I'm only looking for Marc

Husband is in our bedroom working. Children are playing around the house. In the middle of typical weekend afternoon chaos - toys, shoes, pajamas, and stuffed animals strewn about the living room - I've found a moment to disappear into my keyboard for another short, sweet post.

Reflection is seductive. I'm reminiscing. I'm reliving a past life when I was reckless. When I was in therapy. When I boozed, abused marijuana and dabbled in cocaine. When I was in grad school, pretending to be an adult. Before I met my husband. Before I ever thought I'd have a husband. Or children. Or live beneath the Mason Dixon line and spend my days bored and shamed into gratitude for having a man who preferred having a housewife.

I'm probably more submissive now than I've ever been. The problem is, it doesn't make me come. My husband grabs me every chance he gets, every single day. All throughout the day, like when I'm doing dishes or if I walk past him in the hall or if he catches me bending down in the laundry room. He grabs onto me, around my waist and hips, smacks my backside, pins me to the counter from behind. And it's annoying as all get out because I always know it's coming.

I tell him it annoys me, that he gets in the way of me doing chores. He pesters me about my sexiness, says he can't help it. He tells me I'm wrong for resisting him because I'm his wife and I belong to him.

If I really belonged to him, he'd make me feel it. He'd be less accessible. He'd make me his toy. He would play with me, tease me with his restraint. He'd make me miss his hands, his gaze, scent, heat. He'd remind me what I'm missing by depriving me. He'd prove to me how deeply I crave him. He wouldn't have to tell me. I would know I was his.

I'd never resist him. I would yearn for him. He would make me earn it. I would delight in proving my worthiness on my knees, bent over, or on my back with his semen smeared across my face. I would do what ever he instructed (unless I didn't know how, of course, and then he would teach me). Anything to hear him tell me I was his good girl.

Or, maybe he would ask me if I liked being his black whore. Like Marc did... But Marc was white and my husband is black, just like me. So, probably not.

Nap time. Tacos for dinner.

I'll keep this one short and sweet. My two little ones are sitting on the couch across the living room from me watching kiddie blogs on youtube. Maybe some people would feel guilty, but I don't. I'm a good girl. I've always been a very good girl. Loyal. Devoted. Generous. Nurturing. And I'm still those things. I'm not going to screw around on my husband. I love him. I love our life. I love our family. 

I'm just still hooked on Marc. Or the idea of him. I met him many years ago on CL. It was totally random. Of course, he initiated it. Big hot sex freak that he was, and probably still is, even if he keeps it all to himself, and I really hope he doesn't because he's just too damn freaky to keep all that freakiness concealed (yes, I know this is a run on sentence!).

But anyway, this isn't about me now, or him then. This is about before I ever met him. 

OK, remember when I said I'm a good girl? That's still true, but I wasn't exactly prudish. I always liked men. Thinking about men, talking to men, dating men, having sex with men, being in committed relationships with men. So, yes, even though I'm a good girl, I've always been into sex with men.

I can say that, right? I assume I'm in a nonjudgmental space.

I'm not so naive to think a person wouldn't ask wtf was I doing on CL in the first place... It wasn't like that. (It was kind of like that.)

I was licking my wounds. I'd hooked up with someone a few weeks beforehand and he was a fuckboy. Total passive aggressive who continually made plans with me only to flake, apologize, reschedule and flake some more. One of those manchildren who didn't know how to just say he wasn't into it. So, I was pissed at this guy and venting on Rants & Raves. I don't even know what I wrote, but I know I was miffed. Probably stoned, too.

Marc responded to my post. He emailed me directly. The address was Numero Uno @ something I can't remember.

(I'm leaving these details on purpose, btw. As you know, I'm LOOKING for this guy...)

I wish I could pull up the emails so I could copy and paste them and you could all bear witness to his alphaness oozing through the internets the way I did. Unfortunately, the email address I used back then got purged from inactivity. I can't remember exactly what he said, but what I can tell you is that he was attentive. Responsive. Focused. He actually corresponded with me about my post. Got right down to the point that the guy was a jerk, nothing more, nothing less, and it was best that I move on. Then, he suggested I try him.

Yes. He literally said, "You should try me."

I'm not going to say I jumped at the chance to fuck a stranger, because I didn't. I understood this was nothing more than a random email buddy from CL. But this is the thing: He already had me hooked. He'd been so empathetic and nonjudgmental. He'd asked me so many questions. Most people you correspond with from CL want immediate responses and immediate results. He and I were going back and forth for several days without any established plans or intentions to meet. So, when he told me I should try him, I felt like it was the least I could do. I could say I expected nothing more than to quench my curiosity, but that would be a lie. He'd already sent me a few discreet pictures and he was quite attractive... (Remember the part where I told you I've always been into sex with men?)

It was only a matter of time before I told him to come over.

Time to put my children to bed. 

~Jane.Dedeaux