Dear Magnolia,

My anxiety is at an all-time high. So is my husband’s hard on.

While I’m a mad ball of panic, my mind spinning as I mentally tally the number of toilet rolls we have stashed away and whether our snack supply will last us the week, my husband is living his best life. No more commuting. No business travel. Deadlines out the window. Plenty of time to spend with the kids.

The other day, I stood in the kitchen doorway, blinking furiously to keep the stress tears from falling down my face. My husband called me into the living room. He held out his arms and invited me to snuggle with him in his armchair. I slid bonelessly into his lap, relieved that he had finally noticed my precarious mental state and was offering some comfort and support. But as I settled in, I felt something suspicious prod my backside. Then his arms slipped lower, his hands cupping my braless breasts. As he kneaded and thrusted away, all I could think was “READ THE ROOM, DICK FOR BRAINS!”

I don’t want to stereotype, but isn’t it just like a man to assume that close contact and loss of key support underwear equals sex?

This morning as I was lying in bed praying for the rapture, he came out of the shower swinging his dick around a helicopter coming in for a landing. He seemed shocked that I did not want to “blow on his pinwheel”, particularly given it was freshly cleaned. WTF?!?!

As I toss and turn through the nights and stress-bake my way through the days, the last thing on my mind is an orgasm. And yes, I know it *might* help take my mind off of things, but getting into the right mental state requires more work than I’m capable of doing right now. Whatever brain power I can muster up is spent figuring out how to teach little Susie fractions and percentages. I’m 99% sure that no one here is getting any action.

So why the hell is my dumb husband, I mean my loving spouse, so damn insistent I take care of his hard on in addition to everything else I’m handling?


Searching for a chastity belt


Dear Chastity Belt,

I feel your pain, especially the part about feeling you have to take care of his woody as well as every other damned thing.  They have no idea why we wouldn’t want to ride the big lad at every opportunity.

As for a solution, I am willing to bet your pharmacist will have one. Women are lining up to get medication they can put in their husband’s coffee that will remove the ink from his pen.

You won’t find a chastity belt though, all the women already bought them the second day of isolation. You are late to the “get your dick away from me” party.

Be strong and stay hairy.



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