Quote:
Originally Posted by Claire She Blows
... And to CLAIRE-ify, I'm only interested in hearing from the married hobbyists not getting it enough at home. Or the divorced guys who didn't get it enough and now they're divorced because of it. I'm not interested in hearing from the single guys, and I don't really care about the hobbyists who are married and getting it on the regular but just like a little strange. I just need the unhappily married hobbyists' opinions please.
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We might have a category problem here. I certainly qualify as a married guy not getting it at home, but -- oddly -- I don't know that I'd say I'm "unhappily married." I've been married since early 1975, so if my arithmetic is correct, I'm coming up on 42 years. Very little sex in the last ten years, and none at all the last six or seven. I'm 62, she's 63. I say I'm not unhappily married because I'm not angry with her, and we're friends in a pretty deep and comprehensive way, and there's love there, of a sort. How would it be otherwise, after all those years, raising children, burying parents, and all the rest? We live like comfortable roommates. As I said, I ain't mad ... what would be the point? She is who she is, and that's that. I did go through a few years back then when she unilaterally retired from sex in which I was sad, and kind of quietly bitter. But that does no good ... just makes everybody unhappy, me most of all.
One thing that surprised me, and that I still don't get, is the method by which she retired. I never did hear a "no," really. If I were to go upstairs right now and jump on board, she'd be surprised, and she'd be unamused, but she wouldn't say no. What I didn't realize is how many ways a woman has to say "no" without ever saying it. She can always go to bed in her flannel nightie, looking like Granny Appalachia. She can stop keeping herself clean. I remember one occasion, near the end, when I went to the bathroom afterward and saw that I had some fecal matter to clean off my penis (and no, we weren't doing anal, either). Another time, I was down south doing oral, and ... well, I was used to experiencing some pretty funky smells and tastes down there, but this time I ended up washing shit off my face. Yes, she knew about this, and I mentioned it more than once, and ... nothing changed. I can also report that it's a mood-breaker when you insert penis in vagina and then your scrotal sack is tickled by the breeze of her farts. No embarrassment, no "excuse me," just the unspoken "take it or leave it, and I'd really just as soon you leave it."
It kind of hurts.
So I've seen a handful of working women, and there's one that I get to see once a year when I go through Dallas, and one that I see basically once a month in Indianapolis, and they all have several things in common. They're nice, normal-type women, overweight to one degree or another (as most all of us Americans are); they either don't find sex disgusting or are willing to pretend convincingly that they don't; and they're squeaky-clean and put a modicum of effort into their grooming and appearance. And given where I'm coming from, that's enough to qualify them as full-up love goddesses.
I'm getting a little older every day, and one of these years, I'll be finished with sex, too. But I'm not at all sure I'll leave this demimonde, even then. I'm apt to continue to pay their rates, even if all I can do is sit down for a couple of hours, drink iced tea, and play a few hands of cards. I am grateful for the simple pleasure, the sense of acceptance, and the measure of affection (real or simulated) that I've received in return for fairly modest sums of money. Thank you, ladies.
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