You confuse me, sir. You claim in your first correspondence that you wished to have nothing to do involving my cock other than your wife enjoying the benefits of a real dick. Yet in your last correspondence, you state "all we need from your dum ass(sp) is a hard cock." That intimates to me that you have your own fantasies drummed up involving my meat stick.

Still, I can see why your wife would be searching outwards. It must be hell for her to have that silly piece of bologna you call a dick flapping in-and-out of her for two-and-a-half minutes while you thrust like a chihuahua trying to mount a gazelle. I imagine she silently cries herself to sleep every night, knowing that in the game of dick, she rolled snake eyes. Deep down, she knows that there's a world of more suitable schlong just waiting for her, but she's too busy experiencing "buyer's remorse" because she went with a Geo Metro when she could've had a Mustang.

I'll make you a deal: since you supposedly want nothing to do with my dick, just have your wife get in touch with me. Since she's the one who's got the craving, it'll be a lot easier for me to satisfy her on my own without you spoiling the mood.