Our sex life is very predictable. And we like it that way. We’ve talked about role plays, having an open relationship, threesomes with other women, spankings, etc. Yawn…we relish in the simplicity of us. But fucking her in hotel rooms on our little local road trips is always a nice variation on the theme- mesmerized by her taste, softness, curves- an unassuming, quiet planet caught in the gravitational pull of her warm sun heart.

Some describe living in the Northwest as like gambling. Most of the time it sucks, but there is just enough pleasure in the beauty to keep people hooked. After working up north for a week, we spent a night in the Tulalip Casino. I felt aroused rising in the elevator, looking at ads for red-rare prime rib and men in a mixed martial arts embrace. Native Americans seem much better off in this state than in other places like the Midwest, where the conditions are atrocious. People care as much about the almost Third World-like conditions there as they care about the Third World: high suicide rates, rape rates, violence rates, drug and alcohol abuse rates. The human condition is fragile. Civilization teeters on an edge. You can’t just break an entire culture like that and expect it to bounce back.

5 o'clock in the afternoon- Venus Throw. She is better at oral than anyone in the world. This isn’t a science claim as I have only fucked so many of them in my imagination. But she tells me I'm not the only one who has told her this. She's my jackpot now.

A closeness emerged in the distance between us during our lewd grappling match.

I had almost died a week earlier. And to this day, I can't swallow a bunch of vitamins without a sense of panic. I was rushing to shove a broccoli beef bowl from Panda Express down my gullet to get back to work fast and found myself in a full-on choke on their not high-quality, tough meet. Not that it was their fault for me failing to chew my food. When I flailed out of my car to get people's attention, obviously choking to death, two people (different cars) looked at me funny and just drove off. One has less than five minutes without oxygen before brain death. Right before passing out, stumbling towards the empty drive-up window area, hoping some would care, I swallowed as hard as I could because I knew it was my only chance to not die. It was agony for my not big enough esophagus, which hurt for a couple of days after this incident, but I lived. The whole event was terrifying, undignified, and hilarious. Yes, hilarious, with my broccoli beef and rice flying everywhere as I tumbled out of the car, only to find people turning on their ignition to get away from what they must have thought was a "crazy" me, despite employing the universal sign for choking to death. When I recovered, I saw the lady who had been parked next to me but driven away enjoying her General Tso's chicken in her car in a different part of the parking lot. I got out and addressed her with some stern commentary. Her response was, “You got shit all over my car.” My spouse had a memory flash all this had happened during sex. She stopped and looked at me funny, just as if she was relieved I was there.