All my guy friends say marriages are eventually, boring. They all finally boil down to living in this society, surrounded by relatives who expect you will have children as soon as its possible, socialise and attend several more weddings. And yes, I have reasons to believe my friends, who over pitchers of beer and mounting drunkenness, relate tales of how their wives nag and bitch, fight and argue, and are least interested in sex. Like the world believes its unnatural for women to be super-sexual beings.
But not for my mistress. The goddess I have spent so many delicious nights with. As I explore her, I see how hungry she is for me, with that thirst mounting every other night, for months now. I wonder what makes us that way...that it is clandestine, nobody knows? That I can't wait to touch her, kiss her, caress her, let my fingers find their way to her sex, feel the pulsating rhythm of her clitoris against my fingers as my cock hardens, begging to enter her, begging to be licked, stroked, worshipped, to pay homage to this woman that is the focus of my universe, even though I am married?
So I stay mute and smile and nod as my friends explain, how a man's life is finished once he is married. Perhaps a few months of fantasy, a few months of ecstacy but the same old routine, boring and mundane facts of life soon after. Soon after, we are used to the sex, we are used to the fights, we are used to throttling our dreams and soon after, we are aging before we know that it is abnormal to die.
I laugh about it sometimes and she asks why I am laughing. I tell her how we should keep exploring new places because there is so much to see and know and we have so much time. "But you are married and you have responsibilities!" she retorts, pretending shock and we both burst out laughing again, as I pull her over and fuck her while she is on top. She rides me with rhythm, her back arching, her breasts jiggling over my face, inches from my lips, and I sometimes lift my head while I fuck her to nibble and bite her. She jerks with pleasure and I let my hands ride down her waist, her skin slick with sweat and heat.
My friends are drunk, trying to forget things they would rather not face, facts like living their dreams, like travelling for pleasure, like having kids when you feel the universe urging you to receive angels into your life, and not because your people think you must. Facts like women love sex, perhaps more than men, not sex for the sake of sex, but sex for the sake of finding a match. An equal match; powerful, independent, beautiful and immortal. Alcohol is a great soother and it is easy finding escape in its recesses. I smile at their jokes and pour my drink into a nearby wash basin.
It's time for me to go back to my goddess, to the woman who is counting every second on her wall clock because she knows I will see her tonight. To the woman whose universe revolves around mine. To the woman who will laugh and tell me that I am married and I have responsibilities and then laugh about how we should still travel this world and eat more cake. To the goddess I worship and look up to, the the whore I fuck and who fucks me back, to the little girl who snuggles up in my arms after I have made love to her, to the woman that mothers and feeds me when I am ill, to my mistress.
To my wife, who is my wife by heart and not by ritual.
No comments:
Post a Comment