She was a bit on edge."No, I'm Paul. Please ... I'm still Paul! Out!" Trying to wake up, Paul struggled to put together a coherent sentence. "Clothes,...off, I need to take these clothes off! Why? Please! Reversed magic ... What am I going to tell my parents?" He looked up at Rosemary."Oh!" she burst out, sobbing, "Janice!" Rosemary staggered back to the dressing table chair. She pulled her dress up and used it to wipe away her tears. "It's been so long." She looked at Paul again.Paul waited. My husband is my rock in our hedonistic pursuits, surrounding getting sexually used by him and other men all the time. In fact, I call my husband “Rock,” as in “rock hard cock.” Ultimately, my mood is irrelevant and the places I have it limits my choices. But I still always want it. My husband Rock likes to describe his role in our lives like this: Imagine a zealous and perpetually horny but clueless and incompetent pimp who falls in love with his one and only whore. He wants her always in. More

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