The way I blow my husband now
A blowjob is not performance. It is placement. It is command. It is programming. And it is how I keep him tethered to my orbit.
A blowjob is not performance. It is placement. It is command. It is programming. And it is how I keep him tethered to my orbit.
Five minutes. Any room. Any hour. I tune my man before friction starts. I clear him before chaos builds. I place him before drift sets in.
They won’t remember our words. They’ll remember the rhythm. The stillness. The change. This is what remains.
He did not run. He did not punish. He stayed through everything. This is the man I married.
I stop blaming him. I place him. The house changes when I do.
I didn’t fix the marriage with words. I let him land. Not with sex, but with presence. That’s when he came home.
I share my house with a man. My space. My rhythm. My bed. And because I want no drama, I tune him.
Maintenance isn’t romance. It’s placement. I don’t clear him because I owe him. I clear him because I built this house. And I keep it flowing.
I don’t fuck other men. I rarely fuck my own man. I hold my house clean. This is not rebellion. This is householding.
Most women arrive late to their power. That’s how it works. You are not behind. You are exactly on time.
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