Post Nut Clarity
Tags: Sexuality, Satire, Cheating, Food, Humor

Post Nut Clarity

Having too much guilt and not enough fun

Photo by paul wence from Pexels

Post nut clarity. A special sort of joy reserved for lady adulterers.

I had the best sex with the doctor. Four times! Lord, he’s got superpowers. And then he texted me on the drive home…

“I’m feeling guilty,” he wrote.

What? He could fuck me FOUR times and then feel guilty?

“I don’t feel guilty in the least. Smiley emoji with a wink.”

What kind of conscience does he have? Hopefully, the kind that makes him come back for more soon.

We all carry our demons in this lifestyle. The monkeys clawing at our backs.

But the post nut clarity bullshit has to stop.

“Get off your soapbox,” I wanted to scream. I am tired of your guilt.

“Are you quitting cheating?” I texted.

“I’m not sure.”

I’ll wait until you get horny again. I don’t think so. Did guys think that this sudden level of remorse made me want to keep fucking them? It was not charming.

Paranoia? That was just the beginning.

“I have to be careful. I’m worried I’m going to get caught,” he texted. “I need to go quiet.”

“If you get guilty, you get blocked,” I responded.

I don’t need a “Guilt King.”

That woke him right up. Lose the sex gravy train? NO!

Mr. Mopey Pants better get his head and dick in the game. STAT.

“You want your wife’s breadcrumbs?” I texted. “Instead of my sandwich?”

“Oh, I want your sandwich,” he wrote. “With the mayo.”

“Gross!” I texted, laughing.

“That’s disgusting but amusing,” I added.

“I think I need the chick-a-fil every day,” he texted.

“How long is this sandwich allusion going to last?”

“As long as we can make it,” he answered. “Want a foot-long sub?”

“You wish,” I giggled.

Hot roast beef, for you,” I added.

“Yes, nice and juicy.”

“My God, you are making me throw up in my mouth,” I wrote.

“How about a pita pocket?” I asked.

“Yes, please,” he answered. “With lettuce and tomatoes.”

“Lettuce is hair, and tomatoes are boobs?” I wrote.

“You know it!” he answered.

“Ugh! I can’t take this baloney!” I texted with a smiley wink.

“I’ve got head cheese for you,” my lover wrote.

“Stop! I will throw up!”

“Your deli meat is delicious,” he texted.

“I don’t even know how to respond. I’m so repulsed,” I was grinning.

“I’ll have a ham sandwich, I’m still hungry, you know!” he wrote.

“OMG! I’m dying,” I texted, smiling like a maniac.

“Or how about ham and cheese?” he asked.

“Please tell me you are joking. Does that mean what I think it means?” I texted.

“You know it does!” he answered.

“Honey, I’ll give you a tuna fish salad sandwich next,” I wrote.

“Sounds delicious. Mmmm.”

“If you weren’t so much fun to text and fuck, I might leave your sorry ass,” I wrote.

“You can’t give up my meat!” he joked.

“Where’s the beef? Plenty out there. Arby’s assures me,” I texted.

My lover knew what was at stake. He knew that I wasn’t joking. I was a serial adulteress with a wandering eye.

That’s for beginners. And that’s precisely why I don’t fuck newbies. If you can’t push the sin back down your throat, you aren’t for me.

I don’t need to convince you to have an affair.

“Don’t stop fucking me, please. I need your cock, it’s amazing.”

“You deserve this because your wife never gives you what you need.”

I’m not your personal adultery coach.

You either want this, or you don’t.

And if you don’t, I can tell. Affairs are supposed to be fun. When they stop being “fun,” I move on to the next guy. There is always another married man who is appreciative of an opening. Just stating the obvious.

We had humor and sex, this lover and I. And a sliver of love. We cared about each other.

“I can’t lose you,” he finally wrote.

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

I get guilt. But he should have resolved that before he flung his dick in my pussy — not after. I drop men that haven’t worked past guilt issues.

It’s a choice. Adultery.

Not for the faint of heart.

OWN IT.

IF not, don’t do it.