Ninety-nine percent of the time, Hotwifing makes me feel like the sexiest uber-goddess on the planet which is pretty fucking awesome. The remaining one percent? That’s when I deal with the harsh reality that for some guys I simply offer a hole or three to fuck. It’s only a paltry portion of the time thankfully but it’s a massive kick to the self esteem when it becomes apparent my allure has an expiry date for some guys.

The rational part of my brain totally gets it: I’m in the Hotwifing game to get laid so I shouldn’t expect anything beyond a willing and able cock. If a man wants to move on to perceived greener pastures then that’s his loss. The romantic, emotional part however finds it utterly unacceptable that a guy isn’t still fawning over me after a few sex sessions. Or should I say, my ego takes exception to no longer being his main object of sexual fantasy.

I’m bringing this up as Dr D has become very obviously inattentive after our much anticipated second play date. We’ve gone from months of frequent sexting and smut sharing to me seemingly falling off his sex radar overnight. It wasn’t that the play date was bad either. We had a fun morning and he said he wished he could have stayed longer. He then casually mentioned that he’d be busy for a while but that wasn’t exactly a surprise.

What Dr D meant however, was that he would be too busy to line up another date with us. He stopped being receptive to my advances and even Christmas and New Year greetings were met with a friendly response to the two of us, rather than anything naughty directed at me personally which he would normally do. The message was fairly clear: he was enjoying greener pastures and if he had the time and inclination, he’d jump back over to my side. Some day. Maybe.

To be honest, Dr D’s polite rejection was probably warranted. I didn’t give Dr D what he desperately wanted which was filthy double vaginal penetration action. I thought taking his cock anally was a positive step forward but clearly it was too little, too late. With so little play time, it actually made sense to find a vagina that was well accustomed to taking two penises simultaneously. I wasn’t quite sold on the idea of stretching mine unnecessarily anyway.

I console myself with this logical explanation, as well as by asking my somewhat elitist self if I would still want to fuck Dr D were he not a surgeon. As skilled as he may be in scrubs, I can easily count the guys who have given better head. The sex was on the clinical side (no surprises really…) and he has nothing on J as far as kissing and dominating me are concerned. Besides all that, his penis smelt disconcertingly of curry.

As you may have gathered by now, my issue has little do with not being able to fuck Dr D again as much as not being able to accept that he doesn’t want to fuck me again. I want to be that babe a man drops what (or who) he’s doing for the chance to bone. Being rejected sexually does my head in and I start questioning how attractive I am, or how much of a freak in the bedroom I’m not. Should I have done a headstand for better access, or worn a gimp mask?

At the end of the day, the problem is entirely in my head and I know it’s not worth basing my sexual worth on. I can’t be every single man’s ultimate fuck much in the same way no one man can give me all the different mind-blowing sexual experiences. In fact, I’m Hotwifing so I can enjoy new lovers as well as savour those whose bedroom skills need revisiting from time to time. I can’t blame Dr D for wanting to do the same.

Truth be told, I’ve done the post-sex rejection thing to a lot of single guys myself so I can’t complain too much. I may have found their goods tasty for one night but not enough for seconds. So I make polite excuses and hope they also feel a one-off is all it was meant to be. Most guys are happy to move on to another pasture, greener or otherwise, but some have been left perplexed by my rejection. I really don’t blame them now.

It remains to be seen if I write about Dr D again, but 2018 has already provided new adventures so I’m not exactly wallowing in self-pity. There’s way too much fun to be had after all 😉