Was it Something I Said?

     I think it's true when they say opposites attract. I know it's cliché to say, but I do feel like in a lot of ways my husband is truly my other half. I am very much a glass half full sort of person, optimistic, trying to see the good in every situation. He jumps to the worst conclusions and has a bit of a pessimistic outlook (he also argues that he is a realist not a pessimist, does that make me a dreamist?). This is probably the same for a lot of people. It's a good balance, you really can't have two people who both have their head in the clouds or both think the world is out to get them. I just don't know that it would work.

     We have a lot of similar interests, as our relationship started as a friendship in high school, but personality-wise we couldn't be more different.

     For instance, my husband is a pretty private person. Even with me! Sometimes I feel like I am constantly trying to wheedle information out of him. Me? I am the definition of overshare.

     So when we started delving into the kinkier side of our sex life it seemed a little odd that I kept making him promise me that he wouldn't tell anyone.

     Typical morning after a night of illicit sex acts.

          Me: Seriously, don't ever tell anyone. I would die.

          Hubby: Um, I'm pretty sure no one would believe me anyway. Plus how much of a jerk am I   when all the guys are complaining about not getting any and I'm like 'Hey! Guess what we were doing?'

          Me: I guess you're right, but just promise me?

          Hubby: I promise.

     This conversation repeated itself many times over. 

     

     Then I got invited to a bachlorette party last summer. Personally, I hate these types of nights. I was never one to go to clubs or drink a lot in bars (I mean, I drink a lot, just not at bars where it gets expensive). But I felt obligated to go, it was for one of my friends who was one of the last to get married and I didn't want her to feel like she was any less special than all the other brides I celebrated with.

     Ten of us got a few hotel rooms and a VIP section in a club. The night is pretty much a blur, I am still not sure if this is due to the alcohol or the overall exhaustion I was experiencing from a long, stressful week coupled with being awake way past my normal bedtime. There was lots of drinking, and dancing. I remember getting yelled at a few times for dancing on a table (it was a low table, like coffee table height, hardly something to be reprimanded for).

     Anyway, our night ends around 4am, with five of us at an all-night pizza place outside on the boardwalk. We were quite the hot mess. The bride was sober and miserable. Her cousin was drunk and sobbing. My one friend was yelling at the people behind the counter for not selling soft pretzels. And me and one other girl, whom I had just met that night, were inhaling pizza slices bigger than our heads. We were a picture of runny mascara and sweaty club clothes. I was also carrying my high heels tucked up under my arms so I could keep my hands free to eat my pizza (I must have been inebriated, because voluntarily going barefoot on that boardwalk? Ick!).

     We started talking about sex (because what else do you talk about at a pizza place at 4am?). I decide this is the best time to confess how much I love anal sex. I launch into a description about how much more intense my orgasms are this way and how I almost prefer this to vaginal penetration, when I glance up from my greasy, pepperoni slice to find four perplexed looks of shock. I immediately stop talking. My friend (the soft pretzel demander) starts laughing manically, she can't stop laughing long enough to get words out and just keeps shaking her head over and over. She finally manages to get out “It's so awful!” between gasps for air.

     Now I am embarrassed and defensive. I follow up with “Have you tried it?”

     “Yes! And never again!” Now I am peppering her with questions (which she is not answering, obviously not an oversharer like myself). And I start giving suggestions on “proper preparations.” (I still have not heard the last of that line, it gets brought up at many parties).

     The bride seemed disgusted and annoyed with me (she quite frequently talks about how she hates having sex, so I am not surprised by her reaction), but I peaked her cousin's interest enough to get her to stop crying.

     Our night came to a close soon after this, we trudged back to our rooms and I woke up in the morning slightly hungover and even more embarrassed. 

I shoot a quick text off to my husband 

          Had a great time last night... may have told everyone I like anal.

I hold my breath for his reply. If the tables were turned I would be totally pissed.

          Really??

 Ok, I cannot judge tone of voice in a text, is he mad?

          Um, yeah, I feel like an idiot.

Almost immediately reply-  

          LOL. So when I get a few pats on the back this weekend from the guys I'll know why?

My relief is immediate, at least my husband isn't mad.

     I endure a late breakfast with the rest of the girls, trying my best to act like I am totally cool with the information I shared the night before. Only getting a little red in the face when I am good- naturedly jabbed with comments.

     Needless to say I think I will be forever labeled the kinky friend.

     And once again I need to thank my husband for restoring the balance in our relationship, at least on his side some of our dirty little secrets might actually remain secret.