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I grew up in a family where my father controlled everything. Before I could figure out what kind of man I liked, I married a man I had only met once because of a house. I thought I would spend the rest of my life with him respectfully, but I didn't expect that one month after we got married, I vomited when I looked at the only organ in a man's body that was different from a woman's. As an adult, it's not that I don't have ideas, but having actual pictures of things that once appeared in topics and imaginations is really disgusting. In desperation, the two of us can only solve it ourselves. Until I met the woman at a dinner party who could relieve my drought. Purpose: There are thousands of reasons for cheating, but mine is because a man's third leg is not as useful as his sister's fingers.