Can I Get A Witness . . .

Let me tell you about Mike, my husband.

He's a good guy, steady husband, goes to work every day like clockwork, puts up with a lot of crap at the insurance company he works at, yet still has a smile for our kids when he gets off that train.

He's sweet to me, too, thinking of me, sending me naughty texts some days, letting me know how much he loves me after more than a few years of marriage.

I appreciate him, and I encourage him when he needs an outlet. Being an English major-turned-finance guy, he thinks he's got a novel in him somewhere. Only it turns out, when he sits down to write something, he's totally blocked. So like a good wife, I give my guy a little encouragement - a nice blowjob to get him past the block. Only now, he's in that post-orgasm lethargy, where all you want to do is lay there and look at the ceiling fan go round.

So being the kind of wife who won't let a perfectly good blowjob to waste, the next time, I take him right to the edge, and I leave him hanging. And I tell him to write.

And he says he can't - he's too horny. So I tell him to write about sex. And he does, and it's like the dam is bursting. All of a sudden, he is writing page after page of the dirtiest pornography I have read in my life.

And I am shocked, and proud of my finance guy, who is finding his voice. And a little flattered, too, because of lot of fiction has its basis in fact. Clearly, my Mike has starting spinning an amazing yarn out of some of our adventures.

Which is all well and good. But remember, I'm a technical writer. And something inside me tells me that I have to tell my own story, too, and that I have to tell it the way it happened. Because I'm supportive of Mike. But still, I have to set down events as they happened, not as they've been imagined. And let his readers puzzle over what's fact and what's fantasy.

Hence, the raison d'etre of this blog.