Hubby Quotes

Can I start calling you hubby?” “Do it and die.” “Snookums, then.

Am I the only creature with a vagina who thinks that weddings are ridiculous? I'm going to elope. Just me, my hubby, and a minister on a beach in Jamaica.

Hubby, At the pool. If I don’t return by nightfall, it’s your marital duty to rescue me. If it goes that late, this means I’ve passed out on a lounge chair in Vegas in summer so my advice is to stock up on aloe vera before you launch the rescue effort. Lexie Walker stared at the note thinking that Alexa Berry… Strike that. Alexa Walker was fucking funny.

<…>"You're part-goof all class. Never walked in a room, any room, with a woman on my arm, any woman, who's got your looks, your style, the kinda beauty you got and the light that shines from you. So I don't get it. I don't get how a woman leads a life full of shit and comes out of it bein' part-goof and all class. That shit's impossible but there you fuckin' are. Part-goof, all class." I felt my breath coming fast but managed to whisper, "I'm not part-goof." "You're right. I was bein' nice. You're a total goof." "Am not" "Babe, you call me 'hubby'," he pointed out but my breath came faster because he called me "babe" again. "You are my hubby." "No one says hubby," he told me. "I do," I told him. "All right, I'll rephrase. No one but a goof says hubby."….<…>

[Home Economics Textbook from 1950]: "Prepare yourself. Take fifteen minutes to rest so you'll look refreshed when hubby comes home from work. Touch up makeup and put a ribbon in your hair. He's just been with work-weary people. Be a little gay. His boring day needs a lift." Mama Celia: "Get knee-walking drunk. You've earned it. You've been with four kids under the age of seven all day. Put a ribbon in your nose and try to pull it out of your mouth. You're wasted, after all. Announce you're gay. The look on his face will give you a lift.

When husband and wife fights, the door cries.

Oooh, hey, sex camp! Yeah. That’s the ticket. We need to start a sex camp where women can tell their hubbies they’re going to a fat farm and instead of the boot camp diet with Nazi dieticians, they go to the beach and have hot men treat them like goddesses! (Chrissy)

Nothing makes me happier than kicking the hubby’s ass. We used to have one-on-one competitions when we were kids and I won my fair share of them. I know how to stop the asshole.

Many a woman is in a relationship with or married to her man not because she loves him but only because she likes men like him.

The Politician's Wife The politician's wife kisses her hubby's public face, spits on his private face and shits herself doing an about face when the prick is elected President.

I’m scared,’ I whisper to Hubby. ‘I know,’ he says. What else can he say? When you’re facing death, you have to walk that walk alone.

So, hubby, where do we live?” “In hell, wifey. In. Fucking. Hell.

The oldest written poem was by the Greek, Homer. His poem, The Iliad, tells the story of the siege of Troy, a story of the heroes who fought to the death to get Helen back to her hubby, King Menelaus.

The duke married her anyway, but life with this millionairess didn’t prove any better than with the last one. Gladys once brought a revolver to dinner and, when asked why, remarked, “Oh, I don’t know, I might just shoot Marlborough.” Hubby had her committed,

In order to avoid the tragic case of murdering one’s own husband, Xiao YuAn pressed his hands against Yan HeQing’s shoulders, and shook him a few times: “Yan-ge! Hello! Daxiongdi! Baobei, dear! Darling! Husband! Hubby! Please wake up, I don’t want to be fucked to death, alright?

Nick and I, we sometimes laugh, laugh out loud, at the horrible things women make their husbands do to prove their love. The pointless tasks, the myriad sacrifices, the endless small surrenders. We call these men the dancing monkeys. Nick will come home, sweaty and salty and beer-loose from a day at the ballpark,and I’ll curl up in his lap, ask him about the game, ask him if his friend Jack had a good time, and he’ll say, ‘Oh, he came down with a case of the dancing monkeys – poor Jennifer was having a “real stressful week” and really needed him at home.’ Or his buddy at work, who can’t go out for drinks because his girlfriend really needs him to stop by some bistro where she is having dinner with a friend from out of town. So they can finally meet. And so she can show how obedient her monkey is: He comes when I call, and look how well groomed! Wear this, don’t wear that. Do this chore now and do this chore when you get a chance and by that I mean now. And definitely, definitely, give up the things you love for me, so I will have proof that you love me best. It’s the female pissing contest – as we swan around our book clubs and our cocktail hours, there are few things women love more than being able to detail the sacrifices our men make for us. A call-and-response, the response being: ‘Ohhh, that’s so sweet.’ I am happy not to be in that club. I don’t partake, I don’t get off on emotional coercion, on forcing Nick to play some happy-hubby role – the shrugging, cheerful, dutiful taking out the trash, honey! role. Every wife’s dream man, the counterpoint to every man’s fantasy of the sweet, hot, laid-back woman who loves sex and a stiff drink. I like to think I am confident and secure and mature enough to know Nick loves me without him constantly proving it. I don’t need pathetic dancing-monkey scenarios to repeat to my friends, I am content with letting him be himself. I don’t know why women find that so hard.

May All Your Angel's Be Wicked Good!

Aku tak suka menunggu, aku tak mau kehilangan kesempatan. Mereka yang berhasil adalah mereka yang berani mengambil resiko dan bertanggung jawab atas segala konsekuensinya. Selain hubby mungkin tak ada orang yang bisa memahami kegelisahanku, dan oleh karena itu pulalah aku tak ingin dimengerti. Aku tahu, aku harus memberi makan anjing anjing di dalam diriku, karena bila tidak maka mereka akan pergi atau bahkan mungkin mati. Ini akan selalu menjadi sebuah dilema besar bagi diriku. Aku tidak akan pernah mengikhlaskan kepergian mereka dan terlebih lagi, aku tak akan membiarkan mereka mati. Betapa besar arti mereka bagi hidupku. Mereka sudah demikian setia mendampingiku, selalu menjaga dan mencintaiku. Tidak ada satu makhluk pun di dunia ini yang sedemikian perhatian dan penuh pengorbanan sebagaimana apa yang telah ditunjukkan oleh Scott dan kawan kawannya itu padaku. Aku tidak bisa hidup tanpa mereka dan sedemikian pula sebaliknya. Jadi demikianlah, kami harus menjalani karma ini bukan sebagai sebuah kutukan melainkan sebagai sebuah berkat. Bagaimana aku bisa memisahkan diriku dari nafsu dan juga cinta? Mereka adalah bagian dari darah dan dagingku. Anak anak yang telah aku lahirkan dan harus terus kupelihara. Bilapun ada pertentangan antara kebaikan dan keburukan. Aku tak bisa mencintai yang satu dan mengabaikan yang lain. Mereka adalah perwujudan dari kebaikan dalam diriku dan hasrat yang tak pernah ingin berhenti, rasa lapar yang demikian menggigit. Rasa haus yang kian lama kian mencekik. Mengapa aku harus melawan diriku sendiri? Aku tidak diciptakan untuk mengingkari harkat kemanusiaanku. Aku tidak membutuhkan pembenaran untuk apa yang memang seharusnya aku lakukan. Aku, demikianlah diriku yang sesungguhnya. Makhluk yang leta dan fana ini. Kemana aku akan pergi, kemana langkah harus kutuju? Sementara, tak ada orang yang peduli selain daripada mereka yang dengan tulus murni mencintaiku tanpa pamrih. Mereka yang senantiasa hadir saat aku tengah berada dalam kesulitan. Mereka yang rela mengorbankan segalanya bagi diriku. Jangankan harga diri dan kehormatan. Sekiranya keadaan menuntut agar mereka mesti mengorbankan nyawa mereka bagiku, maka itulah yang akan mereka perbuat. Jadi mengapa aku harus larut di dalam penderitaan yang merongrong jiwaku sendiri? Mengapa mulutku harus berkeluh kesah? Tak ada satu pun yang akan menjamin keselamatanku di dunia ini. Juga mungkin di dunia yang akan datang. Dan oleh karena itu, maka biarlah aku berserah diri pada nasib dan sekaligus takdir yang semestinya harus aku jalani.

Granted, your hard-working hubby is doing his fair share just by bringing home the bacon. But by encouraging him to take on a couple of those tasks himself, he’ll soon have more respect for all you do on your family’s behalf. If his excuse for turning you down is that he’s “too tired” or that “it’s women’s work,” there is a simple way to convince him otherwise: food poisoning.

Having secrets doesn't make a relationship better. That's why I don't cover anything from hubby. In all my relationships with other people I don't need their understanding. For me the understanding from my hubby is more than enough. Because he never judged me or look at me from other eyes than my own happiness. Maybe that's why I felt like I didn't have to cover anything up in front of him. There is not a single secret that I hide from him.

For if single women are looking for government to create a "hubby state" for them, what is certainly true is that their male counterparts have a long enjoy the fruits of a related "wifey state," in which the nation and its government supported male independence in a variety of ways. Men, and especially married wealthy white men, have a long relied on government assistance. It's a government that has historically supported white men's home and business ownership through grants, loans, incentives, and tax breaks. It has allowed them to accrue wealth and offer them shortcuts and bonuses for passing it down to their children. Government established white men's right to vote and thus exert control over the government at the nation's founding and has protected their enfranchisement. It has also bolstered the economic and professional prospects of men by depressing the economic prospects of women: by failing to offer women equivalent economic and civic protections, thus helping to create conditions whereby women were forced to be dependent on those men, creating a gendered class of laborers who took low paying or unpaid jobs doing the domestic and childcare work that further enabled men to dominate public spheres. But the growth of a massive population of women who are living outside those dependent circumstances puts new pressures on the government: to remake conditions in a way that will be more hospitable to female independence, to a citizenry now made up of plenty of women living economically, professionally, sexually, and socially liberated lives.

Compared with a typical mail-order ad, the “imagine cable television” appeal is a much more subtle appeal to self-interest. Note that the benefits offered were not fantastic in a Caples-esque way. The gist was that you could avoid the hassle of leaving home (!) by ordering cable. Indeed, just hearing about the benefits, in the abstract, wasn’t enough to lure additional subscribers. It was only when people put themselves in the starring role—I can see myself watching a good movie at home with my hubby, and I can get up and check on the kids in the next room whenever I like … and think of all that babysitting money I’d save!—that their interest grew. This finding suggests that it may be the tangibility, rather than the magnitude, of the benefits that makes people care. You don’t have to promise riches and sex appeal and magnetic personalities. It may be enough to promise reasonable benefits that people can easily imagine themselves enjoying.

Bree nodded eagerly, anxious to see her friend again. “Oooh. I like that idea. Yeah. Let’s stay, Alessandro and then in the morning, we can have wine with our toast! Oh hey, that’s funny, huh. Wine, toast, get it?” Bree giggled. Oh wow. Her head was feeling really, really fuzzy. “Okay, let’s go to bed,” Alessandro said rising from the couch after he and Kevin finished discussing the plans for the vineyard in the coming year as well as the progress it had made thus far. Bree gasped. “Alessandro! We can’t have sex in someone else’s house!” Alessandro blushed and placed a hand on her back, leading her towards the stairs after wishing Hadley a good night. “It’s my house, darling,” he reminded her. “Oh well, that’s okay then, but you can’t be loud though cause that would still be rude,” Bree said, reaching down and squeezing Alessandro’s ass. Gosh, her hubby had a really nice tight ass. “Here we are,” he said, leading her into one of the mansion’s many bedrooms. “Alessandro, I hass…have…a little confestion to make,” Bree said leaning her head on his shoulder. “You do?” he asked placing her on the bed and bending down to remove her shoes. Bree lay back and stared up at the spinning ceiling. “Mmhm. I think…I’m ina...Little drunk bit.” “Really?” Alessandro asked with feigned surprise.

The selection process is simple. Hubby exhausts every ploy in his psychological arsenal to filter out the liars, fakes, and undesirables. (If only every husband were so devoted . . .) Me, I try to prove to that I’m not the stereotypical single male. That I’m in the Lifestyle for the right reasons. That I’m courteous and respectful. All of which are true, but the burden of proof is on me. It always is.

The selection process is simple. Hubby exhausts every ploy in his psychological arsenal to filter out the liars, fakes, and undesirables. (If only every husband were so devoted . . .) Me, I try to prove that I’m not the stereotypical single male. That I’m in the Lifestyle for the right reasons. That I’m courteous and respectful. All of which are true, but the burden of proof is on me. It always is.

Conventional evolutionary theory assures us that all you scheming, gold-digging women reading this are evolved to trick a trusting yet boring guy into marrying you, only to then spray on a bunch of perfume and run down to the local singles club to try to get pregnant by some unshaven Neanderthal as soon as hubby falls asleep on the couch. How could you? But before male readers start feeling superior, remember that according to the same narrative, you evolved to woo and marry some innocent young beauty with empty promises of undying love, fake Rolex prominent on your wrist, get her pregnant ASAP, then start “working late” with as many secretaries as you can manage. Nothing to be proud of, mister.

want to be someone who really celebrates the gift of the people God has given me to love. Here are a few simple ways to celebrate friends. Hold a special tea for your friends and their mothers. Celebrate with a tea for graduates, Mother's Day, or the first day of spring. Put on a birthday tea with special attention on the "big 0" ones. The anniversary of a special event or even a cup of tea to celebrate the end of a bad week or month are also good reasons to commune together. oday why not do a spontaneous act of kindness? Write a note to someone who would never expect it. Put a rose in your hubby's briefcase. Return a shopping cart for someone. Let someone merge into traffic and give him or her a big wave and smile. A thank you note out of the blue to someone who's said something nice about you will bless his or her day. Give another driver your parking spot. Leave a gift of money for someone anonymously. Call your mom or dad for no special reason. Send a letter to a teacher and thank him or her for all they do. Ask an older person to tell you his or her life story. Hebrews 13:2 reminds us to "entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.

Looking at her misty blue eyes, my first thought was that her hubby was cheating on her. She looked way too nice to have sex. Yeah, a real angel face.

12:40 p.m.: start making the plan. Remember when you could be roused from a night being spent on the couch in your pajamas, curled around a pint of Chubby Hubby, and goaded into joining your friends at the bar even though you’d already taken off your bra? Yeah, I can’t either, but I know those days existed. I have the liver damage to prove it. Now when I go out I have to start gearing up for that shit at least three days in advance, and if I’m actually going to go through with it, it has to include both an ironclad reservation and a reliable seating arrangement. Showing up at a restaurant and hoping for the best is a young person’s game. If I’m going out, I need to know that there is a table with my name on it and a comfortable seat pulled up to it. I’m too old to hover anxiously near the door, sweating under my coat in my good outside clothes, watching people who actually planned ahead be ushered to their awaiting tables and served the foods I am dying to eat. I’m not that organized, though, so I spend a long time scrolling through OpenTable to try to find a reservation for 7 p.m. at a place that has more than a few high-tops left and won’t attempt to put us outside. It’s slim pickings.

Married?” William bellowed. Aggression seared his limbs. Once, he’d preferred married women. Wham, bam, go back to your hubby, ma’am. But no longer. The thought of Sunny bound to some piece of shit male... Fuck! With a snarl, he released Sunny, grabbed a chair and tossed it across the stable. It hit the wall and shattered upon impact. Tonight, Sunny becomes a widow. His codebreaker, lifemate and temporary, live-in girlfriend would not have divided loyalties. By the Hell kings, I will be her one and only. “Shall I fetch another chair, or are you done with your tantrum?” she asked. “Fetch. Another. Chair.” She rolled her eyes. “I was married, yes, but I’m not now. Blaze was the son of the unicorn king, killed in the battle with Lucifer.” A heavy breath escaped William. Okay. All right. The urge to commit murder faded. Now he only wanted to dig up the bastard’s grave and spit on his corpse.

TTBH #3: LET THE SAINTS MARCH IN! When our kids were nine and eleven, my hubby and I took them to the Grand Canyon. I had always wanted to hike a canyon trail, so one super-hot, sunny July afternoon, we grabbed a small backpack and stuffed it with a few water bottles and a couple of apples and granola bars and then took off down a trail. The hike we wanted to take was round-trip to and from the first shelter house on the trail, about three miles total, so I wasn’t concerned. I regularly walked four to five miles a day at that time. How tough could it be?

What You Pray Toward “The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and the image of fulfillment.” —Malcolm Muggeridge, 1966 I. Hubbie 1 used to get wholly pissed when I made myself come. I’m right here!, he’d sputter, blood popping to the surface of his fuzzed cheeks, goddamn it, I’m right here! By that time, I was in no mood to discuss the myriad merits of my pointer, or to jam the brakes on the express train slicing through my blood, It was easier to suffer the practiced professorial huff, the hissed invectives and the cold old shoulder, liver-dotted, quaking with rage. Shall we pause to bless professors and codgers and their bellowed, unquestioned ownership of things? I was sneaking time with my own body. I know I signed something over, but it wasn’t that. II. No matter how I angle this history, it’s weird, so let’s just say Bringing Up Baby was on the telly and suddenly my lips pressing against the couch cushions felt spectacular and I thought wow this is strange, what the hell, I’m 30 years old, am I dying down there is this the feel, does the cunt go to heaven first, ooh, snapped river, ooh shimmy I had never had it never knew, oh i clamored and lurched beneath my little succession of boys I cried writhed hissed, ooh wee, suffered their flat lapping and machine-gun diddling their insistent c’mon girl c’mon until I memorized the blueprint for drawing blood from their shoulders, until there was nothing left but the self-satisfied liquidy snore of he who has rocked she, he who has made she weep with script. But this, oh Cary, gee Katherine, hallelujah Baby, the fur do fly, all gush and kaboom on the wind. III. Don’t hate me because I am multiple, hurtling. As long as there is still skin on the pad of my finger, as long as I’m awake, as long as my (new) husband’s mouth holds out, I am the spinner, the unbridled, the bellowing freak. When I have emptied him, he leans back, coos, edges me along, keeps wondering count. He falls to his knees in front of it, marvels at my yelps and carousing spine, stares unflinching as I bleed spittle unto the pillows. He has married a witness. My body bucks, slave to its selfish engine, and love is the dim miracle of these little deaths, fracturing, speeding for the surface. IV. We know the record. As it taunts us, we have giggled, considered stopwatches, little laboratories. Somewhere beneath the suffering clean, swathed in eyes and silver, she came 134 times in one hour. I imagine wires holding her tight, her throat a rattling window. Searching scrubbed places for her name, I find only reams of numbers. I ask the quietest of them: V. Are we God?

It was Terese’s turn now. I sat back and let her get ready. I remembered what Win had told me about her secret, about it being very bad. I felt nervous. My eyes darted about and that was when I saw something that made me pause. The white van. You get used to living this way after a while. On guard, I guess. You look around and you start to see patterns and you wonder. This was the third time I had spotted the same van. Or at least I thought it was the same van. It had been outside the hotel when we left. And more to the point, the last time I saw it, the traffic cop was asking it to move. Yet it was in the exact same place. I turned back to Terese. She saw the look on my face and said, “What?” “The white van may be following us.” I didn’t add, “Don’t look,” or any of that. Terese would know better. “What should we do?” she asked. I thought about it. Pieces started to fall into place. I hoped that I was wrong. For a moment I imagined that this could all be over in a matter of seconds. Ex-hubby Rick was driving the van, spying on us. I go over, I open the door, I rip him out of the front seat. I stood up and looked directly at the van’s driver-side window. No point in playing games if I was right. There was a reflection but I could still make out the unshaven face and, more to the point, the toothpick. It

What should we do?” she asked. I thought about it. Pieces started to fall into place. I hoped that I was wrong. For a moment I imagined that this could all be over in a matter of seconds. Ex-hubby Rick was driving the van, spying on us. I go over, I open the door, I rip him out of the front seat. I stood up and looked directly at the van’s driver-side window. No point in playing games if I was right. There was a reflection but I could still make out the unshaven face and, more to the point, the toothpick. It was Lefebvre from the airport. He didn’t try to hide himself. The door opened and he stepped out. From the passenger side, the older agent, Berleand, stumbled into view. He pushed up his glasses and smiled almost apologetically. I felt like an idiot. The plainclothes at the airport. That should have tipped me off. Immigration officers wouldn’t be in plainclothes. And the irrelevant questioning. A stall. I should have seen it. Both

He thinks I’m a good cook, and will eat anything I set before him. He is regular in his habits and not once through our married life have I been left at home heel-tapping waiting for my ‘hubby’ to come home. We

about. My hubby, Dave (not his real name), and I love it when I have sex with someone else while he watches," she confided to me. It took a second for her comment

really want to see my naked hubby come in my best friend's hand

Ronke was amazed. Stressed! Boo-time? Tubby hubby? What was wrong with them? Was Boo having some sort of breakdown? And she wouldn’t send her child home with a steroid-pumped Russian. Would she?

Of course, the problem had a solution. Dear hubby could find a job that paid decently.

I thought I saw you scurrying in here hubby-kins!” A girl in a vivid orange dress stepped into the room and I had to look up at her towering height and shoulders which nearly matched the breadth of the Heirs'. Her teeth protruded a little from her lower jaw and her eyes seemed to wander, never landing on one spot. Her hair was a massive brown frizz with a pink bow clipped into the top of it, perfectly matching the violently bright shade of her eyeshadow. She marched between Tory and I like we were made of paper, forcing us aside with her elbows as she charted a direct path for Darius. “Mildred,” he said tersely, his eyes darkening as his bride-to-be reached out to him. Caleb, Seth and Max sniggered as Mildred leaned in for a kiss and Darius only managed to stop her at the last second by planting his palm on her forehead with a loud clap. “Not before the wedding,” he said firmly and I looked at Tory who was falling into a fit of silent laughter, clutching her side. I tried to smother the giggle that fought its way out of my chest but it floated free and Mildred rounded on us like a hungry animal. “These must be the Vega Twins,” she said coldly. “Well don't waste your time sniffing around my snookums. Daddy says he's saving himself for our wedding night.” Max roared with laughter and Mildred turned on him like a loaded weapon, jabbing him right in the chest. Max's smile fell away as she glared at him like he was her next meal. “What are you laughing at you overgrown starfish?” she demanded, her eyes flashing red and her pupils turning to slits. “I've eaten bigger bites than you before, so don't tempt me because I adore seafood.” Max reached out, laying a hand on her bare arm, shifting it slightly as his fingers brushed a hairy mole. “Calm down Milly, we're just having a bit of fun. We want to get to know Darius's betrothed. Why don't you have a shot?” He nodded to Caleb who promptly picked one up and held it one out for Mildred to take. “Daddy says drinking will grow hairs on my chest,” she said, refusing it. “Too late for that,” Seth said under his breath and the others started laughing. A knot of sympathy tugged at my gut, but Mildred didn't seem to care about their mocking. She stepped toward Seth with a wicked grin and his smile fell away. “Oh and what's wrong with that exactly, Seth Capella? You like your girls hairy, don't you?” Seth gawped at her in answer. “What the hell does that mean?” “You like mutt muff,” she answered, jutting out her chin and I noticed a few wiry hairs protruding from it. Seth growled, scratching his stomach as he stepped forward. “I don't screw girls in their Order form, idiot.” “Maybe not, but you do, don't you Caleb Altair?” She rounded on him and now I was really starting to warm to Mildred as she cut them all down to size. I settled in for the show, folding my arms and smiling as I waited for her to go on. “My sister's boyfriend’s cousin said you like Pegasus butts. He even sent a video to Aurora Academy of you humping a Pegasex blow up doll and it went viral within a day.” Caleb's mouth fell open and his face paled in horror. “I didn't hump it!” “I didn't watch the video, but everyone told me what was in it. Why would I want to see you screwing a plastic horse?” She shrugged then turned to Tory and I with absolutely no kindness in her eyes. Oh crap.(Darcy)

In the case of Rebecca, she wondered if it was “the one book to read before you get married in case you discover his ex-wife is going to haunt you and the housekeeper is going to be a right bitch through your whole marriage and maybe you can’t trust your new hubby either.

If a bloke is sexually satisfied via the attention of a good mistress, that will no doubt make him a better hubby and father. More time to wash his socks and jocks.

flattening him against the entry’s wall. Me he urged forward with a flick of his tail. I didn’t check my hubby for boo-boos.

And I had a lot to look forward to in my old age. A lot of laughs. Good friends. And gumming my hubby.

That’s why you have to enjoy yourself when you’re young because when you’re older you’ll just want to stay in and watch old movies with your crusty, old hubby.

matter what the bastards do. So what if my dad beat my mum, so what if my hubby fucked the babysitter, so

My little brute, You look so radiant in the picture at the back of your novel. I look at it all the time. I cannot keep you out of my mind. You are a temptress. I can see it in your eyes. You are screaming out for a man to touch you like you deserve. You deserve to be treated like a queen, but not just that. I will make you feel like a dirty harlot, and you are going to like it. I am a beast, locked in a cage. But when I finally get out, you will be mine and mine alone. Say goodbye to hubby dearest, for he will be gone soon…

I am a beast, locked in a cage. But when I finally get out, you will be mine and mine alone. Say goodbye to hubby dearest, for he will be gone soon…

Then let me show you how to live. Let me show you how to find pleasure in pain. To find pleasure in fear. Let me show you that hurting doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Give yourself over to me. And afterward, you can go to sleep knowing that hubby dearest is in as much agony as you’ve been in for years. Even more so, because I take my torture methods very seriously.

He treats me like his property. But it’s all fine. I have my ways to escape from the prison he designed for me. He likes his girls proper and innocent. Oh, hubby dearest. You haven’t a clue in the world. You’re going to regret underestimating me. While he’s deep in dreamland, I have other things on my mind. Blood. Revenge. Murder. At night is when I unleash all of my vulgar thoughts on paper. At night is when my fantasies come alive. At night is when I write.