Southern Legitimacy Statement: Folks still think I’m not a true Southerner. Some of them weren’t even born when I first set foot on this region. Anyway, a few states–TN, GA, NC have been generous with their welcome.

Dream Man

After a wild weekend at the beautiful Beaufort beach, I’m driving home to Raleigh. To my husband. To precision and punctuality. To tedium. To timers. A timer in the kitchen, another in the living room, and yet another in the home gym. I got rid of the one in our bedroom. Everything has to be timed to the last second and everything has to be planned to the tiniest detail.

Notwithstanding his quirks, Dan is a great husband. In spite of his busy schedule—he is a professor at the university, he makes sure that the maid keeps our house spick and span. He does grocery shopping and pays bills and gets our cars washed and supervises the gardener. Thus, I’m free to focus on bits and bytes and codes and computers and on my struggle to shatter the proverbial glass ceiling. 

However, in one department—sex, I find him lacking. I wish he is spontaneous. I wish he grabs me and takes me. Takes me in the kitchen. Takes me in the shower. Takes me in the living room. Takes me in the backyard under the moonlit sky. Rides me hard. Rides me rough. Kisses me until my lips are sore, suckles me until my nipples are sore, pounds me until my, you know what, is sore and I have to beg him to end it, can’t take it anymore, please, stop, please, please, please. But, Dan treats me like a delicate flower and makes tender love, only after dinner, only in our conjugal bed. And always the same routine, a little kissing, a few minutes foreplay and then the real thing—mild and gentle. I’m embarrassed to tell him of my desires.

That is why I crave those one-night stands on my business trips. The next day, I’m aroused at the marks on my boobs and butt and those love bites and hickies and relive the raunchy romps. Still, I feel terribly guilty for cheating on Dan.

With a big sigh I pull into our driveway—the garage door seems to be stuck, and walk up to the front door. The den window is open and I hear moans and groans and grunts. I stand behind bushes and peep in. I’m shocked at the sight of Dan banging our maid. With her legs clasped around him, she is butt naked on his desk. I turn on my iPhone video.

He squeezes her perky boobs roughly and tweaks her nipples and pokes her. “Are you having fun, Carmen?”

She whimpers, “Si, senor, si, si, si, follarme duro, folla a tu puta.”

Dan slams her harder and harder and yells, “You are my puta, my own puta.”

Carmen pulls him closer with her legs and yells, “Si, senor, si, si, si, follarme duro, folla a tu puta, si, si, si, si.” She lets out a big scream and her legs dangle down.

Dan ruthlessly rams into her and screams loudly. “Oh, puta, my puta.” And kisses her puckered lips.

I go back to my car and look at the video. I’m amazed at Dan’s dalliance with Carmen. Here I’m thinking that he is one dull dude. Now I know, all he needs is a right doxy to dig up his dormant passion. Strangely enough, I’m aroused. My man has great potential. Yes, he can be my dream man.

*

That evening, as usual, right on time, Dan reaches for me and we begin our monotonous marital ritual. While he is inside me, I scream, “Si, senor, si, si, si, follarme duro, folla a tu puta.”

Puzzled for a moment, he nevertheless recovers and pokes me with unusually hard thrusts. 

Panting, he asks, “You know it, huh?”

I scream once again. “Si, senor, si, si, si, follarme duro, folla a tu puta.”

He bangs me mercilessly as if I were his mortal enemy. “Say it in English.” He commands.

“Yes, yes, yes, my lord, I’m your whore, tear me apart, tear me, poke your slut, poke her hard, oh my god, oh, my god, oh my god, can’t take it, can’t take it…” Weak and spent, with no more strength, I simply lie on the bed while he continues to bang me with all his strength and comes with a big grunt. I embrace him tightly.

He kisses me. “I didn’t know, I mean, didn’t know you like it hard, and, and, um, talk dirty while…”

“That’s because you never asked me to.”

“How could I, you are a high class Southern lady.”

Resting on his broad chest, I ruffle his curly hair. “Now you know, ah, I’m a low class whore. 

But, tell me something, why Carmen?”

Dan sighs. “Oh, I’m just comforting her. A few months ago she was crying and told that her husband had left her. I said sorry, ah, tell me where he is, um, I’ll talk some sense into his thick head. Then she really bawled out and said he ran away with a man. That is a big blow to her ego. I felt bad and hugged her and one thing led to another. I guess she wanted to prove to herself that she still has it. And then it became a habit. Should I get rid of her?” 

“No, no, no, it turns me on, ah, you and her, I mean, um, I didn’t know I’m a voyeur.”

He smiles and his blue eyes crinkle. “Not to worry, there’s a little bit of voyeur in all of us. You can watch us, ah, hide in the closet, um, eventually, maybe we can, um, a ménage à trois, huh?”

I laugh. “Don’t push your luck, Carmen is a devout catholic.”

“She can say a few more Hail Marys, ha, ha.” He kissed me ardently, got out of bed, poured two shots of rare single malt, and raised his glass, “To a new beginning, to my sexy wife, a real slut.”