It’s 8 p.m., the worst part of the night. It reminds you of how you feel waking up on Monday morning. You just finished dinner, the last bit of happiness you feel before you hear my voice later that night. Now it’s about waiting until you can call me. You got home from a long day of work at 6:30. Your wife had assured you that dinner would be ready at 7, but when 7 arrived, she was just getting started. What in the hell was she doing instead of preparing your dinner? It doesn’t matter. If she was attending to you and wanting to please you, she’d have been in the kitchen like she said.
It’s not sexism. You have an understanding. You work hard. You have to deliver. You don’t get to tell your boss something will be ready on Tuesday and then choose to deliver it on Wednesday instead! As much as you want to, you can’t fire your wife. But you can be more team oriented and include others. I am the latest member of your team (batting my lashes). I don’t cook your dinner (eventually) or accompany you to relatives’ weddings or play the good wife in any way. I didn’t sign up for that. I fulfill different needs, needs that the ball and chain decided a long time ago (but never told you) she was not going to carry through any longer.
Yes, my dear, 8 p.m. sucks. Dinner is over and you ponder watching a little television in attempt to numb the throbbing eagerness that is lurking in your crotch. Or maybe you pretend to run an errand so that you can tap into a few hot spots in order to vote for me, (and stare at my pic for a few minutes, of course) before going home to the perpetual nag. After going out to run your “errand” you try to distract yourself by taking the dogs for a long walk. But no matter what you do, I’m still dominating your thoughts, and what you are really doing is killing time until you can have me.
At around 10 p.m. you start watching for signs from your wife as to how tired she is. On the best of nights, she goes to bed around 10:30. More commonly, however, she stays up until after the 11 o’clock news. She thinks it’s romantic that you watch it together; meanwhile all it is to you is a countdown. You already have your finger on the remote when the anchors say goodbye. The lights are out, you give her a meaningless kiss on the lips goodnight, and you both lay down. It takes her about 10-15 minutes to fall asleep, all the while your heart is beating in your chest faster and faster. When she emits that first ugly snore, you know it’s time. Slowly, gently, you creep out of bed and leave the bedroom. Your phone is waiting for you on the kitchen counter. This little mobile device is the key to the ecstasy you could never deny yourself. You shoot me a text “She’s asleep. I’m ready.” Sixty seconds go by as you are staring at your phone anxiously. Suddenly you see a response pop up “Good boy. I’m so ready for our rendezvous, babe. Lay down on the living room couch. I will call you in less than 5 minutes.”
You rush over to the couch, and lay down, completely naked. Your body is sweating from the adrenaline, and it doesn’t bother you that a sweat stain of your ass will be left behind on your leather furniture. Your phone sits atop your stomach, rising up and down as you breathe. Finally it comes to life in vibration. You look at the screen and salivate to see “No Caller ID” as it always does when I call you. “Is your cock out babe?” You hear as soon as you answer.
Yes, your cock is out. It is most definitely out. You describe your raging hard erection to me, almost as if by doing so you’ll make me want to pleasure it even more. And you’re right. Your cock and you telling me how I make it feel is what does it for me! And that makes me to want to pleasure you all the more. I might even have to make you cum twice given that you stayed up late to be with me. You got married so you could have stability (or some shit.) You found me because you need more than just being a husband. You are a man, and men have needs beyond family.
You need me tonight and I’m here for you.