How to *Fuck* Your Husband

So the last couple of weeks, I’ve been spending more time with my husband Harold. After we had reached an understanding with each other, and he agreed to see a therapist — as we had discussed for weeks — I decided to give him a hall pass in the bed room. I decided to let him touch me again. At first it was a little awkward, like I was being touched by an extraterrestrial alien. And it was even weirder because, like, I hadn’t yet given him permission to go all the way, so we just cuddled. He even had the courage to kiss me, but his breath wasn’t very fresh — Some advice, you should at least rinse your mouth with mouthwash before kissing a lady.

During our cuddle sessions, I made sure that he respected my *comfort zone(s)* at all times. Any transgression was met with an abrupt end — the cold couch in the living room once again had it’s usual occupant for the night.


Yeah, I’m not messing around.

Should I feel guilty for treating my husband this way? I’ll admit sometimes I wasn’t sure, but then I remembered how his misogynistic micro-aggressions lead to this in the first place — I remembered how his patriarchy-induced-insecurity lead to his domineering attitude — an attempt to own MY SEXUALITY. As a feminist, this is exactly what I’m fighting against. Hopefully his new therapist will impress upon him the importance of respecting my sexual self-ownership.

After a few nights, cuddling got boring, so I let him finger me and perform oral. On a couple occasions I had to feign orgasm, which left me wanting to falling asleep — Like what kind of husband makes his wife fall asleep after foreplay and fellatio? After a while I got tired of this, like, was he doing this deliberately? Was this some attempt at passive-aggressive form of bedroom misogyny? I brought it up, hoping he’d mention it with his new therapist.

To my shock and horror he had the GALL to ask for more, for penetration, as if he earned it. How entitled can he be? I felt the cold weight of all the white-male-privilege ever experienced by women, world wide, had fallen on my back. Here he was, Harold, a white male, expecting me to just comply with an emphatic “YES SIR” to his request to stick his penis in MY VAGINA like he’d ask for a cigarette from a convenience store. I was so angry, I just gave in “sure, my dear husband.”


So um, I reluctantly let him try missionary on me. The resulting sex was so bad, I think I need a therapist now too. Harold keeps losing points every time I give him the chance to prove himself. Rather than lose my sanity, I decided to change things up a bit, and to show him what patriarchy feels like, thus giving him an experience that would allow him to empathize with my womanhood; so I put on a strap-on and pegged him. He screamed and cried in blissful pain. When all was said and done we lied in bed together, holding each other, and I thanked him for making me feel *sexually empowered*. It was beautiful, and I kinda orgasmed a little.

Thanks, my dear hubby. I guess we can enjoy our bedroom time together.

~Desiree Meyers-Liebowitz


This is why you don’t fuck with me

This is why you don’t fuck with me.

I went on a date with another man a few nights ago. So, um yeah.

So, my husband and I have hit a little bit of a “rocky patch”, so to speak. I decided that I actually have not forgiven him quite yet for his past indiscretions (see the last post). To make a long-story short, I end up (seemingly) hitting it off with this guy at the Starbucks a few blocks away. A corporate lawyer – just like Harold – but this guy is taller, younger, and actually in decent shape (still a bit soft-looking for my liking, but I can attribute some of that to his relative youth).

So, he’s 31 and going through a fairly rough divorce…honestly it kind of put things into perspective. I actually had to coax him into the date, actually. Not for a lack of desire on his end (of course), but because he’s still technically married, and it could negatively affect the terms of the divorce if he’s perceived to be dating behind his wife’s back. I told him it’s just a technicality (I’m sure his wife’s livin’ it up herself, LOL) and while there’s nothing wrong with going on an innocent date, I would be totally discrete. So, we have a nice dinner (all the while Hubby won’t leave me the fuck alone – see the screencap pic of his texts, LOL).
my conversation with harold
Afterwards, we go back to his place as things get kinda hot-and-heavy, and you know what happens? This fucking loser has the GALL to ask me if I “brought protection.” Like, literally – he REFUSED to go any further, claiming that he wouldn’t do so without “protection.” I am so fucking sick of this always being the woman’s responsibility, because you know what? It’s a double-edged sword that CUTS us every fucking time. Here’s why:
a) First scenario: The woman has condoms available. She’s a skank! Pump and dump her and move on!

b) Second scenario: The woman doesn’t have condoms, so she must not use them. She’s a skank! Pump and dump her and move on!

Wow. Just wow. So yeah…I’m not about to start playing that game. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, I check his phone, fine his wife’s number in like seven seconds, and put it into mine. We got dressed, I left. He texted me a couple hours later, and I sent THIS:
text conversation with a cheater named alan
Enjoy the divorce, loser.
So, um, yeah. That’s why you don’t fuck with me.

This isn’t about sticking it to the manosphere – this is about being a body-positive role model for larger girls EVERYWHERE.
But now, I fly free – affirmed; strong…TLW. The Larger Woman.
I am majestic.


I’m (Not) Sorry for Cheating

slut walk
Every hole in my body has been penetrated – outside of marriage – by a lover’s cock.

There, I said it.

So, um. Yeah. I cheated on my husband Harold on a number of occasions. First, I felt guilt, but was I right to feel this way? I was empathic. I was sympathetic. I was trying to figure out what was right and what was wrong. But was I affirmed? No. At the time I confessed my “sins” to him, I had engaged in extramarital affairs with four other men, and I said two dangerous words:

“I’m sorry.”

I felt like the bad guy, I felt like the villain – but then…something changed. I snapped out of this patriarchy-induced trance when I noticed that Harold became even more upset at the news that three of the four men I had slept with were black. Wait – what? Was he really stooping to that? Somehow this act – which the patriarchy had deemed “wrong” – was somehow more wrong because their dicks were bigger?

The activist in me took over. I grew angry. I was angry for all the women who had been made to feel like the villain because of a moment of weakness in a sea of oppression. I was angry for all the persecuted minorities who are held to stricters standards for the same crime. He had the GALL to judge me negatively while he HIMSELF was some domineering puppet of a larger power hierarchy?

And thus, I attacked. I described in detail the large, dark members that entered me from different angles, from different positions. I described every squeal of extramarital ectasy I uttered on our bed while he was at work. I just couldn’t take it, and it was during those moments that I realized the TRUTH of the situation; I was NOT sorry, and every inch of my lover’s cock that penetrated my backside signified my fortitude – my strength to assign responsibility where it was due. The strength to realize that it was not my fault that I cheated.

sick of patriarchy

The strength to stand up on behalf of every woman who was made to feel marginalized because her live-in domineering monster pushed her to into the arms of another man. What followed was a microcosm of the patriarchy’s own impending crumble – Harold broke. He cried. I cried. We cried together, and in the end….there was understanding.

And then, as he cried in my arms, I took the higher ground; I forgave him.

But this is something people seldom understand. Alas, it would be the height of irresponsibility for myself – or anyone – to accumulate this kind of wisdom without making an attempt to teach.

I am a teacher. And I am affirmed. And most pertinently – I’m not sorry.

Are you?

~ Desiree Meyers-Liebowitz

The 5 Ugliest “Pickup Artists”

After Rapist “Pickup Artists” like Rooshv and his posse wrote this article: I felt a post with this title is longgggg overdue, which is partially why I created this blog in the first place! I’m big and beautiful and so are many other feminists, and it’s time they have a piece of our collective mind. So girls, get a can of pepper spray and keep it with you at all times, because you just may be “approached” by one of these ugly nutjobs someday.

Get your pepper spray out. I always carry a big can of inferno.

Get your pepper spray out. I always carry a big can of inferno.

1. Nick Krauser

nick krauser

He kind of looks like:



He thinks he’s an Evil Alpha Overload, but in reality he stands out on the streets of London, day and night, approaching women for sex. He approaches women like it’s his FULLTIME job (LOL!), and yet he only pulls in 27 lays a year. Meanwhile, yours truly raked in 27 lays in 5 weeks sitting on her ass eating Cheetos. And he thinks I’m ugly, hmmmm… Keep Hustlin’ Nosferatu.

2. RooshV


Kinda looks like…

A yeti.

A yeti.

I’m surprised animal control officers haven’t captured him yet, look at him! He left America for the Transylvanian forests of Romania (where he belongs) because he couldn’t handle real women. There, he preys on helpless female villagers, dragging them into the Transylvanian forests where they probably receive severe carpet burn.

3. Chris from GoodLookingLoser


Actually I have to admit he’s kinda cute ‘n’ sexy, but he’s a trashy, dumb douchebag, so he’s ugly. He likes to sleep with 18 year old girls too, despite being older than 30, yuck. What a weird creepo.

4. Matt Forney


Kinda looks like…

Marsh Mellow Man

A white, pasty Marshmellow Man

He thinks his writing is great. I hope he has groupies, because he isn’t getting any otherwise, no matter how “tight” his “game” is. BTW, I think he should lose some weight.

And Finally number 5, Owen Cook:

RSD owen cook.


~ Désirée Meyers-lieBowitz, the TLW.