If I had made better choices in my life, gotten an education, hadn’t not done porn for the drugs I needed, hadn't let the hormones fuck with my sexual functioning, I wouldn't be here, would I, made to prance around in a pink thong he chose for me to wear today when his friends come for the pool party. hair and stache dyed from a cheap box he gave me a few bucks to buy at Walgreens, kept barefoot like his personal musclebitch sexdoll, and being told to make sure I shut the fuck up, "look pretty," and fetch their towels, drinks, food for his smart well-off professional friends half my age, as they grope me like a piece of meat.
He makes me feel really stupid the way no one else has, but how fucked up is it that I feel grateful he married me, because let's face it, I'm 50 and I wasn't really going to be able to get by. So yeah, Dumbo does what he's told. The yardwork. Clean the bathroom. Get them their vitamin water. Spread my cheeks for my husband and take his babies. Massage their feet. Make do on the allowance my husband my husband gives me. I say yessir and nossir and thank you sir like a good dumb bitch.