I went to a foreign wedding a few weeks ago, leaving my husband and three kids stateside. While I would not admit this aloud, when I walked into the wedding, after visiting with most of the guests over the pre-wedding events, I felt slightly aroused. I looked around at all of the married men thought of my husband at home and fantasized of a Roman rendezvous before returning to reality – an overflowing glass of Proseco.
Later that night several substances later I found myself on the dance floor dancing erotically with other women, being kissed by at least one, swapping dresses behind the bushes, and feeling generally great. Sexy. Attractive. Horny.
The events of the night triggered something in me. A sexual desire that had laid dormant since my first pregnancy. Nearly six years later that horny insatiable provocative prowess emerged. It wasn’t Fifty Shades of Gray that woke me up – although that had stirred the pot – but the idea of something illicit and inappropriate and somewhat displayed on the dance floor.
I love my husband and want to spend the rest of my life with him. He is a great man, father, husband, lover, provider, soul mate. And fortunately he responds to this new sexual uprising.
Who knows how long it will last, but we are both enjoying this new ride.