Playing with Fire

Speaking of blow jobs...

I have a tendency to goad people into doing things without even realizing it.

Last night, my husband broke out the sewing machine to put some new rank on his winter gear. As he was using the seam ripper to pry off the old rank he commented, "I'm turning into your mother."

I know a lot of military wives take care of their husband's uniforms for them, but I don't play things that way. He is the military member. It is up to him to take pride in his appearance and be responsible for his uniforms. I won't always be around anyway.

Of course, that's assuming that I could even sew. Which I can't.

As he was poking, poking, poking with the seam ripper, he remarked in mock exasperation, "Why aren't you doing this for me?"

"You know, hon," I told him. "When you get a wife who gives blow jobs like I do, you don't get a wife who sews. It's a fair trade."

(Now truth be told, I didn't just mention blow jobs. I have a lot of other special talents too. But believe it or not, some things aren't for sharing on a blog.)

"Ack!" he exclaimed. "Do you know how long it's been since you did any of that?"

"Not that long," I replied.

He thought for a moment and then insisted, "It's been almost a month."

"That's not that long," I scoffed.

His jaw dropped in disbelief.

Do you think I goaded him into what transpired in our bed last night?

Speaking of which, why can I always remember to put my retainer back in after I eat but never after I have sex?