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My wife and I divorced a year before our last child was born. Before you accuse me of being a fool who’s paying child support for some other guy’s kid, I know Lindsay is my daughter. My ex, Eileen, and I would on occasion copulate if we were both feeling sufficiently lonely, bored, or depressed. Five minutes of me contorting myself into some hybrid of the “angry cat” yoga pose so she could climax, followed by thirty seconds of furious pumping so I could, and we were done. Exes with benefits – all in the time it takes to soft boil an egg.

That all ended almost as quickly as it began. Our post-marriage affair, if you could call it that, came to an abrupt halt after the UPS guy walked in on Eileen bent over the kitchen counter and me with my 3-for-six-dollars Calvin Klein boxer briefs around my ankles. Eileen had not only an ex-husband with benefits but a parcel delivery man with benefits. The UPS man told Eileen he refused to share her, not because he had feelings for her, but because he found it distasteful sharing her with a “weak, pasty Jew.” Eileen sided with the anti-semite.

We hadn’t so much as shaken hands since then. Recently, though, I dropped the kids off after their day with me. She snapped at me for being late, I told her she needed to have an orgasm badly, and she dared me to give her one. Five and half minutes later, I was pulling my pants up and heading out of Eileen’s bedroom. It was the most businesslike act of intercourse you could imagine without involving a pimp or an exchange of cash.

Now that the kids are a little older and aware, I’m worried they might get confused, if Eileen and I start up a regular thing. Shmegs said to just enjoy it till it runs its course, which he assures me it will as soon as the Fedex guy walks in on us.

But his name is Shmegs. I can’t take his advice seriously.

Anyone out there have any suggestions?

Larry

 

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