Estrogensensual

When made love to by a man, it should be like an overdose of tryptophan. I mean, it really is debilitating and quite embarrassing sometimes, the way he can put me down. He makes me come at will, and it isn’t just that I wanna sit on the couch and watch the Macy’s Day Parade kind of coma either, but the one where I can’t even hold myself up on all fours and collapse like an overcooked noodle in my own wet spots kind of coma. I guess that can be my special way of giving thanks. Well, if you consider drooling in fetal position and mumbling both thanks and apologies incoherently an adequate form of flattery after a fuck-lobotomy as much of a compliment as he does, but I digress. Thanksgiving has always been his favorite holiday, but after our divorces, we both have found ourselves children-less as our modern-day Brady Bunch is scattered, and we find a whole new way of giving thanks. We don’t entertain at our home and travel instead to nearby family or friends to celebrate, and we pretty m...

You know how scientific reports find that people think that they are better looking than they actually are; well, apparently, the bedroom mirror agrees. What I imagine in my head is always hotter than all get out, but after I saw myself in the mirror, I should consider myself lucky that my wife didn’t just get up and get out. I prefer to remain nearsighted and much rather see what’s on my plate up close than see it through glass anyway. Let’s just say that when I saw myself in the mirror, and if I weren’t busy, I might have run myself, leaving my gorgeous wife in the hands of that Yeti. It was one of those quick peripheral glances, and it reminded me of one of those grainy Bigfoot sighting photos, and it gave me quite the start. I don’t want to get carried away more than I already have with the details because that would be defeating the purpose, but all I’m saying is that a good imagination is apparently a healthy and essential gift, especially for my wife, but I digress. It was a ...