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Emotional Masochist That's the good hurt. You know the one.

Not the kind of hurt that makes you want to leave. The kind that makes you incapable of it. The kind that cracks you open just enough that everything rushes in at once. The jealousy, the inadequacy, the love, the arousal. All of it hitting the same nerve at the same time until you can't separate any of it from the rest. An overwhelming rush of emotions.

She didn't set out to be the woman who could do this to you. Early on she was careful. She'd come home and manage your feelings first, read your face before she said anything real, gauge how much you could handle before she gave you the actual truth of what happened or chose to keep it from you.

Then slowly she figured it out.

Not that hurting you was the point. She's not cruel. She doesn't enjoy the part where your eyes go distant or your voice gets quiet. But she learned that the hurt and the arousal in you aren't separate things. That she can tell you she loves him... actually say the words out loud, look right at and watch something in you collapse and harden at the same time. Watch the pain move through your face and your body respond to it in a way you can't control and don't want to.

That's when it stopped feeling like something she had to be careful with.

Because you don't want careful. You never did. You wanted the full weight of it. The real thing. Her actually feeling something for another man deep enough to say so. Not a performance, not dirty talk designed to push your buttons and walk it back after. The truth delivered without apology.

Your wife loves another man.

She tells him so in bed and after when they're lying there and the room is quiet and they are just in each others arms.

And she comes home and tells you.

Because she knows what it does to you. She knows by now exactly what kind of hurt you need and exactly who can give it to you. Only her and her love for you.

The orgasm that follows isn't like regular sex.

It never is. It can't be. Regular sex doesn't have any of this underneath it. Doesn't have the weight of real emotion, real loss, real surrender pressing down on every nerve ending until the release feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than your body.

She knows that now.

She owns it. She owns you.

Seriously?

Hold on, Baby Girl: the first motel’s just 10 miles down the road! LOL!

Well, what was a dad to do when faced with such twin tender temptations, as he uncovered those nasty teasing buds, licked and ate them till those nipples were standing up proud!