FPR Blog 97: Lingering Relationships, Crazy Chicks and Marriage.

I’m no statistical genius. I am however, a testicular aficionado, but that’s for another blog.

Anyway, I think it’s safe to say there are people out there that at one point in their lives have been in one of those relationships that lasted a restraining order too long…

Let’s break it down…

So, there’s the high school sweetheart that lingers around until college despite you trying to escape by going to a different one in a different country..

Then you have the college girl friend who is so mature and cultured she has you dressing like a douchebag.

Oh and if catching venereal diseases finally got you out of those social embargos, you meet the serious adulthood girlfriend who convinces you that it makes sense to move in together; financially, of course.

And who can forget the hot sexy demented girlfriend who repeatedly banged her head against the wall when you told her time was up. You felt so bad you stayed with her for six years, up until she made your dick painfully drip over a “tampon malfunction”.

I guess what I’m trying to say is stay single and RUN away on the mere mention of marriage.

It’s nothing but an anxiety, anger filled, fire fueled, suicidal burden which you carry every single second of every single god forsaken day.

It’s the reason men go to a bar before going home.

It’s the part of your time on this miserable planet that makes you stand closer to the edge of a subway platform when the train comes hoping you have the balls to just fall in front of it..

But, it wasn’t always like that... Was it?

Remember the beginning? Not the exact moment you met and how it all started.

I’m talking about right at that moment when you felt most comfortable with your naked bodies for the first time. No more nerves. How the guard was chipped away piece by piece everyday allowing all inhibitions to run wildly away. No position barred.

At that point, it’s on… You become almost un-holy from the amount of filthy sex you’re having.

It was passionate. You kissed for fuck sake. Sometimes your tongues stayed attached for the entire duration of an all out fuck fest.There wasn’t a body part or piece of skin that didn’t slip off each other.

It was like a free spirit all go access pass to pussy. The anytime, anywhere phase.

Most important was the feeling it was never going to end.

Even after marriage, that honeymoon period can run for a couple of years. Then it’s baby time. So more sex… But, it’s not quite the same.

It starts to become a bit conservative. Not as filthy, but it’s still pretty great. Then one day it begins to feel like an appointment. Like something you have to do or somewhere you have to be. I didn’t know it at the time, but to have a baby you need to bang it out when mercury is in retrograde or some shit.

Fast forward a decade and a second kid starts to form. The sex is still on because she wants that baby so “the first child isn’t lonely”. I would’ve got him a dog but then who was going to walk him?

Before you know it the kids are at annoying stage and her kisses start to feel like a bird peck. Most times you get the cheek, especially in public. No public displays of affection allowed.

Then what you knew comes true… You’re taking a back seat to those little bastards.

You come to realize that parenthood is like forced labor with no real way to escape. Oh, and apparently you can’t lock them in a closet or a small dark room that only locks from the outside anymore. How does a parent get a nap or T.V. time, or internet time, or cooking time? You get my drift...

Kids are kind of like dogs, except you can’t leave them in the yard overnight. Also kids have no value. At least a dog protects your home, helps the blind, rescues people and fends for itself.

Kids do absolutely none of those things.

Fetch a slipper. Fucking forget about it. They have no idea what a slipper is, no matter how many times I smack them in the face with it.

And then of all the fucking shit. Unlike a dog, when it becomes useless you can't leave them at a farm far away and hope it doesn’t find its way home. And obviously there is no taking them out with a visit to the vet.

No... Kids are great. They never let me forget just how much of a nuisance they can be. I can also count on the fact that they will always prove useless. And then there’s the constant invasion of my space… Like my house.

Seriously though, looking back it was funny how the kid thing was perpetrated.

Sex was still going on a semi regular basis. Enough to keep a man straight. But, you start to notice a pattern to the timing of the sex. It’s like a bizarro world vagina timeline. You’ll be taking a shit and all of a sudden you get a knock at the door for sex. “Yea sure babe, let me just freshen up”. What the fuck?

Then you start to see her at the calender more and more. All of a sudden you don’t see little circular plastic blue pill cases lying around. You did however find a brand new pregnancy test hidden behind the cleaning products under the sink.

Ironically that’s where I keep hooker’s phone numbers. I thought it was a great hiding place. I would think anywhere in the kitchen would be the perfect place to hide heroin even. Every once in a while she doesn’t send me to get her coffee, so she gets some kitchen time there.

Then one day she wants you to leave it inside her, which isn’t unusual. But, now she wants you to hold her upside-down when you do it. But, we think with our dicks so fuck it. We’ll take it when we can get it.

Get this, if you force your wife to have sex it’s considered rape. You see, there’s one law those sharia people got right over there. That and the one about head chopping if dinner isn’t ready on time. I, personally, would change the law to smothering, but whatever works.

To be honest, I don’t even try anymore and I don’t mess around. When sex is offered to me I make her sign the “you gave me permission to your pussy” app.

Anyway, the good old days. Blowjobs while driving, sex in public bathrooms, parked cars on a busy New York City street or banging it out while flying down a highway drunk with her body blocking my view.

We were always so careful…

Always looking for ways to increase the heat by finding the most dangerous places to bang. There was this one project building parking lot in a bad neighborhood where if we would have been caught we both would have gotten raped then killed. Maybe a possible human trafficking situation. You know sexy stuff.

Wait, are there any housing projects in good neighborhoods? Now that is going to fester...

Oh, but once her master plan came to fruition; married before thirty, kids before 40 and a good looking, smart, yet useless mother fucker to bring to work events, barbeques and weddings, she did the proverbial ‘YES, air punch’.

Now add a great career that keeps her busier than kids and bye bye blow job. Then get this, her nosy lady massage therapist says a women shouldn’t have sex more than three times a month.

After that you kind of get used to not having sex.

It’s true though. It’s not like air. You need air…

I have to give credit where credit is do though. I do get a little lower love on my birthday.

The scary part is I thought she wouldn’t be good at it anymore, but she seems to have gotten better. What the fuck, right?

Ahhhh marriage, the ultimate lingering relationship. If not for those little tykes and a terrific insurance plan I would have moved to the fucking Congo by now…

Fortunately, I have you to vent to.

Thanks for reading...

'Blog by T. Clavero for Freedom Pop RadiO