Nothing to See Here…

I got this comment on my last blog entry:

My husband is bugging me to ask tho, he wants to know if you ever played with another man? He loves your ass tattoo, and wants to ask your man if he would ever share you for a night?? I know, he is a pig, but he thinks you are a hottie and would like nothing more than to play…

And I wanted to speak to it for a minute.

First, and foremost – it must be acknowledged that Michele’s husband obviously has impeccable taste. ‘Nuff said there.

Now, then, moving on to the topic of sex and open relationships and such. I think I’ve shared with y’all before that I’m married to a bona fide pervert; a very loving, loyal, monogamous pervert, but a pervert nonetheless. I do believe that he’d be willing to try or do pretty much anything of a sexual nature, assuming it’s all about consenting adults and, um, well, no other “dude” parts coming near him.

He hasn’t a jealous bone in his body. I swear. Sometimes I try to find out where the threshold is and I’m just convinced there isn’t one. I handed him my laptop to read the email (above) and he smiled and said “Go for it.” Was he joking? Maybe. I’d never know unless I really did go for it.

Which I won’t.

Because, see, I’m not made of that same sort of stuff. Oh, I’m all brave and a big ol’ SLUT in fantasy land, but if and when any discussions ever come up about ACTING on those fantasies? Gah… I’m soooo chicken.

Can you just picture the discussion about Every Man’s Fantasy, two chicks at once?

Him: Yeah, that would be awesome. I’d love that.

Me: Well, I don’t know. It would have to be someone who you are totally not attracted to. And who is not at all attracted to you, either. And she would have to have smaller boobs than me. You know how I feel inadequate about my boobs. I totally would not want to be intimidated by another woman’s boobs. And speaking of body shape, I just couldn’t stand anyone to be skinnier than me either. So she’d have to be, um, fluffy. But, you know, well, I have to draw the line somewhere so she can’t be too big. Maybe someone who used to be really big and lost weight and has a soft spot for other people who are struggling. If she has the hots for you, I’d probably have to kill her afterwards, you know. And she can’t have pierced nipples because then I’m totally convinced you would leave me for her. Oh, and she’d better have stretch marks – there needs to be total stretch-mark-equity. And if she’s had at least one c-section, that’s even better. I don’t want her to be smarter than me – I have to feel intellectually superior. That’s a deal breaker for me. Don’t go suggesting any young thing, either, ‘cause you know I turned 40 this year and I’m in a very delicate spot on this whole age sensitivity thing. That would only be exacerbated by a younger woman coming onto the scene. No way no how. And blah blah blah and yadda yadda yadda. On and on….

By this time, my husband would have completely regretted saying anything. He’d have that scared, glazed over look on his face and when the conversation drew to its natural conclusion (“OK, then, honey… I’m ready to move this fantasy forward, but really, it seems like Richard Simmons is the only candidate that meets all my criteria.”) he will have, of course, changed his mind.

Ahhhhhhhhh…. gotta love the sexual status quo!