Meat loaf.
No, not the singer, but it all started one afternoon when I was kneading Ritz cracker crumbs and chopped onions into hamburger and shaping the palm-sized loaves to put into the oven for supper with a pan of scalloped potatoes. I was looking at the TV in the kitchen and suddenly, this beautiful thick chiseled bare-chested man stood in glorious high-definition on the screen, and I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing with my life. I certainly wasn't living anymore, that's for sure.
Boredom. That's what it was, plain and simple boredom. The kind where you clip coupons and pinch pennies and hope that you can juggle the bills to the absolute last minute to avoid the late fees. The kind where your husband walks in the door from work and dutifully kisses you on the exact same spot on the cheek every night before grabbing the remote to turn on SportsCenter. The kind where you're tired of picking up dirty socks and underwear from the kid's bedroom and separating whites from colors while doing laundry.
How can you explain to your husband that you need some excitement and that doesn't include everything you've already done a thousand times? How can you communicate the monotony and frustration that comes with being married to a person that you love, to a life that you love, and yet, still crave something new and exciting?
My husband is solid, works hard, and is dependable. He's a good man, faithful, honorable and a loving father. He's your average guy from the top of his receding hairline, to his rapidly expanding waistline, to the tips of his crusty yellowish toenails. I love him, but damnit, the guy is going to bore me to death! Mr. Excitement he is not!
"Let's do something crazy this weekend, Honey," I asked him, after our teenagers had scooted from the dinner table. "Let's do something so totally off the wall that it would cause the neighbors to talk."
"Like what?"
"I don't know... How about we spread a blanket in the back yard and make love out in the open?" I whispered in his ear.
"But people would see us..." he said, looking worried.
"So what? It would be exciting, don't you think?"
"What about the kids?"
"We'll send them to your mother's for the day."
"I don't know, I mean, I don't think we want to get that kind of reputation..."
"OK... How about we drive the minivan up to Wal-Mart on Saturday night and make love in the parking lot?" I suggested. "We'll do a little shakin' and steam up the windows."
"Lots of police cruise by there and I don't want to wind up in the newspaper..."
"Fair enough. Why don't you come up with a suggestion?"
"Like what?"
"Come on... Use your imagination. I'm interested in anything kinky that turns you on..."
"Kinky?"
"Something crazy, something new and off the wall."
"I don't know, Honey..."
"I'll give you until tomorrow to think about it. Thrill me tomorrow night after supper with an idea," as I kissed and then sucked on his earlobe.
How many wives actually make their husbands that kind of offer? Lying in bed that night, another night without sex, I made the determination that if my loving husband didn't come up with something good, then I would have to take matters into my own hands.
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The chiseled thick bare-chested man invaded my dreams that night, his image slowly undressing me, button by button, the abrasive roughness of his hands scratching my skin on my back as he unhooked my bra. His hot mouth covered my areola and I felt his teeth graze across my nipple. As he started to slowly suck, increasing the intensity and pressure with each passing second, I was swept up into the massiveness of his arms. His biceps were like granite, carrying me with ease. I was dripping wet.
As he laid me on the bed, he lowered his body on top of mine, his strength holding me in position. I couldn't have escaped him even if I wanted to. The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen caused me to naturally spread my legs. As he came up to look into my eyes and then kiss me, I felt his cock press into my pubic region. "Oh God," I thought, having never felt such weight, density and thickness.
He raised his hips and slowly put his engorged helmet at the tip of my vaginal lips, holding the position to allow me to consider what was about to take place. The look in his eyes told me that he was going to take me with such force and strength that my whole body started to quiver with anticipation. I wanted it. I needed him to fill me up and fuck me like a wild animal. With my eyes, I challenged him to give me everything he's got, to fuck me with a raw passion of new lovers. I felt the muscles of his body start to tense and in one powerful thrust...
"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP"
Five o'clock. My husband's alarm clock.
"Damn!" my husband groaned. "Oh God, I don't want to go to work."
"Oh fuck," I swore to myself breathing heavily, the spell broken, the reality of my married life slowly creeping back into my consciousness. Why couldn't that damn alarm have waited just five minutes longer?
My husband lumbered out of bed and a few minutes later I heard the toilet flush and the shower running. I closed my eyes and tried to mentally recapture that magical unconscious moment, my fingers under my panties poised to stimulate, however, that beautiful thick chiseled bare-chested man was now engulfed in a dense fog, the clarity gone.
Twenty minutes later, my husband came back into the bedroom and kissed me on the forehead saying, "I love you. Have a good day, Honey," and he was gone.
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Later that morning, after the school bus picked up the kids, was my day to volunteer at our local hospital. Twice a week, I'm an adult Candy Striper. The actual job is less appealing than it sounds, basically, I'm just a glorified gofer and listener to the mostly older male patents, however, they seem to enjoy flirting and viewing the very slight bit of cleavage my red pinstripe dress provides. Hey, it gets me out of the house and circulating, and to be honest, the attention is flattering.
All morning long, I was looking for that man in my dream in every patient, but much to my disappointment, beautiful, thick, chiseled and bare-chested didn't describe any of them. Maybe half a century ago a couple of them could have been that vision, but time has a way of humbling even the most masculine of men. After my shift, I headed home to start making dinner.
On my way out to my minivan, I noticed a fireman walking out of the emergency room, his face covered in black soot. His thick heavy fire suit was worn and smoky, but I could envision from his body type that he had an amazing build. He was tall, had a full head of curly blonde hair and stood with posture. There was confusion in his eyes as he stood surveying the parking lot.
Was this the guy from my dream, the guy I was supposed to meet? Was this fate interceding into my humdrum life and marriage? I made an instantaneous decision to hike up my skirt a couple of inches and unbutton another button on my dress, before approaching him...
"Can I help you?" I asked in my most concerned voice, batting my eyelashes.
"Looking for my ride... I think it may have already left..." He said offhandedly still scanning the maze of cars.
"Would you like a ride?" I offered sincerely. "I'll be happy to take you anywhere you want to go..."
He finally looked down at me and smiled, a dazzling flash of white teeth. Hidden behind the ash covered face was the most amazing pair of greenish-blue eyes I had ever seen.
"Really? Do you have a pick-up truck that I could ride in the back?" he asked. "My suit is filthy."
"No, just a minivan," I said.
"Soccer mom, huh?" he smiled down at me, before suddenly looking embarrassed.
"Yeah, I guess so," I replied sadly, realizing that I had just been dismissed.
"Well, you may be the hottest soccer mom on the planet," he said sincerely, as if trying to recover from his faux pas. He looked down and smiled appreciatively at me.
