Things have been a bit...dull here at BarrenAlbion lately. Trying not to be a Pregnancy Bore is hard work, and as many have noted before me, your life becomes very boring very quickly. I can't talk about ongoing protocols, recount an entertaining visit to get my cooter poked, or lament that I cannot get pregnant regardless of how hard I try anymore. I'm in a great position for which I cannot complain, but jesus if it doesn't make for a tedious blog.
So, in these desperate times I'm afraid I'm going to have to resort to my usual trick - talking about sex. Sex brings in the commenters. Sex makes the silent speak. Discussing it is pretty much this month's pathetic attempt to convince readers that despite what current blog content may indicate, I'm still just a cynical, messed-up perv.
This isn't about the hot, passionate sex I'm having every day with my husband. That is because such a thing doesn't exist, nor has it ever, come to think of it. Instead, this is about the hot, passionate sex I'm having every night with men other than my husband. No, this sex does not take place in reality, as in reality not many men dig chicks with bulging stomachs and back cavities. I'm not saying that that's not hot, because I'm sure due to me even typing "sex" and "back cavities" in the same post will yield searches like "back cavity shagging" and "hot bitches with back cavities" soon enough.
For the past few weeks I cannot escape having sex with irresistible men in my dreams. It's a chore, but someone simply must do it. These are not men I know in my daily life, nor are they famous men. Last night it was a dashing, dark-haired man wearing a 1920s style suit with a fedora. He was telling me how I would never love him, and I consequently shoved him up against the wall and uh, showed him that perhaps I did. At the very least, I liked him very much. At some point, Paul Rudd turned up but dream Pru just wanted to hang out with him rather than showing him her world. On reflection, dream Pru has issues because real life Pru would certainly consider any offers he made. Granted, my tastes tend to run more along the lines of the rugged sexiness displayed in a man such as this, but I'm sure Paul Rudd would be good for a sympathy shag. That's me being sympathetic to him by the way, not the other way round.
I have been waking up most mornings feeling horrible for having no sex dreams about The Dude. I know they say that in the second trimester you are horny as a horny toad, but I didn't think that would involve nightly dalliances with random men. The very worst thing of all is that in the dream I acknowledge to myself that I am married to The Dude, but I come to the conclusion that either he won't find out, or that the decision was made somewhere along the line to have an open marriage. Consequently, I go straight for the shag.
I'm hoping these dreams at least slow down a bit, or perhaps dream Pru becomes less of a slut. Dream Pru - go to the movies, have a nice dinner, go to a museum, but stay away from cocks that don't belong to your husband. I don't have much faith that this will be the case though, thanks to that evil bitch who keeps making me think of "Quills". I'm not a fan of the Marquis de Sade, but I do love a sexually repressed priest. Um, and this sexually repressed member of the clergy. Hester, you lucky bitch.
Yeah...umm...there is no hope for me, is there?