- Women Only -
Straight Female / 36
Soccer Mom
The truth is that one day you find yourself doing what women have done since time started. It's the whole thing about being the mother and taking the home seriously. I know women who have children, and work and use daycare and a man comes around once in a while, fucks them and leaves them. I swore that would not be me.
When I was single I was all in, head first, into the legitimization of women and power. I wanted the career and the position. I wanted the paycheck. I rose quickly, from entry level to senior. But then I stalled out. My responsibilities were sideways, more encompassing, broader but not higher. I got paid more, but I wasn't made manager. I heard from another woman that hell would freeze over before a woman was manager at that company.
When I was in meetings, or sometimes in conversations. I walked away knowing that I wasn't ready for manager. How did they know that? Little league, one woman told me. They separate the wheat from the chaff early, bring them up that way. Those are the jocks you hated in high school, the captains, the ones that looked at you that way. And they were at work, and when he calls you down, you close your legs tightly.
I got fucked. That is the word. No lovemaking about it. Fucked. And he came back for more. I got fucked. And to get fucked I would do anything. The idea that some other girl was getting fucked by him drove me crazy. The solution to my angst was to get pregnant. Tie him down. And once pregnant to be that girl from the olden days television. I took cooking lessons in secret. I found that I cooked better than baking. I cooked a roast chicken the night I proposed to him, asked him to marry me. Begged is the way he puts it. Begged him to marry me.
I did get married, and I do have the house with the pool in the backyard and I don't work outside the home and I have three children. I will not return to work in an office if I can help it. I will, literally, suck his dick and beg if I have to. I have help, twice a month heavy cleaning, and he has the yard man. I drive the kids to all of their commitments, and I don't mind sitting in line for my little one at Montessori. I suppose that having a phone in the car helps, chatting away with another mother in line ahead of me.
My husband is a jock. He's a golfer. All my woman friends are stay at home mothers. It's the network I belong to. I have church activities, I am the substitute den mother for my Cub Scout. I never wash the car or gas it. My husband never folds laundry. I am a very good ironing lady. I'm the vacation planner, and run summer camp for the kids. My husband is a 'tit' man. and a night out with a top that flares my tits and headlights is a welcome diversion from his work grind. I LIKE that he likes my tits. That's what hooked him from the beginning. My nanny is also my sitter.
So the long story short is, I went to college for a business degree and I am a homemaker, housewife, den mother, church lady with three kids and haven't been near an office in ten years.
When I was single I was all in, head first, into the legitimization of women and power. I wanted the career and the position. I wanted the paycheck. I rose quickly, from entry level to senior. But then I stalled out. My responsibilities were sideways, more encompassing, broader but not higher. I got paid more, but I wasn't made manager. I heard from another woman that hell would freeze over before a woman was manager at that company.
When I was in meetings, or sometimes in conversations. I walked away knowing that I wasn't ready for manager. How did they know that? Little league, one woman told me. They separate the wheat from the chaff early, bring them up that way. Those are the jocks you hated in high school, the captains, the ones that looked at you that way. And they were at work, and when he calls you down, you close your legs tightly.
I got fucked. That is the word. No lovemaking about it. Fucked. And he came back for more. I got fucked. And to get fucked I would do anything. The idea that some other girl was getting fucked by him drove me crazy. The solution to my angst was to get pregnant. Tie him down. And once pregnant to be that girl from the olden days television. I took cooking lessons in secret. I found that I cooked better than baking. I cooked a roast chicken the night I proposed to him, asked him to marry me. Begged is the way he puts it. Begged him to marry me.
I did get married, and I do have the house with the pool in the backyard and I don't work outside the home and I have three children. I will not return to work in an office if I can help it. I will, literally, suck his dick and beg if I have to. I have help, twice a month heavy cleaning, and he has the yard man. I drive the kids to all of their commitments, and I don't mind sitting in line for my little one at Montessori. I suppose that having a phone in the car helps, chatting away with another mother in line ahead of me.
My husband is a jock. He's a golfer. All my woman friends are stay at home mothers. It's the network I belong to. I have church activities, I am the substitute den mother for my Cub Scout. I never wash the car or gas it. My husband never folds laundry. I am a very good ironing lady. I'm the vacation planner, and run summer camp for the kids. My husband is a 'tit' man. and a night out with a top that flares my tits and headlights is a welcome diversion from his work grind. I LIKE that he likes my tits. That's what hooked him from the beginning. My nanny is also my sitter.
So the long story short is, I went to college for a business degree and I am a homemaker, housewife, den mother, church lady with three kids and haven't been near an office in ten years.
- That's Juicy! 19
- Remove It! 6
