Please don't get me wrong. There's really nothing not to like about him. He's kind, polite and rarely says a cross word. He has a good job. And he listens, which is a dramatic improvement over my real ex.
The man is physically appealing. He's tall, has nice hair and is in good shape. For god's sake, he passed up a chance to model when he was younger.
My new pretend husband is never in a hurry. He's a master at chilling out when he wants to. I consider this a good trait and one I'm trying to get better at myself.
Everybody gets along with him all the time. He never says anything anyone might disagree with. For me, this can be a bad thing.
I need mental stimulation. I need discussion. What turns me on is a man who will take a stand and take part in a smart, interesting fair debate. Then I really lose control when he sweeps me up in his strong arms and give me a big kiss since I won. Of course.
I need passion. Passion even greater than the touchdown in the last 20 seconds that wins the game for your favorite college or NFL team. Passion that makes two people tear each others clothes off in a trail starting at the front door after all that mental stimulation. Your eyes locked to theirs in daylight or darkness. Passion that leads to the messiest, craziest most exhausting sex you've ever had. The kind that brings an undying closeness and makes your legs like rubber bands. Literally.
Being pretend married was fun during the three weeks it lasted. We laughed and joked together and got to know one another better, and I feel like I made a friend. While nothing's been said, I get the feeling we agree we're better real friends than pretend mates.
Love to the single girls,
Addison
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