I Already Said I’m Sorry
Come on. Don’t be that way. I don’t do it on purpose you know. We have a relationship based on honesty, and I’m trying to be as honest as I can with you. That’s why I’m telling you this. I’m not trying to hurt you. No, I’m not. I know it may feel like that sometimes, but I think that we will be stronger and better if I can just get this out.
I still love you. You’re my number one. You’re my favorite. But men have certain needs. We feel certain urges. And we can’t fight them. There’s just no use in fighting them. Millions of years of evolution have brought us to the point where we have to have variety.
It’s not that you’re not good enough. Far from it. You are my anchor, my roots, my soul laid bare. Everything about me that is good and wholesome gets poured into you.
But sometimes I want something different. Something special. Something that either you can’t give, or I can’t bear to ask. I read an article once about the Bunny Ranch Bordello in Nevada. The professional sex-workers there said that men don’t come there to cheat on their wives, they come there because they can’t ask their wives for what they want. How can they look at the mother of their children and say "Honey, please let me put it in back there. Just a little. Please?" How can the woman that tends to them when they are sick dress in leather and whip their naked ass while they are tied down to a medieval rack? How can they face their wife, day-in and day-out, when they know that she was the one videotaping the Siamese-triplet and crotchless-clown suit affair?
And it’s just like that with you and me. But instead of my special need being a blowjob from your sister everyday at 3:00, I need to read and write other stuff. You’re my blog, for godsake! I would never leave you. But sometimes, when I know that no-one is looking, I flip over to cnn.com and I read something serious. Every once in a while, I’ll pick up a book by Bill Bryson or Robert Heinlein and read something on paper.
And sometimes…I know this is going to hurt…I write serious subject matter. I write poetry. I’m working on a novel. I even fill out greeting cards when Blondage can’t cut it. There is more to my life than you!
There. I said it, and I can’t take it back. I don’t know that I would, even if I were able. I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to accept it, and we can move on. I’ll try to pay more attention to you, and to your needs, but you have to understand that sometimes, in moments of weakness, I may need to do something else.
I love you, blog. Never forget that.