What I learned from swingers this weekend

moist and I fantasized about how well he would interview for my fuck buddy position. This kind of thinking should be a clear indication that I’m not ready to handle a man who feels so strongly about me that he would tattoo my name on his chest, or maybe it means the exact opposite?

I didn’t give Mr. Hotness my number, only took his. I didn’t let my desire to fuck him lead me to kicking him out of my bed and cleaning up condom wrappers at 5AM either---a fact I’m very proud of. What I’m not proud of is ignoring Mr. Tattoo’s phone calls so that I could listen to Mr. Hotness tell me how he works out 2 hours a day everyday because he’s a baseball player. He put my hand on his stomach to prove it. It was rock hard, just like I imagined his cock would be. I kindly replied that my vagina was my strongest muscle. His response went something like, "I'd enjoy working it out sometime." And since it was a swinger’s meet and greet, and he was an athlete, I imagined he wouldn’t mind working out half the vaginas in the room. That’s when it hit me: I really didn’t care, I just wanted to fuck him.

[image-1]That lack of emotional connection would make most people feel uncomfortable, maybe cheap, like there’s something wrong with them, but I no longer think like that. I’m able to look at sex like men have for eons.

This helped me come to the conclusion that yes, I want a husband, someone I can share love and sadness with, kiss goodnight and wake up to everyday. A person to share my successes and failures, someone who’s still going to love me when I’m old and gray and my tits hang to my knees, but I also want a boyfriend who’s going to remind me why I have a husband.