"Honey," I say, "I bought you a little present today."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Luckily, he is touched. He thinks a blue cock ring is something he would like to own.

"Good," I say, "Because I don't think it's returnable."

So the conundrum of spontaneous sex under intense pressure begins. I immediately dry up and shut tight like a clam. You couldn't wedge a string bean in there. We look at the cock ring. We touch the squishy cock ring. We find a special box to keep the cock ring in and then we make a hiding place for the cock ring at the bottom of his sock drawer. We pet the cock ring. We feel protective of the cock ring. We don't know how to use the cock ring.

Does it go on before full sizing has been achieved? We don't know. There is a little notch on the cock ring; is that supposed to go on the top or the bottom? We wonder. We don't know. Is this supposed to offer extra pleasure for him or me? We don't know. I should have asked my salesgirl. I wonder if that 72-year-old man knows how to use a cock ring. We look up cock ring on Wikipedia. Wikipedia has quite a bit of information about cock rings. I tell my husband about the 72-year-old man and his vibrator. We have a tremendous amount of fun talking about the cock ring. The cock ring is our friend. We put away the cock ring in the little box at the bottom of the sock drawer.

We turn out the lights and lie naked in each other's arms, our bodies dovetailed together. My leg is flung over his hipbone and his ankle is supporting my foot. I like him so much at the moment it no longer feels like a disaster that we are married. I am not mad at him right now at all. I know we will take that cock ring out of the sock drawer one day. But in the meantime I am totally relaxed and happy.

I love that cock ring.

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