Differences between wifey sex and mizztrezz sex

Gird your loins, because this is not something you read when you’re a stressed out, fock. I need you relaxed, calm, and fo-cussed. Mmkay? Take a long deep breath in through your nose, and out slowly through your mouth. Go.

I was once a mistress.

Don’t give me that fucking look of disdain and disgust, you judgmental sluht. Bitch this is potentially informative and educational. I am trying to help all of uzzz. Uh-kay? This is for referencing. Research. Academia. True? False? True.

Zow… shut the fuck up for a few minutes and straighten out your forehead. Thank yeew.

I was once a mizztrezz, but I didn’t know.

You might say, “Bullshit! All mistresses know! Every succubus knows!”

I honestly didn’t fucking know, okay?

Okay… I’m lying… I had an inkling, but I ignored it because… dyick.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/d351f0_7de4dcbb34c44d828a5ca22cd90531fb/720p/mp4/file.mp4

But men will do everything, hide, and say anything just to get some puss because they all suffer from chronic Dishonestititis. It’s basically an autoimmune condition where the truth attacks their system, so they do their best to avoid it. It’s contagious too because they all seem to have it.

Zow… backstory… I met this real hot guy at a Kowloon House Bar when I was 22.

I know… such a young fucking slut.

I frequented this Kowloon bar with my gay friends, Pat, Sweet, and Carla (who were originally  born as Patrick, Stewart, and Carlo), because it had such a chill vibe, the beer was cheap, they had cream cheese wantons that were bomb, and was frequented by hot working men. And wherever hot working men went, me and my gays friends were there.

Zow… One 2012 night… this guy came in… so fucking tall, handsome, great nose, and had bushy brows, and I get fucking weak for a man with thick, bushy brows and a full face of beard. I don’t fucking know why, but I immediately gravitate toward men with thick facial hair. It’s giving animal. It’s giving wild. It’s giving primal. It’s giving criminal. It’s giving fuck meeyah hard. Char.

He may have looked like a member of the famous Gutz family, but TEMU version. He wasn’t muscular, muscular, but one can instantly tell that he has a gym membership and went quite often because of the thick veins across his arms and fist. He also had tattoos on his upper right arm that were peeking through the sleeve of his polo barong, I know, hott. It was like saying, “I’m a good, responsible gentleman, but I can fuck you up too.” His polo barong also meant he was in a profession nice enough that they wouldn’t give a flying fuck about his tattoos because they hired him for his skill.

Every person in the bar, men included, immediately twisted their heads when he entered Kowloon with his pack of friends, and all eyes followed him until he sat at their corner. My gay friends kicked me under the table as a gesture to say, “Bitch… look!”  And I did look, and then he saw me.

We didn’t actually meet just yet that time, but our eyes did, eww yuck. It was a quiet understanding between us that there was immediate tension because he kept looking at me and I would look back and look away like I’m not such a hoe. You know when you lock eyes with a cute guy from across the bar for a moment and he’s looking back at you? He’s like, “Ooh, she’s hot!” And you’re like “Ooh, he’s hot!” And together you’re like, “We should hook up and make gorgeous babies!” And you feel butterflies that trickle down to your vagina? Like you’re eye fucking somebody from a distance? Yeah, that.

But… unfortunately… I was already out with another guy that night with my friends and had to pretend I wasn’t such a cheap hoe, right? Like I wasn’t for anybody, even though I was already a public park. I had to put on my good-girl-worthy-of-a-ring face. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have paid for the beverages and the food. I know. Sluh-uht.

To be honest… I wasn’t really that interested in this guy I was out on a date with, but he was introduced to me by a mutual friend who said I should give rich, goody two-shoe men a chance, because I’ve only been hooking up with dirt broke, handsome men who had nothing good to offer except their swinging dyicks that were smaller than my dyick.

And you know what? I would have given this guy a chance had I not met the hot guy that had just walked in. This vanilla guy held our conversations well, he was actually really fucking smart, hilarious too, and an ADMU grad, which meant good values were instilled in him at a young age. Green flag… he also wasn’t looking at other girls throughout the entire night. It’s like all he saw was me. Narcissist? But sadly… I’m a Scorpio; I don’t get into anything that’s good for me because I was born to want to suffer. Why do you think I’m married to a broke Virgo with a big dyick?

In the middle of it all, when my gay friends stood up to visit the men’s room, the hot guy also left his seat and went to the men’s room. And these gay friends were trans, but “trans” was not a popular term at the time, equality wasn’t a thing then, there weren’t 72 gender identities yet, there were only four, namely, man, woman, gay, and lesbian, because previous generations were obvi seriously oppressed and followed rigid social norms, so all gays were only considered “gay” and thus they naturally went inside the men’s room together with the hot guy.

And I know these gay bitches, they will squeeze out information from hot men whenever they have the chance, especially Pat, who was like the gayest, forceful leader of the pack, and seeing that they all went to the men’s room at the same time, I very well fucking knew that they would corner the hot guy someway somehow to introduce themselves forcibly.

Sure enough… when they got back to the table, they had pageant smiles in their faces like they had had just won a lottery scratch card, but they remained quiet, and went back to chit chatting with vanilla Mark to keep him entertained.

Once Mark stood up to visit the men’s room, they grabbed the chance, scooted near me, and huddled up like they were about to reveal a deep, juicy secret.

“Bitch…” Pat hissed. “Don’t look. That hot guy wants you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bitch, shut the fuck up, you know what and who.” Pat snapped. “His name is Seb. Sebastian, but he wants to be called Seb.”

“God I wanna Seb his cock.” Carla added.  

“No! I fucking knew it. No! Because I know you bitches. Did you fucking corner him and sold me? Who talked to who first? Because it’s like this every fucking time. Every time you see a hot guy you always snake your way to get us introduced so we can get free food and drinks! No! Stop it! I’m not doing this.” I lit another cigarette as I stubbed out the burnt one.

“Bitch, he was the one who cornered us!” Sweet exclaimed.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, I know you scheming bitches!”

“This bitch…” Carla rolled her eyes at me and shook her head.

“Okay then. What exactly was said? And don’t change a fucking thing!” I warned, tapping the cigarette with my forefinger like it’s a period at the end of my instruction.

“He waited for us outside and asked about you, who you are, and who Mark was, and if you’re together, together.” Pat’s hands were clapping in the air.

“Well, what did you say?”

“I’m not an idiot! Of course I said no and that Mark is just a suitor.” She rolled her eyes at me.

“Why didn’t you just say friend? Why suitor?”

“Bitch, you need to look desired. Suitor so he knows men are after you, when in fact you are after them.” And we all laughed at the truth as she flipped her long hair back as though it was there.

“Stop. Don’t lie, please.” I repeated. I squinted my eyes in suspicion even more because these gay bitches be dead ass scheming all the fucking time.

“Bitch, we’re not! Honest!” Carla said, and I believed her, because she was the least likely to lie to me because she’s the recipient of my hand-me-downs.

“He even wanted to send drinks and food, but he didn’t want to be rude to Mark and start something. So we said maybe next time.” Pat interjected.

“That’s very considerate of him.” I pursed my lips. “That’s actually so nice and respectful.”

“He asked for your number, so I gave it, and then he gave his business card.” Pat handed me the rectangle cardstock, and printed in the middle was his name and profession.

“Business card? The fuck? How old is he? He’s a Tech Engineer? The fuck does that even mean?”

“Bitch, does it even fucking matter? Look at his face!”

“I guess not. And what else did he say?”

“He said that we should all go out together for drinks one night.” Pat said in one breath.

Sweet smacks him in the arm. “He didn’t say that. He said he’ll ask her out to dinner. He didn’t mention anything about us.”

“Bitch. That’s already given.” Pat smacked his lips. “Of course this bitch will bring us along, right?” He asked me.

I laughed. “We’ll see. I haven’t even agreed to anything! I haven’t even talked to him! I don’t even know if I’m interested.”

“Bitch, are you fucking dumb and blind? He’s gorgeous!”

I shook my head. “Eh-eh. That’s exactly the reason why I’m not sure. Men that handsome are dangerous. It’s too much. Too much fucking work. Remember Ryan? Army dude, has ten kids? Uh-uh. I don’t know.”

“This tonta.”

 “I don’t know. We’ll see. Mark’s coming.” I hissed as I elbowed them and fixed my posture.

In truth, I didn’t really want to pursue him because he was too fucking hot that would be suicide, because men that are that hott always, I mean always, have issues—a love child, love childsss, mizztresses, side chicks, an obsessed ex who hasn’t gotten over him, a stalker ex, ex he still talks to, too many female “friends,” too much ego, too much pride, and they’re fuckin lazy. Lazy because they’re so used to getting what they want without having to do, say, or ask anything. They are entitled sons of bitches. Facts.

I did not receive any texts that night, but I did receive one missed call from a number I was sure to be Seb’s.

Because I was a practiced hoe, I did not call nor text back, because when we like a guy, we have to make them believe they don’t fucking matter, AT FIRST, at least, even though we already know their rising sign, where their Venus lies, and their zodiac house, where they had their last Christmas, who their closest friends are on their socials, and their favorite spots to eat. We must keep the crazy locked in the basement babes until such time she is required to come ouwt so as not to scare these fuckazzz. We can’t let them know we’re psychotic.

But let me fucking tell yew, bitch, since his missed call, my phone was glued to my fucking face like it was a nebulizer as I waited for the next call, which came about during lunch time the next day.  

I only picked up on the fourth ring because the third would have been too eager and the fifth ring would have been too long.

I answered “Hello?” like it was a question and I didn’t know who the person on the other line was. I know. Genius.

When he said, “Hi, it’s Seb from Kowloon last night.” I felt a trickle of energy from my ear to my neck, down my belly, to my Pikachu, forcing me to crossover to the other side. He sounded like a dialed down Jason Momoa. I fucking love a guy with a deep voice, bitch, it’s giving “I will take your cervix and eat it raw with a beer.” Gow.

He said he decided to call instead of text because it’s more personal that way. Which I thought was refreshing, or is it because of his age? Older people in general are not really keen to use SMS. Zow… maybe that’s why.

He wanted to take me out for dinner, but I said I couldn’t do it that same week because I had prior commitments, when I really didn’t have any just so I would look occupied and busy, and suggested Saturday of next week. I know… some pretense was necessary. 

I also said he didn’t have to pick me up, because I like to make a grand entrance. I like it when a guy waits for me at a bar or a restaurant and he sees the number of people who’ll twist their heads once I enter the room. You appear more desirable that way—Slut 101. What? I’m a Leo rising, I die just a little bit every time I don’t get attention.

We ended up having dinner at Capitol Hills because it was the go-to spot in Quezon City back then in 2012, and the overlooking view is just gorgeous at night.

During the date… turns out… I already love him. Char. Kidding. No. Turns out he was 12 years older than me, has recently acquired his own home, has his own IT company that focuses on finance technology security, which was explained to me, but I didn’t fucking understand shit, he was NOT MARRIED, no ring, no wife, but has a love child in his custody because the mother left and moved to the States and he has been a single dad since with two hired help. I know… sketchy. Mothers rarely leave their kids. It’s a rare occurrence. They would leave huzzbands, but they would never leave the kids. It takes a certain type of trauma and abuse for a mother to leave and relocate to a different fucking country and leave her kid. Zow… it was already giving sketchy. Like… something’s wrong with him, obvi, but I ignored it, because… heavy sigh slut.

Once I also heard “kid”… I wanted to be out. I was like… “We’re just gonna have sex once, then I’m ouwt.” But honestly, I fucking knew it. I just knew it. No handsome man in his thirties would be available nor childless. No hate to single dads but I was 22. I wasn’t ready to be a stepmother. I would have to help raise a child when I was a child myself. Zow… I already boxed our relationship in the category of “short fling.” I’d hook up with him, but I wasn’t going to be in an exclusive relationship with this man because I wasn’t ready to be that serious. Zow… I just told myself that it’s just gonna be a chill vibe. No commitment, just casual fun.

Toward the end of the date, I told him that my gay friends were asking where I was and inviting me to go out to drink. As expected and planned, he said, “Why not just invite them here so you don’t have to go.”

“Really? That’s okay with you? They’re okay with you? They’re a bit loud.”

“Yeah, why not? I’ll take care of everything.” Any hot guy who’s not homophobic immediately gets a blowjob coupon from me. I love a hot guy who’s secure about his sexuality and is all loving and inclusive. It was always non-negotiable. I could never see myself dating somebody homophobic.

He was so charming, bitch. I instantly wanted to take back what I said about not wanting to be in his life. Charmed the shit out of my gay friends that they all wanted to suck his dyick in unison with me watching. I was loving him more and more as I got to know him and how he was with people. He was really respectable to service staff too, which was a green flag to me. Despite him being gorgeous and financial stable, there was no arrogant bone in his body, but his zodiac sign was Cancer, which meant he’s a man who’s exceptionally in touch with his emotions—basically a sad boy. Char. No. Basically emotionally volatile.

His pack of friends also came which told me he keeps his circle pretty tight and close. It was a fun night, and his friends were hyping him up like I’m just so fucking lucky that he’s interested in me because it’s just so fucking difficult to catch and retain his attention and that he’s a great guy overall, which of course I believed because what? Dyick.

There were eleven of us. Four of my friends, and five of his friends. It was chaos and it was a lot that the bill amounted to P44,000. Bitch… he picked up the fucking bill, didn’t fucking look twice, and slid his card so effortlessly as though he had done it so many fucking times. Hott! I loved it. That made me so fucking hard. I was like… get a pastor, I’m gonna get married. There’s nothing sexier, than a man picking up an expensive bill and paying for that shit like it’s nothing. It’s giving power. It’s giving dominance. It’s giving big-dyick-energy. It’s giving fuck meeya.

We kissed in his car the night. I know… just a kiss. I was so fucking surprised at myself too, bitch. I’m also surprised that he didn’t ask for more. Like… you don’t want this WAP tonight? Char. But… he asked me out again to watch a movie the next day. I was like… already? Obsessed much? Char. But biiiiitch… I felt his dyick… and it was thyick. I was like, okay, Jesus, I know you finally see me. Char.

We also went out the day after that… and the day after that, and the next for almost two fucking weeks. We just hung out, ate, drank, made out in the car, dry humped in the car, blowjob in the car—it all happened so fucking fast. We were with each other almost every fucking day and he was paying for everything. I was like… Yazzzzz… I can live like this. I was actually starting to fall for him, legit, like fall for him, and can you fucking believe we haven’t had sex in those two weeks? And then the next Sunday he called me up and said “Get ready, I’m picking you up, I’m going to introduce you to my mom and my family.”

Me, being a fucking ditsy, dressed in a virgin sundress hopped inside the car with all the excitement thinking,  “Oh… shit. This iz really iz et. This guy loves meeeeyah. He’s gonna marry me. I’m gonna be a stepmom. I’m gonna look at wedding gowns later. What’s a good honeymoon destination these days? Should I do a destination wedding? I’m gonna give him my virginity tonight.” Char. I was set to make to make it clap that night.

I was all smiles at that party, but nervous to meet mom too. He immediately introduced me to her, and she gave me the warmest hug like we were already related by blood. I was like shit… mom loves me. If his mom approves of me, then it’ll seal the deal. How great, right?

She was saying shit like, “She’s gorgeous, Seb!” “You really like beautiful girls.” “Take care of my boy, okay?” “When am I seeing you again?” “You’re not getting any younger, Seb, you two need to settle down.”

His siblings, who were all adults, kept throwing me compliments left and right. They made me feel so welcomed and loved like Seb was just so lucky that I’m his girl, and they made me believe it too, you know? I felt like I was on top of the world. I was on cloud 9. Smiling and looking like a dumbass bitch, painting a picture in my head of what my future would be like with his family in it and how my family would fit with their family and whether my mom would like him or not. It was going pretty well, I thought. Like… I was beginning to get myself into stepmother mode. I could do it. I thought.

And then at one point, one fat kid came up to me and said, “Are you Uncle Seb’s new girlfriend?” Then he turned to his mom and asked, “Where’s Auntie Gail? I want Auntie Gail. I want Auntie Gail now!” His mom pulled him aside and covered his mouth like he had just said a bad word. She frantically turned to me and said, “She was Seb’s ex.”

I was like… huh… I made a mental note to ask Seb about her because something about the boy’s tone of voice told me something’s not right.

On the way home… in the car… I finally asked him about Gail because it was not sitting well with me, and it was all lining up because throughout this entire time, he has not once invited me to his house. All along I had thought it was because he’s waiting for the right time to introduce me to his kid, and I would totally understand if it was the reason, because I too wouldn’t rush introducing someone to my kids if the relationship is still fresh.

Aaaaaaand punch me in the brown bone because Gail is actually a current girlfriend—not an ex, but a current, fucking existing, breathing girlfriend. She has been at home, all this fucking time, being the primary carer for his kid: sending him to school, helping with the homework, running the household, folding and ironing his clothes, and sleeping in the same fucking bed with this motherfucker every fucking night.

I’ve never been cheated on. I’ve not once… been cheated on—at least none that I know of—so I’ve never known the feeling of what it’s like to be cheated on, and it’s like open-heart surgery, bruh, but instead of being sedated and fully knocked out, you’re awake. It’s like someone is taking your organs out one by one and stuffing them back because the surgeon graduated online and made a mistake. And at that point… I didn’t even know if I was being cheated on or that I was the one he was cheating on with. To be fair… we’ve actually never exchanged “I love yous,” and we’ve never actually called anything official. I didn’t even know what we had, because he’s never really asked me to be his girlfriend. He would act like my boyfriend, but we never actually labeled anything.

But had I known early on that he was already taken… I would not have stopped, girl. I’m gonna be fucking honest. It would not have stopped me because I had a fucked up self-esteem, was insecure, and thirsty of attention from really handsome men.

I’m not gonna be self-righteous here and be like… had I known early on I would not have entertained him… bitch, no. I was not a girl’s girl, bitch. I was a fucking slut. I was a hardcore hoe without the pay. I was a vermin. I didn’t give a shit. I was already invested. I wanted him.

Nonethelezz… if he were married… legally married… I would have bailed. Now this is true. I’m not that evil. Maybe only 98%. But I do not fuck with married wives. I do not engage with married men. I do not dabble with somebody else’s marriage. Wives are feral when it comes to protecting their family. And I’m not about that life of breaking up a family and robbing kids off a complete, functioning family. I was only a threat to men with girlfriends. Chariz.

I was completely livid. “You had a girlfriend… the entire fucking time. You never told me? What was your plan? What did you think was gonna happen?” Of course… you know… I had to pretend that I was completely disappointed and that it was just such a betrayal, but I didn’t give a fuck. I already had an inkling very early on but I still went ahead and submitted to the life of a wanna-be mizztrezz.

“I couldn’t help it. I knew it was wrong, but I had to get to know you. I didn’t think it would turn into this, and I didn’t think it would be relevant because I was just trying to find the perfect time to break with up her.” He let out a long sigh as though to show me that he was just in deep shit and serious dilemma. Please. “She takes care of Aaron, and it’s been difficult because Aaron and her are really close, and she treats him like her own. She loves Arron. But I want you. And If I break up with her, I don’t think Aaron will take it well. But I want you. If I only met you sooner, it would be you.”

He said it straight without stammering like he had practiced the line so many fucking times.

Me being 22 and naïve with daddy issues fell for “But I want you. You are all I want. I’m just finding the perfect time to break up with her.”

I pretended to be disappointed and upset, but honestly, bitch, I was already too deep in it. I was already in love with the fucker to back out. “Even your friends and your family made me look stupid. It was all an act. They knew they whole time. Is this even real? What do you even want from me?”

“Yes. It’s real! Because they know I’ve been wanting to end it with Gail for a long time. And because they know that when I want someone, nobody can stop me, not even my family.”

Turns out… they were all in his payroll and were in on everything. He was giving them monthly allowances and spending for their mom, and was basically the generous breadwinner of their family that some of them don’t work and just freeload off of him.

 Zow… naturally… they were just okay with everything he does. They were okay with him bringing a side chick to their mother’s party and not bring his legitimate girlfriend, who was left at home being a stepmother to Aaron. Who does that? And I fucking thought they really loved me, you know? I was humbled, bitch. I thought I was a really loveable person. It was all a paid act! I’m sure he has introduced many more before me and said the same shit they said to me. It was a real humbling experience. I needed it.

I should have paid attention to “You really like beautiful girls.”

Sorry, fake mother-in-law, but you failed and raised a fucking asshole. Fucking fake bitch. Here’s a fucking Oscar and an Emmy to include in your ceramic angel collection, mother, which should have been replaced by ceramic devils. I’m kidding. But they made me look like an idiot. His friends were in on it too. Just letting him do whatever the fuck he wants because he pays for everything and has been their cash cow throughout the years.

But hear me out… let me continue with my story and don’t fucking hate me, bitch. Even after confirming his relationship with Gail, I still agreed to check us in to a nearby motel that night and made clapping sounds for the first time, which I should not have fucking done, because it just buried me deeper and deeper, but I was an impulsive little slut who was hungry for attention of handsome men. But because I wanted to nail him, I wanted him to realize that I was gonna be the better choice and to encourage him to choose me, zow I gave him my untouched, sacred body. He already said he was gonna break up with her, so I’m gonna give him more reason too, right? I was just helping him. Giving him encouragement. Some motivation.

It didn’t help that after doing a deep dive in his socials, I found family gathering photos with the girl in the pictures. There were no Facebook tags, so I couldn’t really tell who was who, but I was sure it was her, because in one picture, the tactless fat boy from Matilda was seated on the lap of a real pretty girl who looked like a fucken woodland fucken fairy from “The Bridge to Terabithia,” fuck my life. She was so fucking pretty. Shiet. So fucking pretty that you’d think I would think I could not compete.

Just let me show how a mizztrezz would think in the case of a pretty or even prettier wife:

I fucking hated that she was so fucking pretty. 100% she was prettier than me. I was just sluttier. She looked like a fucking water nymph that would definitely give birth to more beauty water nymphs, like, you know when someone comes from a rich family with good genes? Like old rich? Yeah. She would look like she’d give birth to exceptionally good-looking kids. Although I fucking hated that she was so fucking pretty, I also held it like a badge of honor, you know? Instead of it discouraging me, it only challenged me even more. You would think it would stop me? It did not, bitch. It did not stop this hoe. It did not hold me back. I know. I was diabolical. I fucking hated that version of me. I was fucking disgusting honestly. But I’m explaining this from the mind of a would-be mizztrezz, okay? This is the POV of the soon-to-be mizztrezz of your huzzband so you understand. So you get a picture. This is so you know why even when the wife is already pretty, or even prettier, the mizztrezz doesn’t step back and concede. Instead of being discouraged, because the wife is already hot, they continue to seduce your husbands. They don’t leave the man alone because the goal is to feed their ego, feed their self-esteem, because they are just the most insecure type of women. I know. Because I was one of them. I was always looking for validation. All mizztrezzezz seek validation.

For example… You wouldn’t give an ugly guy a chance if his ex-girlfriends were ugly too, right? But you would give an ugly guy a chance if his ex-girlfriends—all of them—were pretty, because now you’re thinking, “Huh… all his ex-girlfriends were hot, so I must be hot too!” Like what happened to Pete Davidson. Kim K would never have given Pete a chance if he didn’t date Ariana Grande. And just look at his baby mama now… fuh-cking-gor-gias. Because now, he has dated Kim K and Ariana, so why wouldn’t other pretty girls give him a chance? Do you see what I mean?

Zow… because I was at a low low, in terms of my self-esteem, I took it as a challenge.

Like, shit… this guy likes me and this girl was already so fucking pretty, and he cheated on her with me, so I must also be so fucking pretty, right? I must even be prettier that he’s willing to do that? He’s willing to cheat on her with me? I’m fucking beautiful!!!

This is how the mind of an insecure mizztrezz works. That’s why… it’s just really fucking difficult to get rid of them, especially if you already have kids. In the mind of a mizztrezz… she’s thinking, “This man is willing to leave his family for me? His kids? He’s risking it all for me? Holy fuck. I must be so fucking irresistible.”

Why don’t they just pick a single man? How is that gonna make me feel prettier? Any girl can have a boyfriend, but not every girl can steal a man. Do you get me? Do you see what I’m saying?

Zow… to give him motivation to finally leave her, I did everything to convince him that I was the better choice, and that he won’t regret choosing me. I read all books for dating, relationship, marriage, and love. I sat my afternoons in National Bookstore Katipunan because they allow books to be read for free. Why men love bitches became my bible. I did everything by the book.

In this process though, I have learned that you can follow everything that relationship and dating books tell you to do, if a man isn’t truly in love with you, you can’t do shit about it, you cannot force it, you cannot influence it, you cannot sway it, it’s just he doesn’t love you. Unlike women who can be persuaded and courted to fall in love, men cannot. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, it’s rarely personal, it just means he’s not in love with you, that’s it, peeryuhd.

It’s very important you understand this early on so every time you get rejected you don’t mope, self-pity, and sulk. You simply move on to the next dyick until you find that one true dyick that’s meant for your Pikachu.

Zow… in the process of my transition into a succubus, I aimed to be the perfect girlfriend. I was sweeter, but I gave him space. I wasn’t clingy, but I also made sure he knew I wanted him. I was always a yes girl. I never complained. I never argued. I never questioned. I never sulked. I was fun. There was always a smile plastered to my face. I didn’t bring up serious matters. I never, not ever, brought up his family, his work, or his kid. When he was with me, I wanted him to look at me like I’m an escape. I always agreed to anything. I laughed at all his corny, unimaginative jokes. I was like a Stepford girlfriend, but would suck his dyick like I was paid to do it.

Every day I gave him my uterus, gave him my labia, gave him my fallopian tubes, gave him my ovaries. If he asked for it, I would give it, no questions asked. I literally worshiped this fucking man just so he would choose me. With me, life was great—is what I wanted him to believe. All my actions were directed to making him happy.  

Now… If I were married man, a committed man, why would I leave this girl who gives me all of her without me having to ask and without me having to put in any effort? I will hold on to her as long as it lasts because this is just the best of both worlds. “I have a family at home that loves me, I don’t have to think about the kids because my wife has that covered, and I can go and have fun with my side piece who doesn’t give me responsibilities and obligations. Why would I not want this?”

This went on for a few months, and one rainy afternoon, as he picked me up to meet his friends for drinks, he had a somber, uninterested look in his face in contrast to my upbeat, flirty mood as I opened the car door. I gave him a quick kiss as I hopped in the passenger’s seat.

“Hey!” I said—all cheery.

He didn’t answer and just drove away, which has never happened. He always met me with excitement.

“You okay? What’s wrong?”

He was quiet and seemed uninterested.

“What’s wrong?” I repeated, a bit annoyed.

“Gail left this morning.” He wasn’t looking at me, but he said it as though somebody had died. I think he was even scared shitless that he was gonna burst out into tears.

“Okay.” Oh, shit. I won. I thought. “Are you okay?”

He handed me a one-page, hand-written note from Gail. Biiiiitch… when I read the letter… I wanted to crawl back to my mother’s vagina and unalive myself. She was so sweet, and the words were so heartfelt. There were even tear drops on the paper—that dramatic bitch. She said she didn’t want to make it messy for Aaron so she just left without saying goodbye, and that Aaron can still visit her anytime he wants to see her. She said she already had a feeling that he was cheating because he would always smell like my perfume, which I made sure to be strong enough it would leave a scent on his clothes, fuck me in the eye twice. She said she knew his love for her isn’t there anymore because he was not even trying to hide that he was cheating because she saw our photobooth photo strip in his wallet, and that she was tired of being their maid.

The letter reads,

“I did not become a nurse to be a man’s housemaid.”

Shit. She was fucking nurse, too? Fuck my ass unlubricated.

“I love Aaron, with all my heart, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. All I did was love you and I got nothing back in return. If it wasn’t for Aaron, I would have left even before, but I love that kid. I hope he doesn’t turn out like you when he grows up. Thank you for giving me a home, even for a little while.”

That fucking bitch.  

“I’m sorry.” I apologized and actually got teary eyed because it was my fault. I caused her pain.

He shrugged. “It is what it is.” Like it was only my fault that she finally felt. That I made her leave. I thought he wanted this.

“Are you mad at me? You seem to be angry at me.”

“I’m not. I should have…”

“Well… you were going to break up with her, right? You said you were just waiting for the right time.” It was the first time that I had brought up the idea because I didn’t want him to think of her while he was with me.

“It’s done. Let’s just not talk about it.”

“Well… we kinda have to now that you brought it up and made me read her letter, which I don’t get why you would let me like what do you want me to feel about it? And I know what’s gonna happen. You’ll be in a bad mood the entire night, and it’ll just affect the mood of everybody else.”

He sighed once more. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with Aaron.”

“You have two nannies. Isn’t that enough?”

“I just can’t do it alone. I can’t take care of Aaron alone. He loves her.”

At this point, I didn’t know if he was pertaining to his son or himself.

“Well… I’m right here. I’ll help.” I cheered.

He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Which almost sent me to a fucking upward spiral.

“You’re honestly willing to help me take care of Aaron?”

“Why not? I’m good with kids. I can handle it.”

And then he blew up. “But you’re too young! All you wanna do is drink and have fun! Do you even know what you want in life? Do you even know what you want to do? You don’t even have a job! You’re 22!”

I started crying silent tears, because it was all facts. First, the first job I got after moving back home from California was a writing gig for a condom company that paid P9,000 a month, which I ended up quitting because it was too far of a travel and because all my workmates were ugly. It was uninspiring to go to work. Second, people my age were already landing respectable professions or trying to get their masters. I only had my sex blog, which wasn’t even making any money, because I refused to put up promotions. I was living off of allowances from my parents who were letting me run wild because they were afraid of what I might do next.

“That’s not fair. I told you I wanted to be a writer.” I sobbed.

“And where has that gotten you? Your stupid sex blog?”

“I can’t believe you’d say that.” That shit fucking hurt more than finding out he had a girlfriend.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Come here.” He reached out both his arms, but I shoved them away. The sadistic shit.

“Do you want her back?”

“I don’t know. I just… we need to get serious. You also need to get serious.”

It was like a fucking knife to the pubic bone, bitch. I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t want me entirely, you know? I think he just wanted me, no, not think, I know he just wanted me because I was convenient, I was easy, I was willing, and I was giving.

“What do you mean you don’t know? What am I here for then? Why am I here? What are we doing?”  All the pent-up annoyance and confusion I’ve been harboring are now coming out.

“You know that I said I can’t do it alone.”

What a fucking baby. I thought.

“Just give me some time to figure things out.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole! You just used me!” I was sopping wet at this point, and the tears just came one after the other without halt. It was a complete 360 degree. Before this he would be all over me like a river leech, and now that she left him, I’ve become disposable.

“I told you about Gail, and you were okay with it!”

“Two weeks later!” I yelled. “After you introduced me to your family! Are you fucking kidding me? You’re an asshole! You’re an asshole! You played me all along.” Not true. Because it was still ultimately my decision to proceed with whatever the bullshit we had. I could have ended it, but I didn’t. It was all on me.

“Do you even love me?” I know. Fucking gross to ask those words from a man. Fuh-cking-dizz-guzz-ting to be that thirsty of love from a man who didn’t even want me entirely in the first place.

He didn’t answer. The silence was loud enough.

“Right. Point taken,” I said. I was just looking at him look out the window as we’re parked somewhere under the rain. I didn’t even fucking know where we were. He clearly realized that he actually does love her and she left because he took her for granted, and now that she finally had it, he now realizes her worth.

The one good thing about me is that I’m not one to beg. I’ve never, ever once begged a man to choose me, love me, pick me—verbally. I would absolutely be a man’s sex slave and be of service to him like he’s a king, but I would never ever ever ever ever beg, verbally. That would be the death of me.

And I couldn’t fucking deal with a sad boy who can’t fucking deal with his emotions and cannot fucking decide what he truly wants. I’m already a sad girl, we both can’t be fucking sad, otherwise we’d both look like members of My Chemical Romance or worse… take turns cutting each other’s wrists or putting each other’s black eyeliner.

It was annoying. I was not gonna sit in the same fucking car with a grown man whom I have to coach and console. He clearly was heartbroken and couldn’t fucking deal with it but clearly wants me to still be there for him like I’m the default option. I was not gonna be the one to help him figure out his emotions if the emotions were not for me.

I could deal with an emotional man if the emotions were because of me, not because of another girl. I could deal with a sad, teary man, I could deal with a crying man, if he’s crying because of me, but if he’s crying because of another girl and I have to sit there and watch? Bitch… I’m ouwt. I don’t want it. I would just be rolling my eyes the entire time. I was not having it.

Zow… because I’m overly dramatic… I wiped my tears away and looked at him one last time even when he wasn’t looking at me. “I really loved you, you know?” He looked at me with a blank stare as I finally got out of the car, in the fucking rain, and walked briskly around the corner to get to the nearest building. It was a narrow one-way street, so he won’t be able to turn around.

And biiiiiitch…. This motherfucker…. This motherfucker didn’t even come after me, bitch!!! All the theatrics for nothing! Fucking cold, bitch-ass motherfucker! I had hoped he would stop getting an erection at 40, that bitch. I’m kidding. I’m never one to wish people ill. I’d physically hurt them, but I’m never one to wish people anything bad.

But I will never forget that day… I was drenched. I had no money. I had no way home. I didn’t know where I was because I was chauffeured my entire life, so I had no sense of direction. I didn’t know who to call, because all my friends have strongly discouraged me from pursuing a relationship with this guy because he was just toil and trouble, and I knew what they were gonna say once I call them crying, and my ego was not about to let me do that.

There were many calls and texts from him throughout the day. But I was not that dumb, okay? It was already made clear to me that he didn’t want or love me 100%, he probably did, around 30%, but I didn’t want that shit, I want 200% from a man. He even tried to get into the subdivision many times, but I had already asked the guards to not let him in. My guess was he tried to run after Gail, but she really put her foot down this time and rejected him, so he was coming after me because I was the default fallback. And to have me walk under the fucking rain and not go after me, bitch? And to not even answer when I asked you whether you love me? Are you fucking kidding me? And now that he’s horny and lonely at home he wants me? No, bitch. I’m not about to continue vying and competing for a man’s love when it’s already clear to me that he was unsure about me.

Unlike weeks before when I was holding on to hope and he was giving me hope, you know? That time, it was crystal clear to me that had I stayed, it would be a relationship where I’d have to always please him and convince him to love me, and that would be fucking exhausting. I want a man who’s obsessed with me, who won’t be able to fucking breathe if I’m nowhere near him and he can’t smell my pheromones. I want a man who was sure of me and look at me like I’m the only girl to have ever lived on the planet. I want a man who’d automatically asphyxiate if he thinks for one second that I’m not in his life. I want a man who would at me like he’s Tormund Giantsbane and I’m Brienne of Tarth. I don’t want no fucking disloyal Jon Snow. Shit.

Seb and I never had closure. I just cut him off completely. It’s probably a Scorpio thing. Blocked him on my socials, changed my number, didn’t go to places where he would usually go—just cut him out of my life. It’s a gift I have. But he did send me a message on my new Facebook, years later, when he found out that I got married and had my first born.

He said that he was sorry for what he did, and that I didn’t deserve that treatment. He also said that my baby was cute and if he had gotten me pregnant, he was sure we’d have cute babies too, which I doubt, because his first born looks like a half-baked Albino—no hate, but that’s what he looked like. He looked like he was drugged with glutathione as an infant.  

I then looked at his socials and boy was I glad we did not end up together because he’s old, old now, fat, and balding with a receding hairline. I’m kidding… God I fucking wish he was. I fucking he was because he’s still handsome as fuck even with age, and is married now with more kids and a hot wife with glassy skin. Fuck me in the rib cage, right? Just shove a dyick there without sedation.

When I grew more mature, and my frontal lobe was fully developed, I messaged Gail on Facebook to apologize. She was so kind and gracious, but also a focking bitch. She accepted my apology and said, “It’s okay. It was a long time ago, and actually glad that I got out of it because there were many, many girls before you. He was a serial cheater. He was disloyal from the beginning.”

As if to tell me, “You’re not the reason why I left him. You’re only one of the reasons, so you’re not that special. Don’t even ever think you’re special.”

Now that I’m married with three kids, today, and I’m trying to compare who I was at the time when I was a would-be mizztrezz to who I am now as a married woman with kids, the disparity is just absolutely significant. I have rejected my husband sex multiple times this month that I wouldn’t even be surprised if he fesses up one day that he’s having an affair with a younger version of me. I honestly am low key expecting it soon, judging by the number of times I’ve rejected him and neglected him of attention as a wife, because I’ve been prioritizing the three kids. There are even moments that I’ve deflected his attempts or avoided his attempts to keep me in a tight embrace because I’m always already overstimulated and overtouched the entire day that I don’t want any more hands on me.

Take all that and the scenario wherein my husband meets a pretty girl, a willing, pretty girl, a girl who was me, who didn’t give a shit whether a man would be married or not, and our current roommate dynamic, wouldn’t this be the perfect crack for the mizztrezz to seep through?

This writing is emphasizing that realization for me and is helping me reflect our marriage and our dynamic and the things we should work on. And I need to work on a shit ton, because as I’m comparing the two, I’m identifying the differences between wifey sex and mizztrezz sex and I don’t like it, bitch. Not a bit.

Because I’m definitely in Column 1. Bless my huzzband. I’m trying turn this shit around and get to Column 2. I’m in Column 1 but number 2 eventually turns to Column 2 number 2 because I begin to realize midway that “This cack feels fucking awesome why don’t we do this more often?” But… mostly… I’m still in Column 1.

I’ve gone through both wifey sex and mizztrezz sex. Most of the time, I’m trying to get through wifey sex. Sometimes I’m successful in giving him mizztrezz sex, sometimes I’m back to wifey sex because I’m not gonna fucking lie 13 years of the same big dyick, same places, same atmosphere, same fornications, gets fucken repetitive and boring. I’ll never get tired of his face card and his monster cack, but shit’s just sometimes boring, bruh. Like…. Again? I’m very sure my huzzband goes through the same shit with me when it comes to our sex, but it’s just the reality. It’s definitely become a struggle, especially that we’ve been together for thirteen years now with three kids, but I like that I’m writing and sharing my thoughts about this because it’s making me more aware of it, thereby motivating me to be more proactive in trying to find ways to overcome roommate, tepid, wifey sex.

 As I’m comparing the two, I was able to pinpoint that when I was that younger girl who wanted to steal a man, sex was unhinged. I was absolutely doing the fucking most: serving cunt, serving face, and serving baddeh to impress him in bed. I was imitating porn star sounds, porn star faces, porn star positions, even porn star gestures. I was flipping my hair, doing deep stares, arching and twisting my back like I was fucken Sadako or Kayako coming down the stairs just trying to get to different ridiculous positions, shiet. I was doing some exhibitionist exorcist shit it was absolutely hilarious now that I’m looking back.

I was always riding him like I was Arwen on a fucking horse trying to get away from Ringwraiths just absolutely the fucking most. It was fucking ridiculous.

I was also always initiating blowjobs. Even before he could initiate or ask me for a blowjob, I was already there, bitch, face deep in his balls. When we were together, it was expected that I would suck his dyick because I wanted him to believe this was gonna be his sex life with me if he chooses me. Each time my goal was to give him the best sex ever in his fucking life. When his dick went hard, I want my face to flash in his mind like a fucking PowerPoint presentation, you know? Just… everything was calculated to make him think I’m better choice.

Now that I’m married with three kids… I can’t even remember the last time I gave my huzzband a thoughtful blowjob. I had promised him one on Valentine’s Day, and even I wasn’t able to do that. I had promised him a massage and a blowjob on Valentine’s Day because I knew that once I give him a massage, he’s out like a light. He won’t wake up until the morning.

When he woke up, he immediately reminded me of the blowjob I had promised to which I said, “You fell asleep. You were so tired. I didn’t wanna wake you.”  I was successful in dodging another blowjob. It’s not that I don’t enjoy blowjobs. I fucking love them. I just didn’t have the fucking sexual energy to do it because I’m already tired from working and tending to three kids. I’m more inclined to give blowjobs during the day, when I’m not yet too exhausted, but how can I do that when he’s at work? I did gift him a couple of fleshlights before for him to use when he’s in the car, but refuses to use them because he prefers my hands he says or he’s probably just lazy to jerk off by himself. I gifted those fleshlights so he’d bother me less for sex. Just anything to make him ask for sex less.

Now… do you see? The things I do just to avoid anything that would lead to sex?

Do I hate sex? No. I fucking love it. I would want to have it every fucking day if finances, time, and the locations permit. It’s just… when I’m at home and the kids are around… I’m in mommy mode. I’m not in wife mode. Even when we’re about to sleep. I’m always in mommy mode. I can’t speak for other moms, but for mothers who have multiple kids, have limited help, and is also working at home or running a small business on the side to help make ends meet, I’m assuming it’s the same, even for mothers who are not working at home and is a full-time mom and housewife.

When I’m at home, because I’m in mommy mode, I don’t think about sex. I don’t feel sexy. I don’t think about sucking dyick when I’m feeding a toddler. I don’t think about dyick when I’m changing diapers. I don’t think about sex when I’m helping my older kid study and finish his homework. I look like I’m run down, I smell like kitchen food, my hair smells like the last thing I cooked for my kids, and stressed out from the small things I’m not able to do because I have to prioritize my kids. At night, I’m preparing dinner, feed them, prepared their baths, prepared them for bed, for school, their recess, their lunch, their school clothes, baths, brush their teeth, and picking up small stuff off the fucking floor that should not be there. When the kids are finally settled and asleep, it’s the time I get to take a proper bath, eat a proper meal, get shit done for work, get shit done for myself, take a fucking breather, and when I’m finally about to get in bed, my husband will give me that fucking sly look like he’s expecting for sexy time. Immediately I go, “Another fucking thing I have to do?”

But when I was a mizztrezz, I gave it up all the fucking time.

Do you see? Do you see the disparity? It’s like an entirely different fucking person. Who is this bitch? Get her out of my life! But… do you see? I’m not siding with men, but when my huzzband decides to slip one day and cheat on me with a younger girl willingly serving her cunt on a platter, can I really completely blame him? He’s not gonna fucking do it, because although I don’t protect my marriage with frequent sexual intimacy, at the moment, I protect it by instilling fear in him that I will fucking murder him and his side piece with a blunt pencil, revive both of them when they’re about to follow the light, torture them again until they die, and then revive them once more so they will live through my torture over and over again. I’m kidding. I probably won’t even do anything because I have kids now and would want them to have a complete family even when my huzzband decides to have an affair. Do you see? It’s not a fucking healthy mindset, but when you become a mom, your kids come first, all the fucking time, you don’t even exist anymore.

But… Do you understand?

This is not to offend, insult, or anger anyone. I’m not siding with men. This is just meant to tell you that the other woman is giving your husband everything she can, doing the absolute most, to convince him she’s the better choice. Although he won’t ever leave you, huzzbands almost never leave their wives, because that’s their unit. That’s their family. That’s their OG, their foundation, unless you, as a wife, actually do leave him, your husband will never leave you. Mizztrezzes are rarely the first choice. They’re the default fallback.

So what should you do with this? Totally up to you. You can continue rejecting your husband, or you can sit on his face tonight to remind him you’ll suffocate him in his sleep with your pubic hair once he cheats. I’m kidding. Just… I’m telling you right fucking now… if you know in yourself… and you know… okay? We all know when the marriage has entered the “roommate” period, when everything has turned boring or routine and it’s just like you’re living together as roommates just trying to keep the family together. You also know when your marriage has entered a “comfortable marriage” era. You know, okay? You have to do your best to stop it from progressing to the “transactional marriage” era, where it’s all:

“You’re not doing this for me… then I won’t do this for you.”

“You’re not giving this to me… then I won’t give this to you.”

It’s all very transactional, instead of unconditional.

Allzzz I’m saying izzz… don’t ever get comfortable.

You may… for a few months… but if it lasts half a year or a year… you need to do something about it and not let it linger, because marriage takes work. Commitment takes work. Longevity takes work. Even at work or in business, you’re always trying to impress your boss or trying to evolve your business, thinking of ways how to improve and thinking of ways how to develop the business into something more because you want it to grow. How are those things more important than investing in helping your marriage grow?

And a marriage is pretty fucking long, okay? It’s a lifetime. It gets pretty fucking boring and routine and when you get to that phase when you’ve become so comfortable with each other that you think nothing unfortunate is going to transpire that could taint your marriage, that’s when other women take their chances. So protect your marriage.

You might say, “But it’s the bare minimum that my husband shouldn’t cheat! Why would I have to put in extra effort to make sure he doesn’t? My plate is already full from being a mom, being a career woman, and being a wife, I’m not responsible for his decisions! That’s just gonna be exhausting for me! It’s only right that he doesn’t cheat. Why should I be on my toes all the fucking time and guard him?”

Unfortunately, I’m gonna be real and not sugarcoat, but we live in the age where a man can cheat at a touch of a button. Technology is a significant contributor to the high cheating rates of men because cheating outlets are accessible. It’s quicker to be tempted. There’s even a thing now such as “microcheating.” They didn’t have that shit 200 years ago because there weren’t a lot of people and there weren’t a lot of gorgeous women. Technology was also only at the rise during the time so if you were ugly, you were ugly until death, there were no doctors who could fix ugly then. Now there are multiple access to beauty enhancements and supplements. Have you seen how women look these days? Have you seen what’s out there? They’re all fucking gorgeous, bitch, and pay more attention to themselves than we ever did because of societal pressures, so they’re all almost flawless goddesses. And you’re telling me I shouldn’t be worried about what my husband sees out there when we have only had sex once in the past month? Uh-uh.

I’m not saying protect it by being always suspicious and checking his socials and always tracking his locations, making sure he’s not meeting some THOT at work, bitch that’s high school work, now that’s fucking exhausting. I’m not also saying that you should make appointments for beauty enhancements if that’s not your thing, but if that’s your thing do you bitch! Get those tits, get those lips, get those BBLs, shiet. If I also had a shit ton of money I’d be lining up for them too.

I’m saying protect it by being proactive in keeping your marriage alive. Not just you, but your huzzband as well. Don’t just become parents, be husband and wife too. It’s a two-way street, but most of the time, us women have to be the initiators of progress and change because men are fucking idiots and clueless to how a healthy, functioning, and loving marriage actually works because they were mostly raised by their mothers who endured every shitty thing their fathers put them through. Thus, they think, subconsciously, they think that their wives should be the same way and that their wives will stick by their side through all the shit they put them through that same way they saw their mothers who stayed with their fathers until the end. Generations before Gen Z all witnessed how selfless our mothers were. It’s only now that women are realizing that they can break that cycle and that if they’re not being treated well, they won’t have it. To Gen Zs, there’s no such thing as “working it out” or being “sefless.”’ “If a man isn’t consistent in treating me right. Fuck him. I don’t need him. I’ll find another one.” These bitches know their worth, and I’m all for it.

Zow… this is why… millennial boys and men that were born into the previous generations, they almost always run on autopilot and always think the relationship is already great when they don’t hear any complaints, so long as they’re providing well and there are no problems, they won’t actually stop and think to spice things up or ignite sparks or do grand romantic gestures unless you bring it up. They weren’t raised in a society that says courtship must continue even during marriage. They were raised to think that courtship and efforts stop once they get the girl. Zow… naturally… they get comfortable, and in turn women feel neglected because the courtship stops.

Men were also previously raised in a society where if a man cheats the immediate blame would be “Oh, it’s because the wife let go of herself and has gained weight. Who wouldn’t cheat?” “Oh, it’s because they don’t have sex anymore.” “Oh, it’s probably because he’s not getting what he needs from the wife.” Zow… subconsciously, they would expect that it’s always somehow the wife’s fault. It’s somehow our duty to look great or bounce back even right after childbirth. The women, in turn, in some way, blame themselves for their huzzband’s infidelity once they see if the mizztrezz is hotter, younger, or prettier. The truth is, if the wife is cared for, provided for, nurtured, nourished, appreciated, validated, seen, paid attention to, paid for, not treated like a mother, but treated like a wife, paraded like she’s such a trophy, and you’re just so proud to have a beautiful wife, she will stay, or even get more beautiful even as she ages. She’ll be more inclined to take care of herself. You might say, “Shit that sounds like a lot of work for a woman.” Well can you make a fucking eyeball? Can you create kidneys? Can you mold a beating heart with arteries? Can you craft a liver? Can you create a human brain with millions of neurons while you’re asleep? Aww… No, you can’t? Well shut the fuck up then and suck your own dyick.

Butt!!!

But do you see my point? Do you see what I’m trying to say? Do you see the lengths a mizztrezz will go to steal your husband? The efforts she is willing to exert? The time and energy she is willing to invest? She will do anything to and for your husband because she knows you don’t do them for him and that’s gonna be her weapon. She will continue to have him so long as she’s giving your husband what you haven’t given him in a long time—a willing, obsessed pussy. It’s not a threat; it’s just the reality of why many husbands have and keep a mizztrezz. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you, they do, but if another girl is serving him fresh, cunt voluntarily and unlimitedly? And I’m not only talking about literally, I’m also taking about figuratively, it’s gonna be a challenge for any man to say no.

Some men are capable of looking away from temptations, whereas others may not be. I’ve already shown you a sneak peak of what a would-be mizztrezz is willing to do. And they do fucking exist, unfortunately, some women were born to be mizztrezzezz and have made it their life goal to be a mizztrezz. They do exist—women who will stop at nothing to steal your huzzband, but there also mizztrezzes who don’t wanna steal your huzzband, they just want their money, respect the wives, and know their place as a mizztrezz. They’re the better kind. But I can’t speak for them, because sadly, many of the boys I’ve been attracted to were dirt broke, well-hung men had no money for me to dig. Zow... I don’t know what it’s like to be kept woman.

Nevertheless… mizztresses rarely succeed in stealing husbands entirely, because men will never leave their wife and kids, they will have affairs, but they never leave their family because that’s their family, they’ve built it from the ground up. They’ll continue to have a mistress with any woman who’s willing to be a mistress, but once you force them to choose, they will always choose their wives, unless the wife leaves, which they never do, because they’re always thinking of the kids. You’d have more luck stealing a husband if he doesn’t have kids.

Zow… what do we really do? As much as I hate to admit it, on top of all that, we have to do our part in making sure we have a direct line to a black witch in New Orleans who knows dark voodoo shit, so when the time comes that she’s needed to torture a man… kidding. Yes, bitch, a man, not a woman, because although we must also abhor summer mizzstrezz slutzs, it always comes down to the man. It’s always the man who’s to entirely blame, not the mizztrezz, because regardless of whether her vagina looks like a fucking stargazer and sucks your husbands cack as though it’s her lifeline and ventilator, if he doesn’t want to cheat, he won’t. Peer-yuhd.

Zow… I feel like I have ADHD by how much a stray from the topic… zow… what do we do? Ee have to do our part in making sure the spark is sparking outside the bedroom and inside the bedroom.

Romance must always linger physically, emotionally, and mentally.

In terms of physical, it doesn’t automatically pertain to sex.

Waking each other up in the morning with gentle strokes of your hands on her face or back like it’s gonna be a beautiful day is romantic. An intentional kiss is romantic. Even a quick peck on the cheek to say goodbye is romantic if it’s intentional and not out of habit. Initiating giving them a neck massage is romantic. Taking their hand when you’re seated close to each other and holding it with intent is romantic. With intent means you take their hand because you want to hold it, and you don’t hold it out of habit, do you know what I mean? Kissing their hand as you take them is romantic even for your husband. It’s not an effeminate thing to do. Hugging them from behind WITHOUT groping their breasts or touching their Pikachu is romantic. Looking at them, staring at them with a pleased smile, even without talking, like you’re memorizing their face, is romantic. Looking pretty for your partner is romantic. Wanting to stay healthy and fit for your partner is romantic because it lets them know you wanna stay healthy and live longer, like life with your partner is just so great for you that you love it so much. Do you know what I mean? It doesn’t always have to lead to sex.

But when it does, in terms of sexual intimacy, it doesn’t have to be as frequent, it’s okay to have less frequent sex so long as it’s strong enough that every time a beautiful woman crosses his path, he’s not gonna be thinking, “Oh, I wanna see her naked and fuck her.” Instead, he’s gonna be thinking, “Oh, I wanna see her tits and bury my face in them.” Kidding. No. Instead, he’s gonna be thinking “I better stay the fuck away or my wife’s gonna kill me.” Kidding. But seriously… instead of thinking, “Oh, I wanna fuck her.” He may find her hot, initially, as we all do, when a really pretty girl walks by, it’s only natural to look and appreciate, but the sexual intimacy bond you have with each other is stronger than temptation that he will actively stay away, which is extremely difficult for men. He can find another woman attractive, that’s okay, but to stay away so as not to be tempted because he knows the sexual bond you have will be unmatched? Now that’s better.

In terms of emotional romance, it doesn’t always pertain to grand romantic gestures and verbal expressions of affection and love.

Emotional romance can pertain to you being able to come to your partner, let your guard down, and talk about problems, whether at work, with friends, or with their extended family. That’s intimacy. Being able to run to your partner without fear of being judged, rejected, ignored, or dismissed—that’s emotional romance. When your husband can come to you and you listen intently to help him figure out his problems without any judgement, without any irritability? That’s romantic to men, because men rarely divulge their problems to anyone, because as men they’re raised to put on a manly face, suck it up, and face problems on their own. If you allow your huzzband to come to you freely and safely every time he fucks up, with anything or with anyone, he’ll always feel safe with you, and men are humans too, they’re also emotional beings, they’re just raised to suppress them. And there’s something intimate about being able to talk to your huzzband about problems you’re facing without fear of being dismissed, and being able to be emotionally vulnerable with your partner without fear is a type of foreplay because it allows the body to open up and surrender to the other person. Did you even know that when you feel emotionally safe with a guy that your Pikachu is times more likely to lubricate? It’s the body’s response to recognizing that there are not threats around because instead of blood rushing through your brain and other parts of your body to anticipate and prepare for the treat, the blood rushes to your Pikachu. Amazing, right? This could be why I’m always fucken dry as a cornflake because I’ve been fucking the devil’s nephew for thirteen years. Char. I’m kidding.  I love my huzzband. He’s the bezzt. Rolls eyes.

Also… making your partner their favorite snack when they seem stressed out is emotionally romantic. Preparing them their favorite breakfast when they’re having an important day that day is romantic. Leaving small handwritten love notes in their bag or pocket is romantic. Buying them their favorite cold or hot drink on your way home is romantic. Putting the toilet seat down for your partner after you pee is romantic. Fixing things that are broken at home without us having to ask is romantic. Fucking love that shit. When my huzzband sees something broken and I don’t have to ask him to fix it? If I do ask, it’s just once and he’ll fix it right away? Bruh, I can feel my eggs fertilizing. When he takes out the trash before I ask him to do it? FUCKING SEXY! When he cleans the dishes, dries them, and leaves the kitchen clean without me having to ask? Immediately I’m thinking “I’m gonna make his balls moves tonight.”

For women, it’s basically thinking of ways how to make life easier and happier for your partner and actually doing them without us having to ask is key.

For men, it’s basically thinking of ways how to be of service to them, willingly, is key. And women are natural givers and carers, they will be willing to treat you like a king if you treat them like a queen. Zow… if she’s not treating you like a king… then you’re not doing it right. If he’s not treating you like a queen, regardless of your undying love, you’re with the wrong man.

In terms of mental romance:

Having a deep conversation is romantic. Going on long walks is romantic. Doing things with each other intently is romantic. Doing things that allow your minds to connect is mentally stimulating. Being present is mentally romantic. Teaching each other new information is romantic. Talking about life and each other’s thoughts on life is romantic. Talking about your life with your partner is romantic. Learning something new together. Learning a new hobby. Going out with other married couples and conversing with other married couples and having intelligent discussions is romantic because your partner can see how you are with other people. Go to parties, and don’t just sit in a corner, participate in the gathering. Have fun and allow your partner to have fun. Do activities that would be mentally stimulating for the both of you. If money is tight, you can stay at home, pick out a movie series that you can binge watch together and talk about it when you’re not watching it. You can talk about a certain topic and exchange opinions but do not reject the other person’s opinion, because otherwise, it’s not a discussion anymore and it’s not gonna be mentally stimulating, it would be an argument.

Butt… I also hate to admit it, even with the three above, we still really do have to try and maintain some level of attractiveness, not even just for our huzzbands but for ourselves as well. I didn’t wanna say it because that means I have to fucking do it, and I try, I’m not there yet, because I’ve gained so much fucking weight throughout my three pregnancies and haven’t gotten back to my goal weight of 10 kilos, but it’s a good thing at least to be aware of it because that means you’ve not given up on yourself.

But this does not only apply to women. It also applies to men, because although women are capable of loving beyond the physical, we also wanna see that you’re taking care of yourself and not letting yourself go, we just don’t say it as often, or we never say it all, we think it, but we would never say it, because women sometimes keep the truth to ourselves. Kidding. It’s because if a woman truly loves you, she’s gonna love you regardless of whether you’re fucking ugly.

I didn’t wanna say it because it all sounds so superficial and surface level, but it’s the reality of being in a marriage. We do have to pay attention to how we look because it gives the other person a certain sense of pride. On top of that, it just feels so much fucking better when we look and feel our best. When we like what we see in the mirror, we’re more ready to go out and tackle the world and we’re not afraid to get naked for our huzzbands, which is also a significant factor to why there could be less sex in a marriage. I can attest to this because sometimes the reason I reject my huzzband is because I’m not that tight hoe anymore, you know? Everything jiggles and gravity has done its work and I’m not comfortable taking my clothes off if it’s not pitch dark.

Butt… for romance to persist and linger, thinking of the other person must be reciprocal. It shouldn’t be one way. There has to be a thoughtful exchange all the fucking time. It must never be transactional and conditional.

Combine all of the above—physical, sexual, emotional, and mental intimacy—and integrate them in your marriage, consciously, with intent, and you’ll be okay. If you love him like how a trad wife would, but seduce him like how a mistress would? You’ll be mizztrezz proof because he’s gonna have the best of both worlds in you.

Like the famous philosopher Ludacris once said: Be “a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.”

I’ve seen it. It can be done. In Hollywood movies. Kidding. Honestly, it can be done. Men are capable of being faithful in a marriage so long as their dead. Kidding! I’m kidding. Men are capable of being faithful in a marriage so long as their a paraplegic. I’m kidding again. It’s a lie, even Stephen Hawking cheated.

But zeriously… men really are capable of being faithful in a marriage if their intimacy with their wives is sustained.

“But why though? Why do I have to adjust myself? Why do I have to? Why do I have to cater everything to a man? A fucking man? Why do I have to If he’s gonna cheat, he’s gonna cheat, that’s not on me. It’s not my job. He should know better that it’s just not right to cheat. It’s basic common sense!”

You’re absolutely right. But you entered a marriage. Voluntarily. They day you entered a marriage; you have a responsibility to the other person. 100%. You’re not two separate individuals anymore. You’re one. The dynamic of your marriage will propel how the rest of your life will be, whether you both will be as miserable as a shark or as happy as a clam. It’s totally up to the both of you and not dependent upon outside forces. That’s why you have to keep moving, keep working, and keep growing as one. My huzzband and I aren’t there yet, because he’s an asshole without emotions, and I’m a bitch with all the feels. It’s heroin and crack cocaine mixed in one vein—incompatible as fuck. I don’t see him as my soulmate because my kids are my soulmates. I see him as my sanctuary. Eww. Yuck. Take this cheese off of me. Kidding.

I do believe in greater power and the divine, but let’s just say, hypothetically, when we die, last breath on earth, we just stop existing? That’s it. You spent 80 years on Earth and then that’s it. Wouldn’t you want to experience love that would make existing on Earth worth it? The type of love that burns and transcends time and space. The type of love that lingers in the particles above us even when we stop existing. Do you know what I mean? I don’t exactly feel that way about my husband right now, because although he’s very well hung and has a tongue with a strong stamina, he’s a fucking idiot and an asshole at the same time. Facts. Char. Kidding. But that’s the goal for me. I don’t think we’ve reached that level of depth in terms of love, because I still sometimes allow my emotions to get ahead of me and contemplate murder, which I wanna get rid of because when we die, there’s no evidence that we’ll be together again, you know? I might never see this person again. That’s it. I would be married to this man and raise children together for how many long years, create a family together, go through everyday life together, and then in the end, when we say goodbye, there could be some truth in saying we’ll never see each other again, zow… does an argument that will drag and persist the whole fucking day really necessary? One day of hating the person you will never see again when your days are over? Really? I’ve seen a lot of death. I’ve been to many funerals, and when I’m there, I don’t think about the person’s negative traits, the bad shit they did to me, the fights, the bad things, or the bad days, I think about how fucking miniscule and unnecessary they all were. When I’m there, all I think about is all the “I should have” because what if we really don’t see each other again? There could be a heaven, because how the fuck do you explain all of this and the ever-expanding universe? But nobody actually has seen it, right? Nobody actually knows whether the love of your life will be there waiting for you or not. I know the bond between a mother and child is unbreakable, but what about that between man and wife?  I might really never see him again.

Zow… don’t you want to live this one special life having so much adoration, affection, and devotion for the other person your sharing it with instead of living it with that same person but with contempt, disdain, and hatred? Giving them your love half assed because of walls you’ve put up to protect and preserve yourself? You can do that. 100%. Protect and preserve yourself… when you’re single and want to stay single. But bitch, if you’re gonna be with somebody and you willingly give yourself to that person, you can’t ever give anything half assed, because what’s the fucking purpose? Stay single then so she can have a chance at another man who’ll be willing to give her 100%. When you enter a relationship, especially a fucking marriage, you cannot go through it half assed, you go through it full-on headfirst, otherwise what’s the fucking point, bitch? What’s the fucking point?

Zow… again… protect your marriage, not just from external threats, such as summer mizztrezz sluts, your mother-in-law, social media, toxic people, and other insignificant factors, but internal as well, such as your childhood trauma, insecurities, pride, stubbornness, fears, ego, and other factors that do not positively contribute to the growth of your marriage. Threats from you as a person and as a wife, and threats between you and your husband as his own person, because what do you have to lose in being protective of your marriage? You’ll only doing both of you a favor by being proactive in protecting your marriage and sustaining the intimacy between you and your parter.

Why? Because why the fuck not? Why would you hold yourself back from potentially having your huzzband be so fucking obsessed with you? If he’s good to you, good to the kids, good to your family, has never slip up, has never fucked you over, has never been abusive, has been supportive in everything you do, has allowed you to be your own self, doesn’t control or manipulate you, and you know he deserves a great marriage? Bitch… love him and take care of him like you’re Charlotte as a wife, but fuck that sumbitch like you’re Samantha as a hoe. You have nothing to lose, bitch. You only have much to gain. Just try it bitch. Just do it. Don’t hesitate. See where that shit takes your marriage. If he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t level with you, doesn’t reciprocate the new energy you’re bringing into the marriage, find a new huzzband. I’m kidding. But just do it! Because we only have one life. We’re running out of time as you read this. Zow… tick tock, suck his cack, sit on his face, get his money, make him cry, and love him like his testicles taste like popsicles. Bye.