I don’t often write here about my wife. I have, in the past, written just a tiny bit about her. This is, mostly, in keeping with her preferences. She’s private. She didn’t decide to write a blog – I did. I wrote three extensive posts about her, almost a year ago, and maybe I’ll take another pass at writing a bit about her soon.
Recently, I wrote, “My particular form of exhibitionism is very personal. I’d love to send you a cock shot, but the idea that she (or he) might see it is not, in any way, a turn-on for me.”
Ironically, I wrote that while I was discussing with T just what to do with two very hot photos of her that we come to have. A good friend of ours (thank you) took them a few days ago, and just sent them our way now. Should I post them on my (insanely hot) Tumblr? Here? Should I identify them as T?
My Tumblr is insanely hot. It features hundreds and hundreds of photos. And it gets a fraction of the traffic this blog gets. Is that good? Bad? Do I want, does she want, more people to see the photos? Fewer? To know whence they come? Of whom they are? Over there, they surely would just be part of the porn flotsam, diminished by their inclusion.
T seemed to want the pictures out there (or to want me to want the pictures out there?). Did she want them out there because she’s justifiably proud? Because she wants me to boast?
Because she wants to counter (or confirm) whatever you might imagine she looks like based on what I’ve written? And to be clear, I think I’ve only ever written one paragraph on T’s looks, reproduced in full here:
T’s insanely, smolderingly hot – she turns heads, invariably; her legs were the first thing I noticed about her, but they weren’t the last. Her eyes – steel blue – are glorious, clear, loving and sexy at the same time. The hottest thing about them? How they can’t meet mine after we’ve been apart for a day or two, how she gets shy and hides them from me, until we reestablish our connection. Her ass is perfect, heart-shaped. I have been buying her successively smaller, successively shorter pairs of denim shorts in recent years, as well as sexier panties. I want her clothes to communicate how sexy she is, how sexy I know she is to others, how sexy I find her, I want her to feel it in her bones. Her breasts are perfect – C-cups, delicious, just more than a handful. Her cleavage is awesome in just about whatever she wears, even if it’s not meant to highlight her cleavage. Her belly is flat, her neck long, her clavicle, prominent. In other words, I desperately desire, and am grateful for my access to, her body.
I’m not sure why T wanted you to see how fucking hot she is.
I think I know why I do. And in a pair of those aforementioned denim shorts, no less.
I’m grateful and proud. Proud that she chose me. Grateful that she still chooses me.
I know it’s possible to imagine, reading this blog cursorily, that T isn’t a big part of my life, or of my sex life. (Incidentally, I don’t think it’s possible to imagine that if you read the blog closely.) But I want you to see how fucking lucky I am, how hot is the body that curls up next to me every night, that is available to me for my use and appreciation 24/7.
I’m not always the best husband, the best lover. But I’m definitely the luckiest.
Don’t you agree?