From mediocre to magic

So, how was that? Did I go too far in that last post? Time to move on, pull your trousers up or wrap the duvet around you and assume the slightly more demure post-coital position of someone not sure what they have just done and how they got there.. Have another glass of wine or cup of tea.

You may think Drunken Slut Mum is a woman lacking any conscience or morality, without any feelings or care for anyone else other than herself. She likes to pretend this, especially in front of the man, but sorry, this isn’t the case.

DSM feels, hurts, loves and laughs just like any other woman. I love my children so much it hurts and sometimes ask myself if it’s possible to kiss those soft, plump cheeks too many times and bury my face in their Honeysuckle hair. I cry at really emotional love scenes in films and if I stub my toe or cut my finger it’s very hard not to say “cunty-bollocks” and cry out in pain.

You may think DSM is a vision of beauty with a perfect body with all the carnal pleasure she is enjoying, but you would also be wrong here – although if this helps your fantasy, please carry on picturing Angelina Jolie or Beyoncé. The reality is I am mediocre, could do with losing a few pounds (especially off the baby belly) and am thirty-ahem-ahem. I don’t even have any talents to boast – mediocre again – although The Man seems to enjoy my blow jobs. My headstone epitaph could read ‘Here lies DSM – she was pretty mediocre but did reasonably good blow jobs’ but then again I may be old when I cark it and have false teeth, so a blow job by then could be a risky undertaking…

So, as you come with me on my journey, remember I am just like you, a normal, non-specific person.

I am not here to corrupt or moralise – I have done these things both married and separated. I served seven years of inadequately sexed married life before The Man came along and reminded me what it was like to have a libido – I thought mine went missing somewhere in the Mediterranean before the ex and I even tied the knot.

The power of The Man is that he helped me find my missing libido, that once-mystical concept of the orgasm and multiple orgasm and for the too-brief snatches of time we have together made me feel like I was no longer mediocre, but a sexy, special and desirable woman – me on the inside but an airbrushed, toned and gorgeous temptress on the outside.