"Married for the Pussy: A First-Person Tale of Regret"

So, I got married. Yeah, I know, big f*cking mistake. But let me tell you how it all went down.

I was 25, horny as hell, and convinced that marriage was the ultimate way to get laid whenever I wanted. My buddies were like, “Dude, don’t do it. Marriage is a trap.” But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy thinking with my dick.

I met her at a bar. She was hot, fun, and, most importantly, she seemed into me. We started dating, and before I knew it, she was dropping hints about rings and weddings. I was like, “F*ck it, why not? I’ll get a wife, she’ll get a husband, and I’ll get pussy on tap. Win-win, right?”

At first, it was f*cking amazing. We were like rabbits, going at it all the time. Morning, noon, night—didn’t matter. I was living the dream.

But then, something happened. I don’t know if it was me or her, but the novelty started to wear off. It was like, “Oh, pussy again? Cool, I guess.”

One night, she came out of the bedroom wearing some sexy lingerie, and I was like, “Oh, hell no. Not again.”

She looked at me, confused, and said, “What’s wrong, babe? Don’t you want me?”

I was like, “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m kind of pussied out. Can we just watch Netflix or something?”

She was pissed. “You married me because you wanted pussy, and now you’re tired of it? What the f*ck is wrong with you?”

I was like, “Yeah, I did marry you for the pussy, but I didn’t think I’d get so much of it. I’m f*cking exhausted.”

The Punchline  

And that’s the story of how I learned that too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. The moral of the story? If you’re getting married just for the sex, make sure you’re ready for the consequences.

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