Thursday, March 19, 2009


I’m seeing someone. Over me, under me, behind me, dressed in leather or military regalia. It’s a carnally combustible relationship that’s been lacking in one thing that no massive rod, bondage gear, or well-trained mouth can deliver: balance.

Ah, the extreme pleasure of simply strolling down the vegetable aisle together. Deciding what amount of pulp should be in our shared morning juice. Discussing the finer points of raw chicken, whole, quartered, organic, or not. I now know that joy!

What tops seeing your man dressed in leather, ink, and a t-shirt that brags “HARDCORE”? Your man dressed in leather, ink and a hardcore t-shirt carrying two bags of groceries with enough sensible foods to supply 5 quiet nights at home.

I’ve enjoyed years of domestic lifestyle ennui: the razor blade begging conversations about what to make for dinner. I swore those days off forever. Why are they suddenly sending sudden wetness to my heart, soul, and yoni? Balance! When those relationships lack fire, home cooked meals can never be heated to the point of becoming truly satisfying.

How can any relationship sustain passion to keep it interesting beyond the 6 month point? And what keeps couch couples from spreading apart? I’ve had friends that have survived cock softening years of diaper changes, unpaid bills, marital ups and downs, and how do they do it? What is the glue? The timeless sexual connection when two people get it right. Similarly, can the simple infusion of shared laundry loads keep my newly found lust life alive?

But I’m not living for forever, or even 6 months from now. I have my eye on the weekend, the sublimely ever-surprising sex, and the possibly on par experience of delving into his mind blowing herb roasted chicken once again; both of us fully satisfied, smiling, with grease slicked chins.

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