My wife, Mandi, and I started dating when I was 17 and she was 16. We married before she turned 20.

Yes, I know that such a marriage is all-but-impossible in the current feminist-decimated sexual climate, but I think the following anecdote might still have some merit.

Before I began working as a bouncer, we had never been in a bar past about 8pm. We never had a need to. When I told her that I was considering doing it, she said, “that might be fun. Can I come hang out?”

I said, “sure, might be entertaining.”

The first Friday night was so funny. Neither of us had ever seen people acting in such an unfettered manner. I remember watching Mandi sitting on a stool above the dance floor in her conservative attire, looking positively shocked when the local thot brigade began their gyrating flanking maneuvers. I could see the glare she shot when one of the aforementioned hoes “backed that ass” up against my crotch as I stood, arms crossed, in the corner trying to look as stoic and swole as possible. I laughed out loud when a sloppy drunk young guy tried to talk to her and buy her a drink and she pointed to me standing in the corner. When the first night was over, we couldn’t stop talking about the debauchery we had never seen in person. She was particularly taken aback by the coochie-cutting attire of the waitresses.

The next night, Mandi and one of her teacher friends and her husband rode together and spent the whole night nibbling on wings and rolling their collective eyes at the clientele. That night was also the first time I had to break up a fight and the first night a drunken college girl grabbed Moby (which is the Melville-inspired nickname for my member.)

The next Friday night, Mandi dropped me off at 8pm, and said she would be a bit later showing up because she had to stop by the grocery store on the way. About 10pm I felt a tap on my shoulder and there was Mandi standing there wearing a white tank-top and the pair cut-off shorts that have never left our house till that night. It was the first public appearance of her antiquated half-century old camel-toe.

She managed to find a seat right behind me occasionally poking me with her foot and making a point of rubbing her ample ass against me when she returned to her seat from the restroom. When we got in the car at about 3am, she looked at me dead in the eyes and said, “do you want me to suck your dick?”

Now, mind you, after almost 33 years we still have a great sex life, and the use of her upper respiratory tract has been an almost-daily non-negotiable since her first awkward efforts in 1986, but a 3am bar parking- lot snarling is unusual, if not unprecedented. I didn’t want to disappoint her … so I agreed.

Now, the point of this story is not that I am a lucky guy, but that seeing that I have other options, albeit crusty ones, has made Mandi moister that usual. It began the first night she saw the throng of grinding Alabama thots.

I am not sure how most guys can use this, but I believe that if you maintain your body and frame, your girl/plate/whore/LTR/wife might throat you in the wee hours next to a dumpster in a bar parking lot. At least I hope she she does.