· Immerse myself in my life’s passion (writing/book). · Surround myself, maintain and cultivate relationships with people who are supportive and loving and want what is best for me. · Extricate myself from situations and relationships that bring, or have the potential to bring, negative energy into my life. · Get out; socialize; do not isolate · Maintain good health (exercise, vitamins, food, etc.). · Think before speaking; do not be quick to draw conclusions. · Lend a shoulder to cry on; be positive, understanding and empathetic to friends in need. · Give people the benefit of the doubt. · Be selfish. · Be selfless. · Take steps to find healthy, rewarding, spiritual, loving relationship with life partner. · Continue to be part of a warm, nurturing family. · Do not be afraid. BE FEARLESS. · Try new things; push boundaries and limits. · Say what I mean and mean what I say. · Love so that I may be loved. |
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"Tango, when I'm with you, I can't keep my hands off you. When I'm not with you, I can't keep my hands off myself."
Tango, You are a bitch. A selfish, disgusting, immoral, home wrecking bitch who needs to be stopped before anymore damage is done to innocent families. At first I found myself seeing you as a real, funny, character. I could see you with the toothbrushes, etc. The toothbrushes gave a bit of insight and humor to the situation at hand. Depression, Bipolar Disorder and ADD are quite a mix for you, Tango. While serious in nature, I still got quite the laugh out of some of the situations you describe. At first I thought this character was a woman I could relate to in different times and parts of my life. For example, yes, I'm a slut. However, big difference: I’m a slut with morals. While every marriage has its own gray area (and there are absolutely acceptable gray areas where extramarital relations may stimulate a marriage in a positive way, if both parties are in agreement), in general, a woman, like you, Tango, is bad news for most. I have lived through the doings of little Ms.Tango. You took apart my family. The Tangos out there don't think anything more to it than the convenience. You are an enabler who washes your hands of the whole thing because you are not the one cheating. Ms.Tango, let me inform you that even If you don't get caught, you still have to live with what you've taken away from others. Often, in the family you destroy, the partner is not just the spouse, but also the best friend. Many partners later spill the beans out of guilt, or are someday found out and, too late, the damage is done. Sorry, Tango, but you are a bitch and you hit a sore spot with me. With the divorce rate as high as it is, and with so many of the causes stemming from the Tangos of the world, it might be tough for any married woman to read Tango’s Tales without thinking that perhaps the married man whom you are writing about could be her husband. “I could be you…I am you.” The hell you are! Why couldn't you just be a regular slut whom we could live through vicariously – without the cheating? You get a happy ending? No way. I certainly doubt it. Contempt is about all you would get from many of the masses, Tango. What goes around comes around! Karma is a bitch, and so are you. …We are naked. You have me against a wall. You gather my hair in a pony tail and yank my head back, exposing my neck. You bite my neck and lift me off my feet whilst wrapping my legs around your waist. We tumble onto the bed, and you claim me.
YOU CLAIM ME. Whatever that means to you. You are in control. I am at your mercy. You can stick your cock in my mouth and quench my thirst. You can wrap your hands around my neck and squeeze. You can make me beg. Beg you to please fill the heavy emptiness between my legs. And you can enter me, bring me to the brink of orgasm, then withdraw…stop…and torment me. I want bruises and skin rubbed raw. Bite marks on my neck and in between my thighs. I want you to leave your mark on me. The Fuckbunny lay naked under the covers, aroused, waiting impatiently for the phone to ring. He had said he wanted her wet when he called. Obligingly, her fingers traced soft circles around her nipples and then moved down her body, slowly, to her pussy, then back up to her breasts. She was slick and breathing hard when the phone rang, “Tell me what you’re doing,” he demanded softly. “I’m pulling my nipples with my left hand, and I have my right hand on my pussy.” She found it most difficult to talk when she was excited like this; it was all she could do to pant her responses. “Yes,” he said, “Yes. Tell me more.” “Now I have my fingers in my pussy, pretending it’s your cock that’s filling me, and I’m stroking my clit; that ridge right above my clit. Oh…” Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh…” “Keep doing that. I love it when you touch yourself. I’ll call you back in 6 minutes…no; I can’t wait that long, I’ll call back in 4 minutes. And don’t stop what you’re doing.” Click. The room was dark and fragrant with her wetness. As instructed, she continued to massage her breasts and clit, rubbing her legs together and moaning like a bitch in heat. Exactly 4 minutes later, the phone rang, “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me.” …his cock teased the lips of her pussy. Up and down, side to side, driving her crazy until she was whimpering and begging…please…please…his mouth warm and wet on her nipples. She arched her body off the bed and threw her head back as she clawed at the blanket, asking him to fuck her…oh god please fuck her. Only then did he inch…sink…slowly into her hot throbbing moistness. Her pussy immediately shrink-wrapped around him, devouring his cock as she bit her bottom lip until it bled. Yes…oh yes…deeper and deeper still. She drew him in until he could go no further. Her head thrashed ferociously as electronic shocks of pleasure detonated and coursed through her body…she was on fire as his cock exploded. She lay still until she was breathing normally and could speak. “Mmmm, baby baby…” But he had already hung up. Nothing but niceness is what you promised because you sure can be mean and act like a jerk when things get too personal. When the truth gets a little too close. You often attack or, even worse, become uncaring and apathetic and far too willing to risk all we’ve invested through the years, the fears… and certainly the tears. And you know…you know… that is has not been easy for me this roller coaster life that is uniquely and unmistakably ours. Yet, ironically it has been easy. Easier than one might think. Because you, my dear, are in a league of your own. The rest falls away. I so know this to be true. I really do. Except I can’t just sit around with the pain and the unknowing. Just waiting for you to work through your stuff and open your eyes and heart to see that I’m the one missing piece that fulfills you that satisfies you that holds your interest through your busy and complicated days. The one when the door closes and for us… all else fades away… al else fades away… Yet you know that I can’t just sit and wait. Just sit and wait as time rolls on. And you know that the one thing I do not like is to be left alone to be left all alone… The pills help me sleep. The drink helps me cope. And even though you are the one that I want the most I do not like feeling deep down inside being alone being alone. So tonight will be different tonight I’ll take a chance I’m a little freaked with the idea of a different romance. Of making small talk and looking in the eyes of a man who is not you. Of a man who is not you. It’s a little bit creepy and, yet, excitable too. I think – I don’t know… It will probably be fun. I mean, it can’t be bad. Except for the fact that it’s just not you. That it’s just not you. My married friends Steve and Josie swing. No, they don't swing DANCE. They swing. Have sex with other people. Not all the time. But every chance they get. Steve explained it to me this way: "Tango, the universe is made up of two kinds of people: people that you would fuck, and people that you wouldn't fuck. Josie and I enjoy seeking out people that we would fuck. And then fucking them. Simple as that." But there was a spin. Steve and Josie looked for people that they would fuck, then they would fuck them together. "Um, how exactly does that work?" I asked them one night after numerous glasses of wine. "Doesn't either one of you get jealous?" The answer was a resounding "no." There was ultimate trust between the two. And, as Josie told me, Steve "owned her." "He owns you? What do you mean." What that meant was that Josie enjoyed fucking multiple men and Steve enjoyed watching her. Josie got off on being the object of desire of multiple men, and Steve enjoyed knowing that the woman whom all these men desired and pleasured belonged to HIM. That made perfect sense to me. But I wanted an example. Steve told me about two gentleman that frequently joined in the fun. Steve and Josie lived in a house right on Narragansett Bay. Lots of fisherman trolled for fish in the Bay. And apparently they trolled for more. One afternoon, Steve said, he and Josie had been sitting on the deck outside their house, enjoying a glass of wine (or three) and watching the fishing boats go back and forth. Completely out of the blue, a boat, on which two fisherman worked, slowed down right in front of them. "We have no idea why, but one of the fishermen asked if they could both come over for drinks that night. Naturally Josie and I said yes. They both ended up fucking Josie while I watched. Then we both took turns sucking and sitting on their cocks (Steve was bisexual)." This went on for hours. It got to be so late that all four fell asleep in one tangled mass of arms and legs and cocks and pussys. The two fisherman woke at 4am so they could get to their boat and go fishing for that day's catch. They asked Steve and Josie for a ride. They all piled into Steve's Jeep and drove to the dock, which was only 5 minutes away. Then Steve and Josie went back home, had wild monkey sex and fell asleep. When they awoke, they found a styrofoam cooler on the deck of the house. In it were bags 4 bags of flounder, each one containing about a pound of fish. After that, the two fisherman were frequent visitors. And Steve and Josie always had a steady supply of fresh fish. I had been seeing MG for about 4 months when I began to notice a trend. The day before, the day of, and about 3 days after we had a fuck date, there was no communication from him. No emails, no texts, no phone calls. Nothing. I found it peculiar because usually he would email/text/call several times throughout the day when we weren’t scheduled to see each other. Intimate communication: dirty talk, phone sex, drunken declarations of love. But nothing at all before and after the actual rendezvous. Often times I wouldn’t even know where exactly we were meeting. He would not communicate the info until the last possible moment, and then without any emotion or longing that I could tell. I asked him about this one day when we were scheduled to meet and I hadn’t heard from him. “Why don’t you ever text or email or phone me around the time we are planning to meet?” His answer took me aback. “Look, I emailed you, I texted you and I called you all last week. Isn’t that enough?” Huh? For real? “Well,” I responded, “I wasn’t aware we were keeping track and saving up emails and texts and phone calls in a Communications Bank Account.” And not only deposits could be made in the Communications Bank Account – just as with any regular bank account, withdrawals could be made as well. For example, if MG was going away on a family vacation that would keep him out of contact for awhile, he would make a communications withdrawal and inundate me with emails and texts and phone calls the week before. That way, he didn’t feel the need to communicate with me when he was with his family – he had withdrawn and spent all communications beforehand and thus felt no obligation towards me. How ingenious, I thought. What a fucking manipulator. And when I brought it to his attention? He did what he always did when he didn’t want to talk about something – he ignored it. I think that what was actually happening was that subconsciously he felt guilty about seeing me; I mean, really – how could he not? So he felt the need to distance me prior to and after an assignation. I couldn’t say it didn’t hurt, even after I figured out what was going on. But it certainly added to the growing list of pros and cons I kept a silent tally of in my brain. Right now, the pros still outnumbered the cons…but the the cons were damn near catching up. My doctor called today to tell me that my cells were abnormal and required further attention. When can I come in for more tests? The news left me strangely calm. I have always thought that life is overrated. I'm tired from the effort it takes to fix a smile on my face nod and pretend to care about the petty problems of Yahoos when I have enough to deal with living in my own sorry skin. Being told I have only a short time left would be a blessing. I would move to a loft in the city high above the dirty streets with a neon light in the window and an oven big enough to house a head. For the past several years, my niece has been cleaning rooms at various hotels. Laura just got married and moved to New Hampshire where her husband, who is in the Navy, is stationed. She quickly got a job cleaning rooms at a Holiday Inn. I've stayed in my share of hotel rooms, I must admit. Mostly not on vacation. An anonymous hotel room is quite the aphrodisiac, and the perfect place to spend the night with an illicit lover. You can really let yourself go. Try new things. Get a bit crazy. And no one will know. Except maybe the person who cleans the room the next day. Laura and her husband recently drove down to Providence from New Hampshire to have Thanksgiving dinner with the family. She had just gotten the job at the Holiday Inn and was excited to begin her new married life. During a lull in the conversation, I asked her a question. "What is the strangest thing you've ever found in a hotel room?" I was curious. Laura looked around the table, her face a bit flushed. With excitement. She had the floor, she knew it and she was going to make the most of it. All eyes were on her. Everyone was listening. "There have been some really weird things that I've found, but the weirdest definitely had to be one of those leather whips...but this one had spikes on it!" She got the desired affect. Everyone oohed and aahed in amazement at just how crazy people could be. Except for me. A whip with spikes? That didn't even come close to what I once left behind at a Hampton Inn in Boston. I was meeting him, and we always ended up doing something absolutely crazy each time we got together. It was fun to try to think of new things to do that were just a bit more outrageous than what we had done previously. I had packed my overnight bag with the usual lingerie and baby oil and a bottle of Grand Marnier. I was ready to leave but couldn't think of anything special or different to bring. Until I grabbed my car keys off the kitchen table. Right next to the keys was a small bag of Swedish Fish. I had intended to give them to my 8 year old nephew, who loved the soft, gooey, red, fish-shaped jellys. But no. I had a better use for them. I arrived at the hotel at 5pm, and he was awaiting me. He always got a two bedroom suite. There was an "oil room", which we used when covered with oil, and a "dry room", which we used when not covered with oil. He really did think of everything. We proceeded to fuck our brains out for the next few hours, stopping now and then to sip some Grand Marnier, or move from the "oil room" to the "dry room". It was getting late and we were exhausted from all the vigorous activity. I reached in my purse to grab my phone so I could set the alarm when I felt the bag of Swedish Fish. Aha! I knew exactly what to do with them. While he was in the bathroom making the obligatory goodnight call to his wife, I opened the bag. I extracted 5 Swedish Fish, reached down to part my pussy lips, and stuck those poor unsuspecting fish where the sun never shined. I would have him eat them out of me! Except...we both fell asleep. You can imagine the mess we woke up to the next morning. The Swedish Fish had melted out of me and onto the crisp white hotel room sheets. We tried to clean the bedding the best we could but we both had to be at work at 8am and each of us had an hour drive. He felt so bad for the poor person who was assigned to clean the room that He left a $10 tip. So when Laura told us about the spiked whip, I debated whether or not to tell the Swedish Fish story. I decided not to. It was Thanksgiving Dinner after all. It was time to appreciate a turkey stuffed with breadcrumbs and not a pussy stuffed with Swedish Fish. |
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