JUSTO LEYES

My wife doesn't fuck me like she used to. One of the reasons I fell in love with her was because I liked fucking her so much. We fuck, but we have dropped from 15 times a week to maybe twice. The fireworks have sizzled.

We used to kiss passionately. I would suck her tits and eat her pussy as part of lovemaking 101. There were massages. There were bites and nips here and there. There was licking and slurping and slobbering. There were stories that rivaled pornography at its XXX best. There were fantasies related in lubricious detail. It was all about coming and coming and coming.

What else is there when one lives an anonymous eight-to-five existence? If there is no ejaculation in your life, how can there be the hope of exultation? I wish I weren't so addicted to sex, but I am. It's a choice between meditation and fornication, nirvana lies between a woman's legs.

In one of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's last novels, he celebrates a 90-year-old man fucking a virgin. In some of us the beast roars for more and more and more. We're whores. I imagine myself dying. After a month or three or six she would find someone to replace me. That would be an easy task. I have no illusions about myself. And how she would fuck him. She would fuck him like she once fucked me.

A security guard offered me this insight as I walked through the gate to watch a baseball game: "They wash their pussies and they're ready for someone else."

Ain't that truth.