Dumpster-Dancer

It only took a couple of minutes.

She led her husband to a big throne chair where everyone could watch, pushed him back into it, knelt between his knees on the hard concrete, and aggressively unzipped him. It was the most enthusiastic blow job I've ever seen. He was impressively big. Still she took him all the way down her throat and bobbed that way for many seconds (and it was a really awkward position, requiring her to bend her head what had to be painfully far back). When coming up for air, she filled in with energetic sucking and licking. It was a porn star perfect. And it conveyed all the love, connection and affection that a farmer shows as he slaps the milking machine on a dairy cow's teats.

Done, she puffed out her cheeks, furiously rubbed the cum off her lips and darted off to the bathroom to spit and wash her mouth out . . . leaving him alone to tuck his wilting member away as we mostly all began to avert our eyes.

She returned with a spring in her step, explaining “I've wanted to come here for so long, so I wanted to thank him for bringing me.”

She thought she was giving him a gift, but it was one more tragedy in the slow rolling disaster that was her life.

As often happens when a strong willed woman pairs with a normal man, she constantly felt like something was missing in her marriage and life. Brilliantly smart and aggressive, she planned his sales call routes so he could make more stops in less time. Then she went on-line and found him a much better paying job with better advancement opportunities. Soon she got licensed so she could get a job with the same company so they could travel together. She found them a house and found a way to get the mortgage. She remodeled it and built the kids furniture.

Everything in their lives revolved around her energy, her ambition, and her desires. Meanwhile, he went to work, reliably, every day. He brought in the steady paychecks. He never really had to do much beyond that because she took care of everything. She planned everything.

And she felt alone, confused, angry, frustrated and most of all, scared. She could never relax.

Lucky women learn, somewhere along the way, to play the masculine / feminine dance. They DRAW OUT the masculine essence of their men and relax into it as life allows. Unlucky women just take care of everything, allowing their men to relax and become complacent, and then they wonder why something feels out of place.

The saddest of all find themselves in the bathroom spitting alone in the most intimate of moments.