The disatisfaction isn't their fault. I was over it before it began and I thought "I hate him"--my husband, that is.

I hate him for disappointing me. I hate him for fucking up our sex-life so badly I've resorted to this: traveling for on-line hook-ups with guys who don't matter.

This is why I've always masturbated. I inherently knew it was a waste of time to fuck.

There is nothing like love and being fucked by a lover.

Too bad he's a scum bag with no boundaries. He knows now, it's too late.

It's always too fucking late for this planet of nimrods.

You SEIZE the moment when it comes. You honor your blessings.

Honor. Think about it. What in your life is incredible? How can you honor it?

Self-Sabotage blows my mind, those sickos who fuck it all up for themselves. They don't even know it.

So here I am spreading my seed. It doesn't even matter, or feel all that fabulous. It's not even like a porno come true.

I'm resentful. I feel like that Adele song: "We could have had it all...."

But we didn't Blanche. You couldn't keep your dick in your pants.

It's funny, I gave him the opportunity to be himself. I verbally stated he could be a slut if he wanted to. That just meant that it could not be secret anymore. I was willing to accept that's who he was, if he could accept it.

But he couldn't accept it. He would rather pretend to be faithful, even though I accosted him verbally numerous times that I knew and he might as well own it.

BUT HE NEVER COULD FUCKING OWN IT. That is the most pathetic thing I've ever encountered.

That's why I left. I can't deal with shame.