Me and My Big Mouth

By Likegoodwinecopyrighted January 2011

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated as they will help me grow.

Thanks to grogers for his very, very patient editing

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I am still surprised by the way people talk to each other; they speak the same language, but don't really understand each other. Or worse, they misunderstand each other. My love life seemed to be a string of such communication failures.

Take for instance my first marriage. Helen and I had something special going. After three years of marriage, and four years living together we were a couple set for life. That is, until the day I opened my big mouth.

We were having drinks with some friends at a little neighborhood pub only a few blocks from our apartment. We were discussing marriage, exclusivity and what it meant for us. It was a topic Helen and I had discussed many times. I know that she would have been willing to be in an open marriage, but I was not cut from that cloth.

Our friends also seemed to share Helen's point of view, so I felt a bit cornered by them and my stance began to be a bit more defensive than a friendly discussion warranted.

"We discussed that before, Helen and I, and my opinion hasn't changed. There's no fucking around in a happy marriage."

"But what if it means nothing to have sex with somebody else? Not love, just sex?" asked Marites, a cute but annoying, small, gorgeous, Latino woman. The kind I could fuck without love but with mucho gusto!

"It might mean nothing to you, but what about your spouse?" I answered. "If it is important to him, it should be to you, or you are really not made for each other."

"And what about having sex, discreet sex, fulfilling sex, that makes your marriage even better? Many people I know have had a surge in their relationship when they had an affair, sex on the side." Marites husband, Mark, asked.

"That's worse!" I almost yelled. All my friends and Helen were taken aback by my outburst.

"Honesty is a pillar of marriage. If you can't be honest, it is time to opt out and move on. If you don't, what do you have left? A cheating and lying spouse! That's what you have left. I'll say one thing: if you need to fuck around, get the fuck out of my sight!" I said vehemently.

That explosion of emotions had two different results.

First, it stopped the conversation around the table. We all left the place within minutes and went back home.

Second, two days later, all of Helen's belongings were gone and her wedding ring was sitting on the kitchen table on top of a small note.

"Dear Peter,

"You are right! Better to be honest with each other. I met somebody else, and before I sleep with him, it is better that I 'Get the fuck out of here'.

"I wish you a good life because you are a good man -- just not my kind of man.

"Helen"

That's the first example.

Now fast forward five years: I was married to Mary. She was all I ever wanted: a cute Catholic girl with sound principles regarding marriage.

Everything was great, except maybe for the sex. Hey, she was still a virgin at 22 when I made her my bride! A dream girl, I'm telling you, a dream girl! Except for the sex, that is.

No sex before the wedding. That's weird nowadays, but I was willing to go with the flow on that one.

Could you believe that I had to plead with her to have sex on our wedding night? And don't talk to me about our honeymoon. I really hoped this honeymoon would be a repeat of the fuck fest from my first honeymoon. Instead, we had a lot of long walks hand in hand, many kisses and caresses and, when in bed, many blue balls. It hurt her the first time, and she didn't want to have sex for a few weeks.

Back home, we settled for a mercy fuck once every month for a while, then once every two months.

I knew that she didn't like talking about sex. "It's so dirty!" But I had to let her know that an average of 6 fucks a year was not nearly enough.

"Oh come on, Peter! Don't talk like that! Sex is not important! The love we share is all that matters. There's no love in sex, it's just so animal..."

Well, I took her at her word. Sex was not important, so I would get some elsewhere.

I started a few weeks of romps with a co-worker, a little brunette that I met at a Christmas party. To tell the truth, the first weekend we spent together, I had more sex than the last year with my wife.

But something wasn't right, and it was nagging at me just beyond my consciousness. It all came to me one night in bed when my wife inquired why I didn't beg for sex anymore.

Honesty!

You know, the concept that made my ex-wife leave me for another man?

And then my big mouth, and some remnants of morality took over.

"Ah, well, Baby! ... Er... You remember saying that sex wasn't important. That our love for each other was the only thing that matters?" I asked.

"Yes, I remember saying that. Sex is certainly overrated, but I didn't mean to stop everything," she said, not really helping me.

"Well if sex is not important to you, I though it wouldn't be a big deal if I got some elsewhere." I let out before thinking.

"You mean you've been having sex with other women? Outside our marriage?" she yelled.

"Er... Yeah! No big deal there! Right?"

She stormed out of the house and drove away.

Two hours later Liam, Sean and Connor, her three brothers, kicked the shit out of me. They love their little sister. And who knows, maybe they were mean bastards because they weren't getting any either -- family tradition and all.

A few months later, we were divorced, Catholic or not.

By the time I reached 30, I was a more experienced man and wiser in the ways of women.

And I met Nancy. We hit it off right away, and we had a very comfortable and sexually active marriage. When we had been together for 20 years the early passion was gone, but it was replaced with close companionship and tender love between mates.

I am now 50 years old and Nancy is 48. I would like to say that I am an 8 on a scale of handsomeness and Nancy a 9, but it would be a gross approximation. To be more precise, let's describe us on a scale of 200. I rate a good 190... lbs. And Nancy is a 140... lbs. At 5'11" and 5'4 respectively, we were on a constant diet. But, we still enjoyed our nights out at restaurants, our only kid being away at college.

On one such night out, we had finished our meal (no dessert, thanks!), and were sipping the last of our wine. A bus boy stopped at our table to get our dirty plates. Nancy gave an appreciative look at the young man's firm buttocks (she said it, not me!).

Not to be outdone, I also gave the once over to the pretty waitress walking the floor.

"Oh my goodness Peter! Look at us. Two old perverts slobbering over young men and women" Nancy said, giggling.

"Nah! Forget about it! Did you have a look at the dessert menu tonight?" I asked.

"Of course!" Nancy replied, taking offense. "And you did too!"

"Well, like the saying goes 'Just because I am on a diet, doesn't mean I can't look at the menu'. That's the same with us. We are married, but there is no harm in looking at who's out there".

"Yeah! That's true! I'll remember it," said Nancy, a bit pensive.

Well, over the next few weeks Nancy began to go out with her friends to see male strippers. I was a bit put off, but after all, I went to see strippers once in a great while. Not every week, however!

One evening I felt like I had to urge Nancy to slow it down a bit before her voyeurism got out of control.

"Nancy, I don't mind if you go out with your girl friends to watch male strippers, but not so often... And don't you ever forget: look but don't touch!"

One evening I came back home from bowling way earlier than usual. I wasn't feeling well. There was a ruckus coming from the bedroom. I ran to see what was going on.

A nightmarish scene was playing out. Nancy was on her back, her legs wide open and a young man was fucking her hard, real hard. Her hands were tied up to the head post of the bed. I jumped, grabbed the guy and pulled him off my wife.

It was a classic example of coitus interruptus as his cock was spurting cum all over the room when he went flying into a corner of the bedroom.

I looked back at Nancy. She was clearly drunk. She looked at me with a big smile on her face.

"See, honey. I followed your advice. I am not touching him. I had him tie me up, and I didn't lay a single finger on that wonderful firm young body."

Me and my big mouth!

Well I did lay my old fingers on that young guy -- five of them to be exact, all bunched up in a fist -- a bunch of times! And I kicked his ass out of the house -- naked!

I am not the kind of guy to lay a finger on a woman, but I was not averse to shaming her to her core. I left her tied to the bed. On my way out of the house, I called her Dad to ask him to come and give his daughter a hand.

Me and my big mouth are not about to ask a fourth woman to marry me, that's for sure. Although... there's that cute waitress over at Tony's...