Feminine Governance

Saturday Morning

Saturday MorningThe weather is cooperative. Sunshine with steady breezes from the west will make for easy sailing to our easterly destination. And in the coolness, there are a limited number of other crafts to negotiate. April is early for sailing, the waters of Long Island Sound quite congested in the summer months.

Reggie soon brings the yawl to full sail and the journey of some one hundred miles begins. At close to twelve knots we’ll be enjoying the sights for most of the day. In setting sail, my duties become limited and I sit and watch Reggie ply his skills.

“You were good the other night, Reggie... for an aging man.”

There comes the school boy smile, male hubris bringing almost a gloat. Reggie is nearing his thirtieth year and I know the thought of beginning another decade brings concern. And so I have learned to handle matters s****l with caution, choosing my words carefully, never critical, always inspiring. I have become a coach. Yes a copulation coach, uttering words of encouragement while Reggie plunges deeply. Sometimes I feel as if I am starring in a pornographic movie with my lusty words and antics. I had for the initial years of marriage theorized his dalliances are derived from a latent need... that Reggie’s veneer of confidence is thin.

Then I came across that videotape. Yes I brazenly viewed it and tucked it back in that drawer, being quite meticulous to position it just as I had found it. The date of recording correlated to the date of a huge check made out to cash. Reggie paid handsomely for it and I understood why.

But the fact that it remained was just as telling as the depictions on the tape. After paying out so much, why leave it to chance discovery? Why not destroy it?

The corresponding dates, the encounter recorded, the check written, was most telling. That’s when I began to formulate my plot. Reggie needs help. One does not have to have the numerous psychology courses that I have undertaken to realize there is an unfulfilled need. And what is a wife for if not to fulfill the needs of her husband?

And so I became a cheerleader in bed, vocalizing my satisfaction which, as stated, is real... my pc muscles gripping Reggie’s impressive manhood such that he cannot withdraw until my climax moderates to a satiated glow. Still the dalliances have continued, despite offering the most gratifying s*x imaginable, despite instituting numerous couplings and especially never uttering a word of denial. Yes, once alerted to Reggie’s wayward habits, a wife becomes oddly aware, not having to furtively visit that drawer to know that afternoons of racquet ball are really interludes of balling and making a racket.

So I bear the mental anguish knowing that my plot will level the playing field... more than level the playing field. Were it not for the prenuptial agreement and arcane trusts, a woman would not need to scheme as I have had to do.

But I will prevail. After all, I have knowledge. And since Reggie is not cognizant that I have it, I am empowered.

“Some lunch, Reggie? I made a salad with your favorite dressing.”