Super Bowl

Did you watch the Super Bowl? I'm sure most "red-blooded" American men did. I, however, did not. While the "big game" was on, I was helping my wife pack for a trip she was taking with her boyfriend, helping her decided on which dresses to pack, which pretty lingerie. 

Yes, that term, boyfriend, but what else would we call him? What else would you call a man a woman was being so careful picking her intimate things for. Even that word, intimate implies a familiarity that one things of when discussing a woman's boyfriend. She used that word, purposefully...will you help me pick my intimate things, she asked.

A night to be like a virgin, touched for the very first time.

A night to misbehave to remind him she'll submit to his darkest desires:

A night with a dress skimpy enough that she can't wear lingerie:

Or how about for Tuesday night, Valentine's Day, when she can tell him she got him what she knows he always wanted for Valentine's Day, all these years: her.

So I spent Super Bowl Sunday helping my wife pack for a trip with her boyfriend, helping her pick her intimate things, seeing how excited she was, seeing how she watched me, knowing how excited I was too.

Every time she's with someone else, I'm excited but jealous, happy but sad. It is especially true with Even, especially true. She's spending Valentine's Day with him. It was never a big holiday for us, but something so simple can be something so devious with the thing we have.

"I'm going to be his for a few days," she said when we were in bed, "physically, mentally."

"Emotionally?" I asked softly.

"Maybe a little," she said. "Not like love, you know that."

"I know. But something."

"Something," she said.

"You'd never..."

"No, never," she said. "You know that. Our family is always our family. Having her made that more so."

"Before?"

"Maybe...early on...like dating early on...our dating...it was a choice...one I made and don't regret."

"You never loved him."

"No, sweetie, never. I lusted for him, I craved him, I needed him...sometimes I still do. But it never was love."

"He's your boyfriend..."

She chuckled. "On and off. And I'll be his girlfriend when I'm with him. Always your wife, but his girlfriend when I'm with him. Physically. Mentally. And a little emotionally."

"I know..."

"You're twitching," she chuckled again, her hand feeling my groin jump.

"I know," I said, "I...you know how it makes me feel."

She kissed me. "Yes, love, yes I do."