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I’m a Kinky Corporate Wife

Look! I'm not wearing black!

Look! I’m not wearing black!

I do not like being a corporate wife.

There. I said it.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s nice to have M’s paycheck. His bosses are SO FREAKIN’ COOL if you don’t have to work for them (and in some cases, even then, too). Most of his coworkers are awesome. And we’ve got it super easy when it comes to being out as kinky fuckers.

Wait…let me start over.

So, we’re completely out as kinky fuckers.

(A much better place to start than “I don’t like being a corporate wife,” right?)

At this point, there’s almost no reason for us not to be. My ex and his ex-wife found Insatiable Desire, so they know. My sister found it when I got her signed up for EdenFantasys way back when, so she knows. All of M’s coworkers know what I do for a living, so they at least know that we have kinkier sex than they do. And when I met my neighbor the other day, I just flat out told her I work in the adult industry, and I used to run an adult magazine. She blushed a little, but the conversation just flowed from there.

So we don’t bother trying to hide it anymore. When the conversation turns to sex, we just dive right in. Most of the questions are usually directed at me, anyway, so why not? I use my personal experience as a point of reference all the time, from things I’ve actually done myself to things other men and women ask me about.

Believe me, it’s really nice to be able to (almost) comfortably discuss things like sexuality, relationships, body positivity, sexual health (among other things) with our family and friends without worrying that they’re never going to speak to us again. Even the CEO where M works knows what I do, and he thinks it’s cool as hell.

We’re very fortunate. Not everyone is so lucky. Being out as kinky, for some, is a death sentence for a lot of things, none the least of which being your job. So you’d think being a corporate wife, in my case, would be less frustrating than it is for the average kinky corporate wife, if only because we don’t have to pretend to be someone we’re not.

Problem is, just because we don’t have to go to great pains to hide our lifestyle from anyone doesn’t give us the ability to completely be who we want.

Take, for example, today. There’s this beer tasting party at the outdoor bar of some fancy restaurant in the area, and because they’re customers of M’s employer, the company has a bunch of coupons. M’s employer wants the team that worked on the project to attend, and they’re all good friends of ours, so they’ve been planning this for weeks. And I really don’t want to go.

I mean, I did say the place is fancy. I’m not a fancy person. I have two semi-fancy outfits, and they’re both black. And it’s 90 fucking degrees outside. AND THEY EXPECT IT TO BE HOTTER WHEN WE GET THERE.

Plus, I’ve gained back 15lbs, and I feel like a heifer. AND IT’S 90 FUCKING DEGREES OUTSIDE! Ffs!

Yes, I realize this means I’m no longer a Southerner. I’ve re-Yank-ified. Because I was born a Yankee, and then I moved south and was raised a Southerner? Anyway.

Aside from that, I cannot be my normal self because I’ll want to make fun of all the snooty bitches walking around trying to catch a rich old man, and I won’t be able to because some of M’s coworkers belong to crowds just like the one we’ll be unintentionally drinking with. Could you imagine?

Me: Look at that chick. Her dress is three sizes too small, and she’s got on so much fake jewelry, it’s a wonder her back hasn’t snapped in half. Does she really think that’s going to land her one of these masters of the universe?

M’s boss and coworkers: ~blank stare~

Me: Ha! Even her Chanel bag is fake. I bet she lives in Yates.

M’s boss and coworkers: Uhh…

I mean, they’re guys. Guys don’t know the difference between fake Chanel and fake Coach. And even if they did, they’re standing there looking at these chicks and going, “I know a few women who wear those things,” and silently judging me for judging their friend-clones, even though most of their friends are probably actually wearing real Chanel.

Yeah, yeah. I sound like a misogynist bitch. But I don’t hate women. I’m just not about to validate the ones who think it’s okay to fuck people over. I don’t validate people of any other genders who think it’s okay to fuck people over, either. I’m an equal opportunity non-validater (validator? Wikipedia says that’s a computer program). Or something.

ANYway.

M hasn’t decided whether or not we’re going. He doesn’t want to, either. But it’s not often him and and his coworker friends can get together because they all live in bum-fucked Egypt (aka: BFE), so he’s waffling.

If I weren’t in an owner/property relationship, I’d get his clothes laid out trim his mustache and goatee help him out the door, and then curl up on the couch with a book and a Lime-a-rita (which is the only booze we currently have in the house…we finally finished our wedding stash! Ten years later) until he came home. Have fun!

Since I am in an owner/property relationship, I have to ask him every few minutes if we’re going so I can prepare accordingly if we are. Then I have to go. Because he wants me to go. And that’s that.

Sometimes I think being a kinky McDonald’s wife would be easier. Even with the dramatic pay cut.

💜

Update: M finally decided we’re not going, but I was not scrapping almost 1000 words. So here you are.

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  1. June 1st, 2013 at 00:29 | #1

    Rayne: I’m a Kinky Corporate Wife: I do not like being a corporate wife. There. I said it. I mean, don’… http://t.co/IJVnU8Qw3E #slave

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