Don’t read this, honey.


My relationship with my husband has undergone an abrupt change.
I see him differently now.
I long to put my hands on him and squeeze him… squeeze him hard. I long to pierce his skin and administer potions that will ease his pain when I press against him. I long to see what comes out of him. I long to sigh with satisfaction as he releases hot gobbets from his body. I long to cut them with a knife, and see what they’re made of. I long to put them under a microscope, and watch their contents squirm until my eyes are sated.
I long to be his Dr. Sandra Lee… his very own Pimple Popper, just like the dermatologist I recently discovered on You Tube.
He is aghast.
I am not supposed to watch Dr. Lee’s videos when he’s around… he calls them Pimple Porn, and finds them much more disgusting than the standard scatology of writhing bodies bouncing bellies.
This makes it all the more exciting. He doesn’t know it, but there are nights when we sit together in the living room, and I gaze intently into my telephone, watching her excise a steatoma while he stares at NCIS on TV. Does he think I’m gasping at the exploits of Gibbs and his crew? Silly man.
There are two objects on my husband’s body with which I am obsessed.
Smack in the middle of his back, there is a Dilated Pore of Winer… a blackhead as big as a tick. He won’t let me near it, which makes it all the more irresistible. At its center is a big black dot… no longer circular, but distorted by the passage of time. It is surrounded by a greenish promontory surely created by Madame Pele, ready to erupt and release its smelly magma.
The stupid thing won’t budge when attacked surreptitiously, but I know it will give way if I assault it with the proper tools: a syringe filled with lidocaine and a stainless steel comedone extractor.
I wonder if I can buy these anonymously on line.
The latter tool will be useless when I confront the main attraction, though. At the top of his forehead, just to the right, he has a lipoma as big as a nickel.
I want that sucker.
I want to draw a dotted line around it with a sharpie, before I numb it so I can get to work. I want to pick up the sharpest, most thoroughly sanitized scalpel, and make a football-shaped incision at the center of the nodule. I want to cauterize the little blood vessels open, so they don’t obscure my view as I expose the lipoma to the light of day. In my fantasies, it is well encapsulated, but resistant; it needs to be squeezed, pulled out with tweezers and finally cut with fine scissors. Any scar tissues left behind will have to be excised. The wound will have to be cleaned using a syringe filled with saline, then swabbed with a q-tip and sewn up tenderly. One large, subcutaneous suture will seal up the aperture; many tiny, hair-thin stitches will close the wound tightly, leaving only the most minuscule scar.
I can’t believe Dr. Lee actually gets to do this for a living…
And I can’t believe how many disgusting perverts like me watch each and every one of her videos… last year, she earned more than $850,000 on You Tube, and this year, she’ll do even better.
For once, I kind of hope my husband doesn’t read my blog today.

via Daily Prompt: Abrupt


4 thoughts on “Don’t read this, honey.

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