Ladies,

You have a tool at your disposal that can save any marriage. If you can get past being self serving and think of someone other than yourself for a minute or two the results will pay you tenfold. Your man works very hard to pay the bills and keep a roof over your head. You may think you can get along without him financially, but the truth is if you lost him, your first priority would be to find another man to help make ends meet, and you know it. With that said, it's time to introduce that tool I spoke of.

 It's your anus.

 Yes, that powerful rubber band you shit with. By using it to massage your husband's penis, you solve a lot of problems. Your husband has had a hard day, and rubbing his back will tire your hands out to say nothing of running the risk of breaking off one or more of those press on nails. And mind you, he deserves to be rubbed after toiling all day at the office to keep the creditors off your backs and put food on the table while you sit on the couch eating bon-bons and watching Oprah. So if you don't want to exhaust your hands rubbing his back, massage his phallus with your sphincter. That way you save your hands grief because after a climax in your rectum, he isn't likely to bother you for anything for a while save for dinner if you two haven't eaten before granting him his well deserved relief. You also cannot get pregnant this way, and not having any (additional) children goes a long way toward improving your financial condition. A happy husband makes for a happy house. And despite what you may be thinking, your incessant nagging and hen pecking will become much more tolerable if he gets to ejaculate into your colon a few nights a week. It will also guarantee that your man won't be out at any fabricated odd hours office parties until 3 AM paying for what he should be getting from your gluteal cleft. Now if your argument is that it might hurt, I offer this. Next time you have an especially arduous bowel movement, look in the mirror and ask yourself if that ordeal was all that bad. Then look at the intestinal construct you labored over and ask yourself if it's bigger than his penis. Don't lie - he does enough bullshitting on the size of his equipment for both of you! The turd is much bigger and you know it. Also, orgasming his seed into your bunghole isn't likely to precipitate the passing of an object larger than a loaf of bread as hitting you in front certainly runs the risk of doing. And if you are concerned that you might not enjoy it, I say so what? With all the arguments I have presented above you are going to argue that you ought to enjoy it too? I can tell you that to match your husbands income potential, it goes without saying that you'd be offering your anus to a collection of poorly evolved primates who communicate primarily with what will seem like to you to be short guttural grunts which you would not be able to keep up with were it not for the frequent utterance of the word "Motherfucker" in some $5 an hour motel. And this would be nightly. All your husband would need would be 2 to 3 nights a week depending on how often you screw him to begin with. Also keep in mind that this wouldn't even be necessary if you could keep up with him sexually to begin with. With that objection defeated, the only one left you can offer is the concern that defecating in the future after providing such a loving service for your hard working husband will become painful. To that, I counter with this. With all the time you spend in the bathroom with what you seem to think it takes to get ready for the day, where in any periodical that you waste precious house cleaning time with to read does it tell you that greasing your ass up with a little Vaseline last thing before getting dressed will be the one thing that makes you late for the rest of your time wasting bullshit? Wouldn't it be nice for you to say something and have your husband actually listen to you instead of deploying his well rehearsed pretense for doing so? Instead of imagining what he could do to the ass of that blonde cashier at the grocery store, your husband can focus on things like how to get ahead at work because he knows that your chocolate factory is going to milk his fornication annex and that most important of all, that the bitch at the cash register might not have read this treastise on how valuable he is in terms of his earning potential and that he might not find another woman with the enlightenment and intellectual engine to overcome her self serving ignorance to pay homage to the agent responsible for keeping her from being a source of occupational diversion to a bunch of inane barking ghetto baboons. Wouldn't it be nice, even if only for 20 minutes a night, that you had something valuable to contribute to maintaining the homestead too? Take a moment now and dab a bit of Vaseline on your finger. Stick it up your ass to the last knuckle and stir. Then surprise your man with what he richly deserves.

 Don