It’s cute that you think this blog is a PG-rated extension of my facebooky politeness and ladylike phrasing. Classy I am, but I tell you now about a conversation that only occurs while we’re fucking.


Yes, we talk during the sexy times; we’ve even been known to crack jokes while copulating, but only wildly inappropriate ones. We’re married, and we spend a greater-than-reasonable portion of our marriage naked. It would, therefore, be completely unreasonable to expect that we converse only while fully clothed, yes?

Excellent. Now that we’re all on the same page, let me set the scene for you: two attractive people, one sexy beyond all reason and the other a bloodthirsty and lusty ginger. He slows, to allow me to rest between screaming orgasms (contain your jealousy, ladies, you won’t steal him away) and we look deep into each other’s eyes. This is the moment that, in a poem or even a film, we would exchange avowals of love or something equally romantic.

I live no such scripted life.

So, having no idea what to say and with my eyes locked on my husband’s,


ME: Hi.
HIM: Hi.
ME: Hi.
HIM: Do you always greet people like this?


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