I’m going full bore into reclaiming my masculinity. I have been too nice for too long. For too long I confused being sensitive and understanding with being wimpy denying who  I am and what my needs are. 

All tact aside, I like to fuck. I am sexually attracted to my wife. Hence I want to fuck her. Yet I have been considerate.,which means buying into her reasons for not wanting to have sex. It has been pointed out to me that, in marrying me, that’s what she promised to do. So I’ve been  hiding my masculinity, that I was self-conscious of it to the point of embarrassment and shame. Don’t want to offend her sensitive tastes.

This afternoon, as I put on my walking kit, I walked in on J wearing  only my jock. She grinned, finding it amusing that I had my cock and balls encased in the supporter. She finds it funny, me with my junk in the jock. .But she’s going to get used to a man, unashamed of how he looks.

The other garment which she finds threatening, is the athletic shirt, aka, wife-beater.   Dammit, I like to wear them. Years of swimming have given me pretty strong arms. Guns. When other women compliment them, even calling them “guns”,  I’m not hiding them any more.

Now the shirt got the name “wife-beater” because your stereotypical    blue-collar tough guys, usually Latino or Italian, wore them. Think Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire.

” Stella! “