everything is good in moderation, which also means that everything is bad if taken to the extreme.

Two Pump Chump

We had sex for two minutes this morning. It was two minutes longer than I desired.

It’s funny how you can be so attracted to someone and want to touch all over them constantly yet not feel an immediate pull to fuck. That’s what it feels like for me right now.

It’s a moving target, my daily horniness rating that is On my days it ranges from absolutely nothing to a twinge of interest followed by an extreme annoyance before landing on a momentary acceptance . Occasionally I’m dying to be smothered under my husband’s masculine body and aching with the impact of each progressively deeper thrust, but it’s not as often as I’d like it to be and no where near as much as he wants.