My Husband is not Intimidated by Dicks

on February 24, 2012

A brown paper grocery bag full of dicks

 

I think the idea that people ever *really* stop looking at attractive people is overly optimistic, regardless of their relationship situation. When the sex died off and the stresses piled up with my ex, going to some sci-fi/kink conventions in the name of work wrecked me like a sugar-loving diabetic in a candy shop. Ohhhh did I want to reach out and touch someone, and I’m surprised at a few points that my eyes didn’t pop clear out of my head as I watched some seriously WTF-level beautiful people traipsing around hotel hallways in hot costumes. You could see my need with the naked eye if you happened to look directly at me during those lean times.

My ex, on the other hand, got cagey about where I looked, and who looked at him. Notably, for being as into certain acts with me as he was, he was curiously homophobic. He would see men “looking at him” to pick him up when I, sexually hypersensitive as I was, saw no such thing. In Ihop, at the grocery store, in the movies – no place was safe from the rampant gays that were obviously following him like a rabid fan club of cocks. This wasn’t a fun-sexy obsession, cause lemme tell ya, your Toychick can appreciate a lil man on man action. This was a twitchy needs-meds situation on his part. If I ever suggested – in a fantasy setting mind you, not real life – that he’d look cute kissing so and so, or hugging some other guy, he’d flip out and I’d get the cold shoulder. Second generation homophobe, that one.

In seven sex-and-affection-starved years with my ex, I never strayed physically. Never kissed, never touched, no clandestine dates, no internet flirting. I practically vibrated – and not the fun way, either – with desperation for something, anything, from a sexual kindred spirit. But good god did I look. Pretty men and women in the mall, downtown, in the bookstore, whatever. I was an unabashed field-of-vision slut and it was probably the only thing that kept me from utterly losing my shit.

Cue my spouse. He has knowledge born from various past relationship setups – poly, open, you name it, leading to a more enlightened view of sex and relationships as a whole. We both prefer and are happy living out our lives monogamously, having both come from multi-person relationships in the past and deciding they weren’t a good fit. Gloriously, though, he’s not above having crushes on male movie stars or even commenting about the prowess of men in our social circle. He’s just heteroflexible enough without it being a preoccupation – he can discuss dick size of passersby without me feeling the slightest bit eclipsed as his partner.

Today while we were heading to lunch with family at an upscale restaurant, the host that sat us was a beautifully slender young man with a blonde ponytail. I totally checked him out, but simultaneously slid my arm around my husband’s waist, grateful that I didn’t have to look with longing anymore.  We walked in, sat and ate lunch, enjoying the beautiful weather, company and a particularly amazing sandwich. On the way out we passed the same host, busy showing other guests their seats. My husband, completely uncoaxed, leaned into me and murmured something absolutely delicious about the same young man and what he’d do to him.

I had a little trouble walking back to the car, dear readers, on account of my knees going wobbly.


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