“Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.”
Shame on me. Shame, shame, shame.
We are just about ready to close on our new house. We are packing boxes for the move. B is acting like the man I used to know…loving, taking my hand, looking into my eyes, telling me he loves me numerous times a day. I feel like a school girl again. Life is good. Until Tuesday.
At 7 am B walks downstairs and tells me he has not been feeling good since Friday. He needs to go to the doctor. Oh, and he feels guilty that I went for HIV test after finding out about his three year affair with our tour guide in Vietnam and he will get tested just in case. Oh and he has something on his dick.
He returns home.
“So did the doctor look at your dick?”
“NO, I didn’t show it to him, He just ordered panels.”
“Okay, that makes no sense. Why would you go and worry you have something but not show it to him?”
Let me look. I see nothing. My antenna are now a mile high in the sky. Well, actually they were when he told me he was going to the doctor in the weird way he did so. That is just not like him.
On Wednesday morning he has had night sweats for three days and is up at 2 am. He is frantic. He tells me he is feeling really ill and has been sick for days and lost 6 pounds yesterday. He needs to go to the ER now. The man is out of his mind kind of frantic. Crazy nuts kind of frantic. Weird. As he is about to leave he grabs my hand and says:
“I think I caught something. While you took our son to a specialist on Friday (he fractured a bone Thursday) I went to a massage parlor and had unprotected sex. I swear I have never done anything like that before. That is why I have been avoiding you sexually. I think I caught something and don’t want to give it to you.” (He is still waiting for those Brownie points!)
“Wow,” I say. “If you wanted a divorce all you had to do was ask.”
And off he goes.
That morning I hired an attorney. I am filing for divorce. I also asked the court to step in and oversee a large sum of money that is coming our way the last day of the month. I have to protect our family and make sure that he won’t get the money and skip town to Vietnam with all of it, leaving me unable to care for our kids. Do I think he would do that? NO. Am I sure? NO. I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t believe anything anymore. I have been living an illusion for these past many years. I also wonder if he is suffering from mental illness that runs in his family.
He, of course, is down on one knee begging for forgiveness. Trying to get me to move with him while he “works on himself.” He is currently at a Catholic church praying for God to help him. He keeps sending me articles like “Five Reasons Christians Fail to Overcome Lust.” (Maybe the problem is you are not a Christian or you are trying to act like something you are not?)
Meanwhile, I flew to New York yesterday to clear my head and be with my son. I am trying to practice compassion for myself, love myself and just be kind to myself. I have had three years of chaos and I just want the freedom to grieve, take it easy and let someone take care of me for a change.
Our children who live at home are unaware of what is going on at this point. I am:
and wondering how I will ever be able to trust again.
I am trying not to be angry or bitter as It will only hurt me in the end. BUT…
my dreams have been thrown down the rabbit hole again but this time there is no soft landing. I am bruised and broken but somehow I will survive.
You remind me that when you first asked for the “maybe divorce” I asked for a year to try and make our marriage better. Now, 2 1/2 years later, me doing the hard work of psychotherapy, and you working your dick into a constant state of arousal as you thought about her; you want 6 months to show you that you do love me and want to be with me…FOREVER. So let me ask you:
How long will you wait for me to decide our fate?
Will you still wait for me even if it takes as many days
As the number of times you thought of her?
Will you still wait for me
The number of days that you fucked her
Slow and steady
Creating a woman whose perfection
Existed only in your mind?
Will you wait as many months
As the number of times you were fucking me
The mother of your children
While you were thinking of her?
Will you wait
As often as you contemplated divorcing me
While you imagined her
So easily replacing me
And taking up my space in your life?
How many days are you willing to wait?
Is it the number of slutty pictures you exchanged
Over your company phone
Bringing down the house of cards
On which your bodies were forever imprinted
Or the number of times you were messenging her
While I waited in the bedroom for you alone?
Will you wait
As long as you made me
CHANGE who I was in order
To be more like her?
Will you still be there
If it takes me the number of
Lost kisses and missed opportunities?
That you denied us
Because you felt guilty for betraying her?
Will you wait for me if it takes
Me 2 1/2 years to decide that
That I might no longer love you?
Or the number of days that I acted the fool
Believing I was your one and only
When she was across the ocean
Believing so too?
How many days will you wait?
The number of days you have
Shortened my life due to the
worry and pain you have inflicted
Upon my sad and trusting soul?
Or will you wait
The number of days
That equal the number of dollars
That you sent to her
Or the number of dresses she bought
With which to turn you on
When you took them off in your head
Maybe you will wait for the
Same amount of time that you
Have put me through hell
All 921 Days
All 132 Weeks
All 30 Months
All 22,104 Hours
All 1,326,240 Minutes
All 79,574,400 Seconds
Or Will You Be A Coward
And Will You Wait Until Tomorrow?
So here’s one for you. A nasty pornographic post by nasty-gram Grandma.
So last week I took my daughter and her two adorable but somewhat whiney kids to the airport. We stayed at a very nice hotel by LAX. It was the Marriott Residence Inn. It was there that my very pornographic thought began to take shape and a few days later it morphed into something quite disturbing. By then the grandkids had been gone for four days and it felt “safe” and not so unseemly to be having thoughts that consisted of anything less that coloring books, reading fairy tales and giving my arms a workout by pushing the little squirts high into the sky as they chorused “Higher, Grandma” at the local playground. Seems I needed a little down time from Doc McStuffins to get my mind back in the gutter.
It was at the check-in at said hotel that I first noticed Wally. He was one of those slick and shiny kind of dudes. You know, the kind who you pay just a little bit of attention to and he is at your beck and call for life. The kind your mother always warned you about, yet, I couldn’t help myself… I found him fascinating at first glance. We got to “talking” which was a little difficult because of his accent but his manners were impeccable and he was easy to talk with…straightforward while saying all the right “feel good” words. I fantasized inviting him to my room but unfortunately I was not alone. I had my daughter and the grandkids sharing my room. And so I reluctantly bid him goodbye knowing that had the circumstances been different I might have taken him out for a little test drive. Frankly, I have rarely felt that kind of electrical current with anyone and never with someone like him before.
I went downstairs a little while later with my granddaughter just to see if I could get a glimpse of him. Sure enough, he was standing by the elevator. While perfectly polite he seemed a little nervous around “the little one” acting like he was afraid she might just push his buttons. I didn’t know what to make of it. That and the fact, he kept waiting for the elevator and if anyone came to use it he wouldn’t get on and would wait for another. Strange. I began to doubt my initial impression. Maybe it was my punishment for being a little too friendly with Wally when I am, in fact, still married to B. Come to think of it, it did feel kind of like cheating but he was so cute and the flirting was harmless. Frankly, what is good for the goose is good for the gander and B would never know any better. I began to fantasize about letting Wally park his boots under my bed for a night of fun.
“This is how affairs begin! Shame…shame…shame,” giving my conscious a bit of a flogging while saying ten “Hail Marys” for good measure. Sure it seems all sweet and innocent now, I reminded myself, but we know how these things go…broken hearts and tears. Buckets of them. Families ripped apart by lust. It just wasn’t worth it. But still….
Fast forward two hours and I was parched. I decided to call down and order room service. After I placed my order I heard some background noise and the clerk replied, “Wally will be bringing your order up shortly.”
Wally! My Wally? Oh crap I thought. How am I going to explain this to my daughter. I was mortified. I tried to get her to take the kids down to the pool but she wouldn’t. I offered her $50 bucks to take the kids to dinner but she wasn’t biting.
“Geez, mom. Are you trying to get rid of us?” she said with a laugh.
If she only knew.
Ten minutes later the phone rang and Wally told me he was outside of my door with my order. I suddenly felt weak at the knees and a little faint yet my body began to feel slightly tingly all over. Wally wanted me! I mean, what sort of creature did this sort of thing? It was something straight out of a Hollywood Movie.
So after a slight hesitation, I opened the door, and there he was in all his glory.
“I have your order, Madame”
I wanted to die right then and there.
“Who is it, Mom.?”
“It’s Wally the Butler”
” I didn’t know this place had butlers,” she called out from her bedroom suite.
“Yeah, its a new feature,” I replied nervously as I grinned at the man of my dreams.
I reached for my order and as I did my arm brushed against him. Suddenly I felt him go cold as he turned to me and said:
And just like that he was gone.
It’s been a week since I last saw Wally and my heart aches. The things he could have done for me (that’s where things get a little x-rated). The things I could have programed him to do!
“That’s right, Wally, a little more to the left. Ohhhhhhhh….yes. Right there. That is perfect.”
Yep, welcome to the 21st Century, Grandma! If this is what the future holds then I am all in!
The other day I mentioned porn and that got me to thinking. After much consideration I have come to the unequivocal conclusion that men should be forever banned from the making of porn films. Not only that they should not be able to write porn, direct porn, or cast the stars of these low budget features; they probably shouldn’t be able to watch them either.
I will confess right here I am not a big fan of the genre. I don’t like how women are demeaned and objectified. I don’t like “please me no matter what” attitudes of the men involved. But most of all I don’t like the plots. Actually, there are no real plots and that is exactly where the trouble lies.
Men make porn the same way they played with their toy cars when they were kids. First off, they look for the most elusive or expensive model there is. Always.Who cares about what the color is as long as it’s a Porsche! This is followed by further scrutiny about how they will look driving the car and how fast can they can get into it and go. Next up: Leather or cloth seats? Pumped up tires or standard? With a bra or without? Essentially nothing has changed. Just pull it out back and let it rip. Banging into as many as they can becomes the name of the game, both young and old.
Now, I am not advocating more porn but I know that if women made porn there would be real plots. Instead of sex occurring one minute after the show began, it would take at least a half hour of fancy dresses with numerous costume changes, plenty of castles, and lots kissing and foreplay. The sets wouldn’t be sleazy formica kitchen countertops but fancy feather beds, lush tropical beach settees, and foods like grapes, whipped cream and caviar acting as aphrodisiacs.
I guarantee you that if women made porn the actors would all have straight dicks and perfect teeth. The men would have normal sized tools instead of scary looking tree trucks and the woman would all be able to walk upright instead of bent-over due to the size of their breasts. The actors would all manage to look like your fantasy lover not something that was drug in off of the street. And the sex act itself, well, it would last exactly 22.2 minutes because we all know what happens to our tender parts if you go much longer than that. No woman should ever be put in the position where she has to say, “You are wearing out your welcome.” THAT look of “GET THE HELL OUT” that always crosses the woman’s face in man-made porn would never occur in a film created by gals.
If women made porn they would turn it into a series in which the viewer knew everything about the characters and cared for them like their own family members. Debbie would do Dallas but she would also do it in the blooming rose gardens of Versailles. By the end of the show you would know all of Debbie’s friends, her parents and her favorite food. She would be a fully developed person, not just a sex machine. And while Debbie and Grant were getting it on in the opera box but we would also get to see the Joffrey Ballet set the mood as they performed a portion of The Nutcracker at the same time.
You see, if women made porn it would be something grand.It would be something your husband would call you about to remind you to chill the wine because tonight is “our night to watch Upstairs and Downstairs too.” And if there were English accents involved it would be all the better to set the mood.
Women based porn would be something women wanted to watch and men too. It would increase desire and promote safe sex. And I am willing to bet if this were the type of porn that we spent watching with our partner we would all be having a whole lot more pleasurable and sexy sex instead of demeaning sex…and isn’t that what the goal should be in the first place?
The other afternoon B and I were stretched out on the sofa just enjoying the time spent together when all of a sudden he did it…one small touch sent sparks to my nipples and I groaned. Not one of the quiet as a mouse groans but the kind that radiate deep below your belly in that soft and slightly wet place that knows you are suddenly exploding into sexual awakening and just wants to help get you in the mood…quickly!
“What was that noise?” Andre yells down from the family room upstairs. “Did someone step on the dogs tail again?”
Oh, God, please …. NO. Stay upstairs. JUST STAY UPSTAIRS.
B reaches for me and all the struggles of the past year seem to melt away. I am happy that we still have this lovely hot connection. A place where we can “get into” each other once again and let our hurts vanish for awhile.
B starts to put the tease on me. His kisses yield my body and I melt into him. He begins brushing me softly and then with slightly more pressure, so that my back arches higher, wanting to him to reach those high places that often get ignored. Another audible sigh starts in my toes with its attending electrical current snapping awake those parts of my body that are still in “kid induced limbo” and escapes from my lips…”ohhhhh…myyyyy” I whisper with delight and a sense of impatience. To borrow a phrase from my friend, Marvin Gaye, “Lets get it on!”
B gets the hint and whispers “Come on baby, lets go upstairs.” I consider the odds of completing this fantasia while our children are awake. One kid, the most perceptive one is gone. According to my calculations that gives us delightfully low only 661/3% chance of being interrupted or “caught.” A bookie would faint with those odds at this house. I quickly decide its a chance I can live with. I even let the dog in the house so he won’t be barking and whinning at the door surely killing this arson-setting spark that we have set of which has the possibility of setting this place on fire.
This feels like the old days. The Lets See What You Are Made Of kinds of days. They are those raw, needy, urgent, life affirming, first coming together moments of young ferocious sex. That kind that shakes you down to your core and tears open you heart with the kind of lust that has enough energy to change to course of rivers and perhaps even part the Red Sea.
I would like to say we made it to the comfort of our bed but I can’t. The bathroom provided multiple view points and B is harder than the granite countertop that I laying across. My legs grip B like a cowgirl riding bareback, calves against his muscular flank. I must say I was tempted to make a dramatic sweep to clear the counter but I will confess that the thought of what it would cost to replace my Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue (my ONLY expensive I WANT TO FUCK YOUR LIGHTS OUT scent) and my favorite #242 lipstick made me hold back instead of sail. I was filled with him… all of him. My head.. with sexy “take me now” thoughts of him. My nose… with the musky scent of his body. My eyes… taking in the delightful naked sight of him taking in me, and well, those other parts too. It was hot but with a children-are-in-the-house type of seductive quiet. It was oh-so-sexy and desperately needed.
Everything was perfect…until the dog started howling. Loud, long, and off-key. A fingernails on the blackboard sound.
“Andre,” I manage to pant/yell from the bathroom. “Please go let the dog in.”
I hear the door slide open and the howling stops. But we continue on for as long as age, children in the house, and howling dogs let you. And I am reminded once again…this is why I married this man!
Later, in the evening Andre looks at me with a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his face. He is one of the smartest people I know and the autism just adds to it because he recognizes things and tunes into things that most of us don’t.
“Mom, did you and Dad have a good time this afternoon?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know this afternoon when the dog was howling.”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand”
“Haven’t you figured out yet that every time you and Dad have sex the dog howls?” he replies with a laugh. ” I’ve noticed he’s been howling quite a bit lately.”
Now it is my turn to blush.
I just returned from the beach where it rained 3/4 of the time we were there but I loved it anyway. Something about that salt air makes me feel calm and peaceful. There I can enjoy all that life has to offer…easily. I am thinking if that is all it takes perhaps I should buy a noise machine that sounds like waves and an automatic scent sprayer that evokes that sea salt smell so I can trick myself into bliss 24 hours a day.
Speaking of bliss, while we were up north, B shaved off his beard and moustache. I haven’t seen him without it for over 25 years. Five of his six children had NEVER seen him that way either. It was quite a shock. But underneath it all there was something edgy and sexy about having a new man by my side. The smooth skin of his face now matches the smoothness of his balls and it does mind-tripping things to the fingers as they slide along matching parts of his body located at different ends. I have to admit I felt a little bit like Mrs. Robinson taking her young smooth talking boy to bed with her but take him I did and was I ever glad I did! After 30 years of stubble… smooth felt like velvet on my body and my body responded to these new sensations extremely well especially for a 50+ year old woman with four children sleeping under our roof.
Tomorrow (which is now today as I write this) I leave for the southern part of the state where I will spend time with my kids and doctors. When I will write the magazine article that is due sometime in the next six days is beyond me but who cares…I have decided to be carefree and refuse to worry about what MIGHT bite me in the ass because of it! Until then, I am heading upstairs to get in touch with my husband’s new bare-ass naked wild side.
I never thought that men in kilts would do anything for me. I mean, after all, knobby knees don’t make me weak in the joints. And hairy legs just make me look at my own and run for the razor. Men in knee highs…well, it is the stuff that horror movies are made of and I have never really had the inclination to lift a skirt regardless of who it belongs to. But this weekend might have changed all that.
Over the past four years or so I have had to get used to watching my husband walk around in a kilt. This kilt-wearing began after a trip to Scotland. I was interviewing a bagpipe maker and B went along for the ride. As we exited the quaint shop in Sterling he said, “I think I want to play the bagpipes.” I almost fell to my knees. First off, B had never played an instrument in his entire life and even the best piper can at times sound like a goat caught in a fence. The odds were not in his favor for becoming the next “Bach of the Bagpipes.” Secondly, for the most part men like B just don’t wear kilts. They wear hardhats, they wear steel-toed boots and they wear Calvin’s tighty whities. They wear those whities because boxers make them highly uncomfortable… there is not enough fabric to protect and hold up what lies within. So an open-air let-’em hang kilt…forget it…I just couldn’t imagine such a thing would ever happen. I was wrong.
Not only did B buy his pipes he came home and found a pipe band to teach him how to play. It was only a short time later that this Irish lad came home attired in a Scotman’s clothes complete with a sporin. The first time I saw him I looked at those knee socks and thought, “Well there is no way we will ever have sex again!” But eventually I got used his tartan as his ability to play and his demand increased. Now he is a full-fledged member of the band and spends time performing at funerals, store openings and Celtic Festivals. But still the kilt just didn’t do much for me…until this weekend…Really.
Now I don’t know if it was the whiskies talking or the rain but about 2 hours after I started drinking those men in plaid started to look mighty fine. The more I drank the better they looked and those knee socks began to even look like something that might come handy in the bedroom.
And then I spotted my husband… glory be…that Irishman looked better than any Scot in the place. As we stood listening to the rockin’out pipers of Celtica I put my hand on his butt and…oh laa laa…no thick blue jean material between me and his Calvins and… it felt round and good. Really…the perfect handful.
“Hmmm, maybe I have been missing out on something,” I thought. “I better test this out some more.”
So I did.
That butt felt better the second time around. And I found out the benefit of a man in a kilt. Just where those folds open … how…and why. But I’ve never been one to kiss and tell. Guess you just better go out and find yourself your own man in a kilt so you can find out just exactly what they wear (or don’t) under there and grab your own handful…you won’t be disappointed.
This weekend we have hired a sitter and will be without our darling children for 24 hours…I can’t wait! But before we go away I will be telling B something that he needs to know to make our time together perfect.
“Shhhh…don’t say a word.”
Don’t say a word as we walk towards the bedroom. Don’t utter a sound as we pull back the sheets. Don’t whisper a word as we undress (unless you want to tell me how sexy I look). And PLEASE, JUST PLEASE, don’t say anything (nada, nothing) while we are making love.
I know a lot of women like to hear sex talk while they are indulging in adult time with their partner. I am not usually one of them. Okay, maybe sometimes I am, but definitely not tonight. Frankly, I don’t want to hear your fantasies while we are trying to create our own. Worse…I don’t want you intruding on the fantasy that is going on in my own head by imploding/imposing yours onto mine. Believe me they are two totally different shows. Mine is opera and yours is grunge heavy metal. Mine is A Walk In The Clouds while yours is James Bond. Tonight, I just don’t want to hear “it”…I want to hear “you.”
The only external thing I want to hear soft sax music in the background. Besides that, I just want to hear your heart beating as I lay my head on your chest and I want to listen to it quicken when I put my hand between your legs. I want to hear that sigh you make when we first connect with one another and I want to see your blue eyes sparkle at that instant we reach deep into the most intimate of places. I want to eavesdrop on your body’s reactions as we touch one another deeply and passionately. And I want to hear that rumble that starts in your soul and spreads through your body before we both explode.
I want to hear all of you tonight. So please.. “Shhh…don’t say a word!”
Feeling your body under mine
As we ride to far away places
In that custom saddle we created so long ago
I am reminded that the first part of our odyssey
Made me feel warm, safe, and secure
Believing that passion and love would serve us well
For many years to come
Yet, as the journey continued through our ages
To different and strange unexplored lands
I found that as we rode together we
Struggled to stay insync to the pounding rhythm of life and each other
In this saddle we created and shined to perfection together
Oh so many years ago
Then slowly our bodies began to move to different beats
The spark no longer igniting when flesh richcheted against flesh
Our timing aberrant from what had come before
Akwardly and in silence we rode through valleys so deep and low
They threatened to pull us under
As we wrapped ourselves each in our own protective gear
Bracing ourselves and sitting deep in the saddle spooning
No longer astride one another
During this long exhausting ride
The passion for this particular pilgrimage waning
The heat that once kept us warm
Cooling to small embers and threatening
To extinguish themselves all together
As the light faded and disappeared behind the mountains before us
No longer straddling one atop the another on this migration
But one of us down… crawling on the ground
By some silent force of nature
That was unwilling to give up or give in
But yet we pressed on
Scraping raw our knees
Scooping out our souls
Our sexual natures vanished somewhere within Mother Nature herself
We traveled wearily like this for so long
Lost, together… yet alone
Until in desperation we finally reached out for the reins to steady and guide us
The accidental brushing together of two souls
Once again serving to remind us of all we have endured
And all we have yet to discover
So now we join hands to do battle
Against all that has kept us apart from one another
And we fight Mother Nature to reclaim our sexuality
The passion igniting our bodies and sweeping us together
And once again we quiver deep within one another
Grinding deep within that saddle
As we climb to the pinnacle of our lives
Looking over the ridge to the future that awaits us
Hanging on for dear life together once again
Our devotion rekindled each for the other
In that saddle that was custom made the two of us
In which we fit together so well
No longer afraid
But curious about where we will end up
On this sojourn through married life