Girl Game: The Glory Hole Experience

Once again we return to that most-popular of topics (ironically enough), the issue of Girl Game.  I'll leave the basics to others, but this is a subject which might appeal to the more adventurous among you ladies, if you're looking for something interesting with which to intrigue your husband.  Pray attend.

Glory Holes, for the innocent and ignorant, are the popular name for the penis-sized holes between booths in adult bookstores -- and they are rarely used for mere peeping.  For decades the Glory Hole has been the staple of the underground Gay community, and even in our enlightened times there are still plenty of men who haunt these places, looking for anonymous relief.

The action is usually oral, but the key point to the fantasy element is the anonymity of the experience.  Not being able to see the mouth on the other side of the wall allows the imagination to run wild.  That's why plenty of straight men try these booths out, because, gosh, you can't really know if the mouth on the other side belongs to a man or a woman . . . can you?

Their own Rationalization Hamster takes them through the maze of their subconscious and finds a way to an anonymous blowjob in a squalid and dirty porno palace:  It isn't really cheating.  If no one knows, it never happened.  It's just advanced whacking off, right?   It doesn't mean I'm Gay, really . . . does it? I'm just . . . contributing to the local Gay community.  Yeah, that's it!

(Now, before you ladies freak out and think every trip your dude makes to the video store will lead to illicit, anonymous gay sex, let me assure you that plenty of guys never venture back into the back room - they're just there for the boobie flicks.  On the other hand, if you purchase all of your porn DVDs online, say at a reputable company with over three decades of experience, you can avoid that possibility.  But I digress.)



So why bring up the Glory Hole at all if it's so gay?  Let me explain how you can turn the faint allure of anonymous sex into something you can, possibly, use in your bedroom.

You see, like a lot of things in Gay sexual culture, like the Cosmopolitan, hooking up, and and pastels, straight women can't resist stealing it.  Once certain women found out about the secret Gay stash of endless anonymous penises in the back room of the bookstore, well, some of them went a little crazy.  By the 1990s, you were starting to see couples and even single women sneak into the 24 hour XXX stores to get a midnight snack.

Enough of them, at least, so that my Gay friends grumble that they can't hook up on a Saturday night anymore because the straight dudes congregate around the known pussy -- and if a woman (or good-looking transvestite) walks into a booth, you can bet the line will be as long as she wants it to be.  Instead they meet men who want to be with men on Craigslist and invite them to private glory holes in hotels or at their homes like respectable gentlemen.

But when women did start going into Glory Hole booths, of course the porn cameras were soon to follow.  Glory Hole porn has become a new specialty in the pornoverse.

It's easy to see why -- a girl, a wall, a hole, a penis, cheap movie magic.  Anonymous sex becomes adult entertainment.  And guys loved the fantasy element of glory holes almost as much as MILFs and cheerleaders.  Hot girl on the other side of the wall?  Not knowin' who she's blowin'?  How could that not be hot?

The thing is, your hubby might actually be turned on by the fantasy of anonymity, but that's one of those things he probably doesn't even know how to ask for, even if he knows he wants it.  But enough dudes do that I feel comfortable sharing this tip.

The Set Up

First, you're going to want to prepare an utterly private place where you know you won't be interrupted.  What you want is a closet, a spare room, even just a doorway if possible, across which you can stretch some sort of visual barrier like a blanket or a big piece of cardboard.  If you really want to put some effort into it, and have the space, go to your local hardware store and purchase an 8'x4' sheet of easy-to-cut foam insulation board -- and advanced couples might want to make the whole thing out of wood.

But start with the cheap, easy-to-dispose of stuff first, because if you don't get into this (and Athol says about 70% of the stuff you try won't work for you, and I cannot disagree) it's easier to get rid of cardboard or foam insulation than it is to explain the huge plywood sheet with the suspicious hole in it to the neighbors.

The goal, of course, is to build your own glory hole.  The actual hole is likely less important than the feeling of anonymity.  Once he puts his dick through the hole or slit, his imagination should be utterly reliant on what he feels, not what he sees.  Removing the visual component is the exciting thing, and this is a lot more elaborate than a simple blindfold.  It shows you put some effort into it.

Once you have a decent glory hole set-up prepared, stow it away until one night when you want to treat your husband to something a little . . . special.

After preparing him thoroughly (say, ten solid minutes of kissing to get him worked up good and hard) then grab his hand and pull him to his feet.  Hug him.  Grab Mr. Happy and give him a shake or two.  Put your mouth up to his ear.  Whisper . . .

". . . do you trust me?"

If he says no, well, you have bigger issues.  But he'll probably say yes.  Let's assume he does.

"Then I want you to wait here for exactly three minutes.  Then I want you to come into the living room/dining room/observatory/woodshed.  You'll know what to do then.  I've prepared something a little different tonight."  Give him a final peck, a sexy smile, and wiggle your ass out of the room.

If he's not thanking the gods he married you at that point, again, you got other problems.

Slink away to your pre-prepared "Glory Hole Booth".  Make certain during your prep that you've considered all of the logistics of the situation, first.  That is, have a bottle of water, some lip balm, and any other fun stuff you might need at hand, and do grab a pillow or ottoman -- you might be there a while.

Or, if you do it right . . . maybe not.

In any case, when he finally enters the room, he should see a clear indicator of what he should do, such a cardboard sign that says "INSERT PENIS HERE" or "HUSBANDS ONLY (FORM A LINE)" or "RING BELL AND INSERT COCK FOR SERVICE" or "BLOWJOB VENDING MACHINE" or any other sexy, witty thing you can imagine.

If you have followed my instructions to the letter, and your husband is straight and has even the remotest attraction for you, you're gonna see Mr. Happy poking through the hole in record time.

And this is where it gets fun for you: because he really doesn't know exactly what you have planned.  He doesn't know what to expect, or just how far you've decided to go.  You have successfully captured the mystique and allure of the Glory Hole, and his brain is buzzing at a thousand miles a second.

Some women might think of this move as inherently objectifying.  You're right.  That's the point.  You have entertained your husband's sexual brain as well as his dick. It wasn't about you, personally, it was about you, plural.  You both get to indulge a fantasy at the same time.  Remember that.

Now, back to the dick: you can approach this a couple of different ways.  You can just gobble it down enthusiastically like normal, and he will think it is fucking fantastic -- guaranteed.  That might actually be a good bet, the first time around.  It's an Ironwood rule-of-thumb that you should probably only introduce one new element into your sex play at a time, to fully explore it and appreciate it without distraction.  So start with just the basic Glory Hole Experience, if you're feeling hesitant about his response.

If you want to kick it up a few notches, however . . .

This is your opportunity, too -- you can experiment with your guy's penis in all sorts of silly ways.  If you've usually been too into him to really get into his dick, the disembodied-and-could-actually-be-Daniel-Craig-if-the-light-is-low-enough penis of your husband.  Just listen to what he says and the sounds he makes.  This is your mutual opportunity to experiment.  Revel in it.

Besides the Basic Blowjob, which he's fairly familiar with by this point if you've done your wifely duties appropriately, consider a few of these intriguing variations on the Basic Level:

The Hummer

Hum -- Happy Birthday, Christmas Carols, or just hum some scales or your favorite song while you're doing the deed.  It creates all sorts of startling situations and will be noted.  So hum a merry tune . . . because it's hard to whistle while you work with a dick in your mouth.

The Knob Job
Focus exclusively on the head and the first three inches (if he has at least three inches -- and I hope he does, for your sake), and leave everything else alone for he first fifteen minutes.  Suck hard, suck softly, nibble, but don't go any further down the base until he's begging for it.

The Oily Handy
If you have a cold sore, sinus issues, or any other problems that keep you from being able to deliver a good blow job, a perfectly acceptable substitution is a super-slippery hand job to completion.  Use a good thick commercial lube, hand lotion, massage oil, or other slippery stuff.  And if you want to get really crazy, consider olive oil or room-temperature butter.  But if you want the best all-time long-performing lube combo, according to interviews with hundreds of dedicated masturbators, is Petroleum Jelly (not KY) and a cup of water.  That seems to have the best coefficient of friction, but clean-up is hell since it's not water soluable.  Still, you should be able to find something slick to slip on his dick.

For Intermediate Level:

Good Vibrations
Maybe it's time for hubby to meet your toy collection?  Use your faves on the head, base and shaft -- but avoid the testicles.  The Fellas are a little sensitive.

Glove Love
Some dudes really get off on rubber, and slipping on a pair of gloves (the yellow housework kind or the medical kind) and lubing up your mitts to give your mouth an assist as he's poking through the hole is guaranteed to give him some very unique sensations while he's climbing to paradise.  If rubber isn't his thing, consider trying silk or satin gloves, too.  Or maybe a scarf.

Panty Play
If you start out with the Basic Blowjob, you might consider wearing silk or satin panties while you blow him . . . and then half way through, slip them off and start using them to stroke his shaft and head.  Some dudes can really get off on this, and if their silky enough, that's hard to beat.  Which I suppose is the point.

Now, for ADVANCED Home Glory Hole users, consider some potential suggestions from Uncle Ian's Super-Secret Book Of Mind Blowing Fellatio Tips:

FIRE AND ICE
Warm cocoa and ice water.  Take a sip of one.  Give him thirty seconds.  Take a swallow of the other.  Give him thirty seconds.  Repeat until he promises to have your babies if you finish him off.  NOTE: back off a bit if he gets over-stimulated.  And don't use water any warmer than you'd probably bathe a baby in -- it doesn't take much heat to make your mouth feel REALLY hot.

FUR FUN
Buy a scrap of fake fur, or use a similarly fuzzy or furry object to tickle his johnson until he's moaning.  Change up with a slightly different texture for a few minutes, then go back.  Remove loose hair from mouth afterwards (hey, I never said there wasn't any risk).

HAIR DRYER

Give new meaning to the term "blow job" with a little extra heat on his junk!  Whip out your favorite styling tool and blow your man right.  You might only have a couple of passes before it gets too hot, but it's quite a unique sensation.  But skip the curling iron -- the blow dryer is warm and interesting enough.  Speaking of which . . .

POP ROCKS
'Nuff said.

CAST OF THOUSANDS
This is the perfect time to try to fool him into thinking there is someone other than you behind the glory hole.  Crank up some music to cover any noise, and after you start him off more-or-less as normal, step away for a moment, then return and attack his schlong with an entirely different style.  If you're usually soft and mushy, go hard and fast.  If you're usually heavy on the long strokes, flicker the head instead.

OR, you can actually get someone to help out, if you're into that sort of thing or you accidentally wrecked his car.  But even if you're alone, you should be able to create the illusion of a couple of girls (?) taking turns by simply putting your hair up and changing your style and grip.

 If you really want to freak him out, try wearing a fake mustache and/or beard.  Like I said, advanced users.

The key to this is the novelty of the situation.  You both get the illusion of anonymity (after all, are you SURE that was your husband's dick?) and the endless fantasy implicit in he Glory Hole Experience.  Plus you get bonus Wife Points for instigating, planning, and executing the plan until orgasm.  Dudes LOVE that kind of stuff.  We eat it up.

Where in your marriage would you use this?  Not when things are rocky -- if you and the Missus are having problems, then inserting your penis into some unknown variable isn't necessarily the wisest thing, no matter how sweetly she asks.

But if you are just experiencing the desire for novelty, or you want to impress him with a little experimentation but you don't want to break out the ball-gags and paddles just yet, then the Glory Hole Experience is a great way to inject some fun fantasy into your sex life for the price of a piece of cardboard and a little ingenuity.

If you're concerned about what he's thinking while he's thrusting away through the hole, don't be.  You are over-thinking it and you probably don't really want to know, anyway.  But that's the point: this is an indulgence in sexual fantasy play.  It's not a precursor to ten-guy blow bangs in some funky-smelling dive.

Just relax and enjoy the happy prospect of a cock without a man in sight -- and then tell me you haven't dreamed about what you would do if you had that chance.

Give it a shot, try it out, let me know how it worked out for you.  Professional interest.  Really.

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It's Equilibrium, Not Equality, That Makes A Marriage Work

Q: It is well know that Mrs. Ironwood is smart, well educated, and well paid. So obviously she is not playing dumb or incompetent in an attempt to make her man feel important. It would be interesting to know what she does to "be the woman" and allow you to "be the man" (generalities, not details - lol). 

A: What an excellent question!

When I read this at Stately Ironwood Manor this morning over my usual coffee-and-cigarettes breakfast (most important meal of the day), I went ahead and read it aloud to Mrs. Ironwood, who has better sense about how to begin her day and was eating a ridiculously high-fiber cereal.

She considered.

“Mostly, I stay out of your way and let you do what you do.”

She elaborated – one of the things I love about her is her keen insight into masculine psychology.  Basically she told me that she recognizes that there are things that are inherently important to a man, and that when it comes to those issues (insofar as they do not negatively impact the over-all Mission), regardless of whether or not she thinks she knows a better way to do it, or a better approach, or whatever . . . she stays out of my way and lets me do those particular things my way.

It’s a struggle, sometimes, she continues.  But just as she feels sensitive to the fact that I’ve assumed many of the “traditional wifely responsibilities” like laundry, getting the kids ready for school, shopping and cooking, things that she feels judged about by her mother and the other women in her personal Matrix, she understands that I feel sensitive to the need to assert my masculinity in other ways.  Like working in porn and hanging pictures and spending my off-hours relentlessly trying to get into her pants.  

If expressing my masculinity involves her getting laid with the frequency of a truck stop hooker, then she's willing to take the hit for the team.  One of her girlfriends hasn't gotten laid in over a year.  Another has hit a rough patch in her relationship and has slowed to once a month.  Mrs. Ironwood implicitly understands just how dysfunctional that is for a relationship, so if accepting eager and willing cunnilingus a couple of times a week will help keep our marriage running smoothly, she'll gladly make the sacrifice.

She's such a trooper.

It was a fascinating discussion – we've covered some of this territory before, but it was interesting to see it like this.  We’re very aware of our mutual interdependence and how important it is to a well-functioning ship, but we rarely discuss it in those terms.  She makes more money.  I do more housecleaning.  Yet the social expectations of both issues put a lot of undue pressure on us from outside.  That alone is often enough to put strain on a couple.

However, one advantage that we have over many couples is the fact that we long-ago accepted the fact that while our relationship and our family was perfectly normal, it was also destined to be utterly unconventional.  Striving to fulfill outside expectations – in any direction – has the potential to detract from the efficiency of how well the ship runs, and could compromise the over-all Mission.  If outsiders see it as a challenge to my masculinity that I take my daughter to Girl Scouts and the only professional sport I follow avidly is Ice Dancing (long story), then I know thatit is their issue, not mine.  The Mission states that the important thing is the happiness and welfare of the children is the highest priority, and if that means I have to skip down Main Street in a blue satin evening dress in order to make it happen, then I can take the hit.  My masculinity is dependent upon successfully fulfilling the Mission requirements, not on living up to someone else’s expectations of how I do so.  And Mrs. Ironwood is the only person on the planet empowered to offer me unsolicited criticism about how I fulfill the Mission.  Understanding that difference has given me tremendous emotional freedom in how I run the household.

So we’re both willing to compromise about stuff . . . but we try like the dickens to make sure that we don’t have to.  Luckily, we both are on the same page so much of the time that our compromises usually seem minor and unimportant when they actually happen.  Chalk it up to good wife selection criteria and a long vetting period.

But one fundamental that we practice is always being willing to communicate, within the dictates of the Rules of Engagement.  And we have both accumulated enough of a store of trust in each other that when one of us does something the other sees as dicey, then we’re willing to extend the benefit of the doubt to each other, even if we’re pretty sure the other person is wrong.  I may know for a fact that what she’s doing is a mistake, but if I do not give her the freedom and autonomy to make and learn from mistakes (provided they don’t imperil the Mission) then I’m not leading properly.  

The same goes for me: if I’m indulging in a masculine fit of do-it-myself, say, fixing the porch or painting a fence, then Mrs. Ironwood has the brains to recognize that the important issue is not whether or not the fence gets painted, it’s that I am painting the fence as an expression of my masculine power to Order the household.  And because painting a fence is well within my capabilities.   She trusts me to do the job to the best of my ability, and then knows that the proper feminine response – regardless of the outcome – is to praise the effort, not the result.

Admittedly the praise is higher when I don’t fuck things up, but she never – NEVER – tells me “I told you so!” when things go wrong.  Indeed, even if I do fuck things up (it happens) she thanks me for my efforts and encourages me to think positively about it.  She doesn’t use my failed attempt as a crowbar to leverage in a subsequent relationship discussion.  

That’s a rare and special gift.  Some folks think that marriage means that both husband and wife can relax into a perpetual casual relationship in which the little things don’t matter because of the strength of your love, but any OMG will tell you the opposite is true.  Extending basic courtesy and politeness to your spouse is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL to keeping the ship running properly.

Remember, Captain and First Officer are positions with a lot more ritual and protocol implicit in them than “wifey and hubby 2.0”.  Ignoring basic courtesy because you’ve happened to see your spouse busting a grumpy in the bathroom is foolish.  And ignoring her accomplishments and her efforts is twice as foolish.   Remember, the performance of the First Officer is in part contingent on (and is a reflection of) your abilities as a leader.  If that means calling out your spouse for praise more often than you probably would a casual acquaintance then remember that a) you likely did not exchange profound vows with a casual acquaintance and b) in most cases a casual acquaintance is unlikely to provide you with fellatio.

Mrs. Ironwood earns compliments from me every day – and note I said “earned” not “deserves”.  It doesn’t matter whether or not she deserves the compliment – the fact is, she is a superlative wife who earns the praise I give her, and I would be a stingy husband to withhold it.  And she reciprocates, often surprising me with “One of the reasons I love you is how you ….” at moments when I least suspect it.  This has the dual effect of increasing my attraction to her (we’re always more attracted to those who offer praise and respect toward us) and rewarding good behavior on my part.  The reward system works both ways, after all, and Mrs. Ironwood has learned how to work it to our mutual advantage.

Mrs. Ironwood also made this valuable point that I hadn’t considered:

“When you really are set on something and I think it’s a bad idea, and I’ve told you I think it’s a bad idea—”

“You let me do it anyway,” I finished, smugly.

“Well, not exactly,” she hedged, much to my surprise.  “Just as you have the masculine power of Ordering, I have the feminine power of Persuasion.  And in cases where I really think something is a bad idea, and you aren’t listening to my cogent and well-reasoned arguments, then I use my feminine wiles to distract you from the issue until you decide to do it my way.”

“Hey!  That’s not fair!” I protested.

“It’s perfectly fair,” she disagreed.  “Look, I respect your ability and willingness to be the leader of the household – I have too much leadership crap at work, the last thing I want is to be on the hook for the decisions that run the house.  And in most cases, yeah, I can let you do it your way, anyway, and I stay out of your way.

“But if you are dead-set on doing something utterly bone-headed, yet doesn’t imperil the Mission, then I feel well within my rights to distract you away from it and give you some perspective.”

“Distract me how?” I asked, a little alarmed.

“With sex,” she shrugged.  “And attention.  I get you focused on one of your other little tangents, or I ask you about work – back to sex again – or I take you to dinner, or I unload my work issues on you for advice, and you get so wrapped up in helping me out that you often forget about the thing you were going to fuck up in the first place.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked, warily.

“If sex doesn’t work to distract you,” she reasoned, “then that tells me that whatever it is Really Matters to you, and I can either let you go or get in your face about it.  But usually you’re open to being distracted.”

I frowned.  “Am I really that easy?”

She snorted.  “Why do you think I married you?”

There were plenty of potential responses to that, but I found myself going in an unexpected direction.  “So, does it bother you that our marriage isn’t based on the principal of equality?” I asked.

“Equality?” she asked, just as surprised.  “Look, it’s a marriage, not a suspension bridge.  We’re not two equally strong pillars both holding it up equally.  That’s a stupid metaphor.  Marriage is a fluid, plastic, constantly-changing thing, especially with kids involved.  Forget equality.  What we have is a teeter-totter.  A see-saw.  You’re at one end, I’m at the other.  The goal is equilibrium, not equality.  It’s not about what is fair to you, or fair to me.  It’s how we both can dance along the length of the lever in order to maintain equilibrium.”

“Explain,” I directed, intrigued.

“Look, if I’m having a shit-week – like this week, for instance,” she added.  “I’m so stressed out about work that I can’t even think about you and the kids, and that makes me feel like a bad wife and mother.

"But then I come home after bitching about it to you on the phone, and you have dinner cooked and laundry folded, it's like a Dido song.  That still makes me feel like a bad wife and mother, but I also feel so loved and supported that you adjusted your side of the see-saw to compensate for my shitty week, it makes me forget about what a shitty wife and mother I am and just drop to my knees in gratitude . . . like I have time for that.  And then next week, after I get my grades posted, I’ll re-adjust my position, spend a few evenings doing you like it’s prom night to show my appreciation and assuage my guilt, and we’ll be headed back into equilibrium.  You can’t do that trying to keep both people ‘equal’.  Someone’s always going to be up and someone’s always going to be down, but if both of us are trying for equilibrium in good faith, then we can appreciate the relationship better over time because we understand the process.”

“So to extend this metaphor,” I said, enthusiastically, “what happens if someone fails to adjust to compensate?”

“Then one of your asses is going to hit the ground with a decisive thud,” she replied, smoothly.  “That happens.  It’s happened to both of us, many times, in the last twenty years.  As long as the other person doesn’t get off the other side, you’re both cool.  But when you get off . . . well, it’s decisive thud time, only permanent.”

“So how have we avoided that, all these years?”

“You’re willing to dance on your end, I’m willing to dance on mind, and we’re both committed to the pursuit of equilibrium to affect the success of the Mission without being selfishly obsessed with equality.  It might not be as stable as ‘two pillars of equality’, but we sure have a hell of a lot more fun around the fulcrum than those couples stiffly holding up their relationship.  And then there’s the alternative . . .” she said, trailing off meaningfully.

“What alternative?”

“The thing that's really keeping me dancing on my end,” she confessed.  “Besides, y'know, true love and shit.  If one of us did step off, have you seen what’s available as replacement parts these days?  Jesus, I think I’d enter a convent before I’d start dating again.  No matter how bad you get – and you really don’t get bad,” she assured me, hurriedly, “don’t get me wrong, but no matter what a pain in my ass you are, you’re MY pain in the ass.  There’s a security in that that allows me a lot more emotional freedom than my friends.”  I was no good judge of that – that’s Matrix stuff – but I was willing to take her word for it.

“Seriously,” she continued, “half of my friends are obsessing about their lack of a boyfriend or husband, and the other half are bitching about their existing boyfriend or husband, and none of them are complaining that they aren’t being treated as an equal partner or they're getting laid too much.  I get asked all the time why I don’t bitch about you the way other women bitch about their husbands, and it really is because you don’t give me a reason to bitch.  In fact, I spent almost the entire conference talking about how great you are with the house, the kids, and me that I pissed off some people.”

I guess that’s a good thing.  “So you aren’t worried that I’m treating you like a slave, dominating the relationship, relegating you to second-class status, all that bullshit?”

She patted my knee warmly.  “Babe, my priorities are raising the kids well and keeping my family happy.  That includes you.  That’s where I find fulfillment.  Yes, I have a career -- everyone needs a J-O-B -- and I'm lucky enough to have married a man who was willing to put up with all of that school and abject povety so that you could let me make a career out of making the world a better place in a really crappy industry.  But you don’t let me make that my life.  You keep me grounded about what is truly important to me because you know me.  You get me.  And I so appreciate that about you.”  Awww!  More praise!  “So to answer your reader’s question, I’d say that I stay out of your way, let you be a man, and focus on my job as the woman in the relationship.  And I don’t let other people define for me what that is.  Not my mom.  Not my sister.  Not even you.”

Okay, I could accept that.  “And you persuade me with sex,” I added.  “When cogent and well-reasoned argument fails.”


“Right.  Do you feel threatened about that?  About me ‘using sex as a weapon’?” she asked, curious.

It was a fair question.  I mean, a lot of guys accuse women of that, and I’ve seen it employed thus over and over in other relationships.

“No,” I decided.  “Because you don’t use it as a weapon.  You use it as a tool of engagement.  When we have sex, it’s a non-verbal extension of our continuing intimate conversation.  Sometimes you use it to say ‘Honey, you’re wrong, you should see my point’.  I can handle that.  And sometimes you use it to say ‘Babe, you did a really good job – more of that, please!’ and I can handle that, too.”

“And sometimes I just want you to throw me down, rip off my clothes, and do me hard,” she reminded me.  “Just what do I have to do to persuade you to do that?”

The rest of the conversation would only be of interest to the voyeuristic and the aficionado, so I’ll leave it to your imagination.

But that’s her answer.  To misquote Star Trek, “The needs of the Family/Relationship outweigh the needs of the Spouse . . . but the Spouse’s needs are part of the needs of the family/relationship”.   We both have to dance along our side of the see-saw to keep the thing up in the air.  Every now and then we arrive at a point that’s not ‘equal’ . . . but it is equitable. We're striving for equilibrium with the understanding that we'll never quite reach it, and that's okay.

To this I will only add that Mrs. Ironwood does take care of her appearance, for work as much as for me, but she also doesn’t hesitate to doll up for date night and indulge in shameless PDAs in public. She is quite comfortable with her femininity – she knows she’s not winning any beauty contests, but that isn’t the point.  She dresses up to show respect for me, because a wife dresses up for her husband on date night.  She goes out of her way to ensure I get masculine down-time with my guy friends (I had to get her to stop calling them ‘play dates’ for the sake of my masculine dignity).

She treats me like her captain: with respect and honor and genuine loyalty.  She takes care of me, and acknowleges that that's part of her job description as much as fixing cars or cooking dinner is in mine.  She looks after my grooming and appearance, my skincare and whether or not my shoes are decent, and she tells me when I look hot enough to fuck.  And she doesn’t hesitate to show me off, use me as arm candy, and brag to her pals about just how lucky she is – whether I’m there or not.  

I understand part of that is just ‘marking her territory’, but, honestly, I find I don’t mind so much.

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Beta Move: The Five Year Rule

Mrs. Ironwood and I have a very important ritual we've evolved over the years, dating from our first big "it's been five years, are we gonna get married or what?" discussion.  As it has evolved it has been an important tool to provide much-needed perspective about the state of the marriage.

Very simply, you ask yourselves -- and each other -- how your lives now compare to how they were five years ago.  For instance, five years after we met Mrs. Ironwood and I both had relatively stable jobs, a decent roof over our heads, health insurance, cordial relationships with each others' parents, and an assload more security in ourselves and each other than we did when we met.  Just on paper that was big.  We had to agree that both of our lives were measurably better then than they were five years before.  All of the ups and down of our initial courtship and commitment, moving in together, surviving my younger brother move in with us, the requisite family and friend drama, all of it was utterly bearable, and we were better people and happier people for being together. We both wanted kids and thought we'd be good parents.  So the next logical step was to get married.  I'd more or less already decided that, but it was nice to hear she was open to the possibility.  I told her point-blank I would only ask her once, and made it clear I was serious.  And then I thought about it furiously for another six months before I asked her.

But since that time we've been able to pull out the Five Year Rule when either one of us has felt depressed or overwhelmed by life.  It provides an important gut-check for the marriage and gives us a clear, mutually-understandable benchmark.  Of such rituals are good marriages made.

It's essentially a Beta Move, in a very good way.  By invoking the Five Year Rule you are providing context and comfort for your wife/girlfriend.  You are demonstrating that you are aware of the development of the relationship in context, and that you appreciate the growth you've both demonstrated.  It's non-threatening and supportive.  It's emotionally uplifting.  It's easier than mowing the lawn.  By seeing things in a five-year context we understand that whatever issues we face today are part of a larger continuum of our existence together.  And we re-iterate that we plan on being here in five more years, and will look back at these low points as the places where we figured it out or soldiered on or did whatever it was we did that got us through it.  It helps, it really does.

So much of Single Game is about seduction and pursuit that it's easy to loose sight of the nuances of Married Game.  Being able to provide good Beta when necessary is always helpful, and the romantic, nostalgic overtones of the Five Year Rule gives you a big juicy shot of Beta almost instantly.  It's also backhanded Alpha, if you insist strongly enough that she appreciate the Five Year Rule (attempting to blow off an important ritual can be a Fitness Test in a stressful situation).  Sometimes when a woman is freaking out about something, being able to provide some strong, steady perspective is what she wants from you more than a sympathetic ear or a hot beverage.

Of course the danger is that things may have actually gotten worse in five years.  If that's the case, then you should count that as valuable information as well.

At that first discussion

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