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Realistically, marriage should be viewed as a partnership, an exchange of goods for services. Most marriages are rooted in
some form of religion that dictates marriage should be based on love. The origin of marriage vows is older than any existing
marriage, yet most folk recite them anyway. Clueless about their true meaning or what the vows mean to them, they cheerfully
oblige when the person presiding over their ceremony says, “Repeat after me.” Repeat what? Vows someone you don’t even know
came up with thousands of years ago? How clever is that?

From religious-based moral safeguards to the biblical duty to procreate to the social definitions of right and wrong to the
ultimate belief that family is the fundamental unit of society and the guilt of fornication that states marriage is truly
the only legitimate way to indulge in sex, couples stand at the altar craving sex (not necessarily with their partner). That’s
what marriage comes down to, you know. Partners are reduced to sex objects of desire. They worry more about who their spouse
is having or thinking about having sex with than about the overall health of their mate.

I’ve said it before in another book, and I’ll say it now, “We should have a
Worldwide Orgy Day
so we can all fuck and fuck up at the same time.” Is initiating sex a husband’s duty? A wife’s obligation? Would you stop
loving your spouse if you caught them cheating? Why? Should you treat your spouse like a child, place them on time-out for
bad behavior, make them sit and wait until… you’re in the mood, not to make love but to have sex? That’s cool as long as you
don’t mind them getting a lap dance in that corner or having their needs met elsewhere in the interim. Let’s explore a value
that is dormant in today’s society… morals.

Morals. If most people upheld their own, many more relationships would succeed. But hey, who needs morals when all sins are
weighted equally? Shouldn’t adults have the right to be happy without feeling guilty for indulging in pleasure? And if being
happy means having extra, as in extramarital affairs, then pleasantries are indeed plentiful. Especially since most, if not
all, married people merely have a permit. A license that excludes any mention of fidelity, thereby permitting their partner
to have sex outside of the marriage. Like it or not, “You can’t break what you didn’t take.”

One can marry for love if they’d like. I wouldn’t because most married folk do at some point during their marriage fall out
of love with one another and in love or lust with someone else. I swear I didn’t make this up. The next time you encounter
a married couple that’s not on their honeymoon, notice how their marriage has grown into what they should’ve had from the
very beginning, a partnership. Contracts allow individuals to sue for specific performance, breach, monetary recourse, etc.
A contract has
enforceable
rights; a license does not. You may disagree with my interpretations, but feel free to email me at (
[email protected]
) for the list of
enforceable
rights for a marriage license.

A contract is executed and legally binding by both parties, a license is not. I hear you disagreeing with me on this one,
but a contract requires performance. A license grants privileges and permission but doesn’t require you to do a damn thing.
People stand before one another reciting vows while asking themselves, “What the hell am I doing?” So their “I do” really
means, “I think so, but what if this doesn’t work out? Am I going to have to start over in five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five,
or thirty years?” If you had a contract, you could’ve included a “No Penalty, I Quit” opt-out clause. That means you get to
keep your shit, I get to keep my shit.

Then why get married in the first place, right? Because people not only want, they need somebody to love. That’s natural.
Well, in the land of the free and the home of the brave, we do marry for love or lust, but at some point, the two overlap
and eventually overwhelm people. Especially when the love or lust is redirected to someone outside the marriage. So how can
you control someone’s actions? You can’t.

The couples who marry for material gain—you know, for richer or richer—become stuck like Krazy Glue to one another because
neither can afford the lifestyle they’ve acquired on their own, or they are just too damn selfish to give up half. Especially
if they’ve contributed more than half of the household income.… Aw, damn. Should’ve gotten a prenuptial. Right?

That’s why I believe marriage licenses should be abolished. There are no warranties or guarantees with any license. Married
couples allow government to dictate their divorce. You don’t need a marriage license to grant power of attorney to your mate,
and you hold the right to terminate a power of attorney whenever you want without legal ramifications. If we are free-thinking
citizens, then we should have to tell the other person why we want to marry them. I don’t mean the things you think the other
person wants to hear. Keep it real. Write it down. And draw up contracts that are reviewed by independent attorneys.

Here’s my suggestion. If you want to marry someone, don’t combine your assets. You’ll soon discover how much they really love
you. Start off new. Like you didn’t have assets before you met them. Consciously grow your relationship. Each party should
earn their keep. Being a housewife is cool, but list housewife as your occupation in the contract and make sure you’re compensated,
whatever that means to you.

Balance the money. Balance the power. If a man wants a trophy wife (you know, the former Miss this or that or the supermodel),
then her monetary compensation should be included in the contract. If a woman wants a boy toy, he should be compensated too.

But in reality, if you don’t know your self-worth before saying “I do,” I can guarantee you one thing, your self-worth will
diminish after executing a marriage agreement. “What the hell? Why would HoneyB say something like that? Marriage is a good
thing. Right?”

It can be. But it’s not good for insecure people who are looking for a reason to be unhappy. I mean checking cell phones,
pockets, cars, computers, etc. Go on, marry someone who starts tracking your every move with a damn GPS device. What does
that prove at the end of the day? You should’ve married for money so your answer to the Southwest commercial question “Wanna
get away?” wouldn’t be, “I can’t afford to.”

Karma. What goes around comes around. True. But most folk prefer to live by, “Do as I say, not as I do.” Oh, hell with that
mentality; one might as well draw up the divorce decree before walking down the aisle. Hmm, that’s not a bad idea.

Foxy, Déjà, and Victoria Montgomery are the leading characters in
Married on Mondays
. Every woman should be fortunate enough to have Mr. Mason Montgomery as her father, a man who not only tells, but also teaches
his daughters how to think like men, saying, “Men are like jobs, accept the job with the best benefits—insurance, working
conditions, living environment, severance package, and pension plan.”

In a perfect world, women would be free-thinking individuals whose opinions were valued by men. He’d listen to how her day
went, and hear her. He’d touch her and feel her. He’d propose to her without being coaxed or given an ultimatum. He’d care
about her overall well-being. He’d put her first. Respect her. He wouldn’t try to control her. He’d realize caring for the
children was not her main responsibility but their mutual obligation. He’d close his eyes while kissing her. He’d open his
heart and protect hers. In a perfect world, a man would show and tell his woman how much he loves her.

In return, she’d support her man no matter what. She’d believe in his dreams no matter how far-fetched. Cook his meals. Wash
his clothes. Stroke his ego. Warm his heart with her eyes. Rear their kids. She’d make their house his home. In a perfect
world, marriage indeed would be satisfaction guaranteed or your love back.

On Saturday, March 14, I was driving home (to Oakland) from Anaheim from the Big West Conference after watching my son, Jesse,
play in the men’s basketball tournament, listening to a country-and-western radio station. I heard a song that I instantly
fell in love with. Toby Keith’s lyrics, “I wish somehow I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then,” resonated with me as I
hope they will with you.

Some things are better left untold.

Poetry Corner
False Faces

Hide not behind lies

But others’ lives

Pointing fingers

Shifting blame

Tarnishing names

Playing games

Going insane

Creating casualties

Escaping their reality

It’s all a formality

Of

Self-preservation

Survival of the fittest prevails

All the rest

Can go to hell

Instincts Originate

To protect

Failure to detect

Life or death?

Russian roulette

To ignore

The churn in the gut

Is there

Something more powerful

More aware

Alerts of danger

Ignore

Beware

Daddy’s Girls

Mean the world

To a man whose backbone

Is strong

Would give his life

To protect and defend

Real men

Tirelessly fight

Man to man

No sneaking or hiding

Real men

Fight for what’s right

Real men

Fight

Real men

Not Daddy’s little girls

Neither a woman

Nor his wife

Ticktock

Time waits

For no one

A fraction of a second

Determines fate

Could’ve told the truth

Hesitation

Should’ve made a move

Procrastination

A second

An hour

A day

Too late

Devastation

What are you waiting…

For

Ticktock

I Don’t Suck

Lots of men come my way

Some want a date

Others want to play

Then there are the ones

Who simply want head

Irrespective of the fact

That they haven’t paid

For a damn thing

Then there are the men at the club

Who wait until it’s late

And they want to take you home to fuck

But refuse to take you on a date

They don’t want to leave alone

Two o’clock in the morning

Hard dicks galore

So fucking hard

They could wax the floor

Men stroking erections

With no affection

Spittin’ game that’s lame

They wanna kiss your lips

Pound your hips

Make you scream their name

Those are the same men

Who walked past you

With a drink in their hand

Acted like they did not see… you

And did not speak… to you

Those are the same men

Who moved out your way

So you could get to the bar

They didn’t offer to pay

Or bother to stay

They checked you out from afar

But right around two

He made his move

That’s when you heard him say

Girl, I’ve been watching you all night

Your body is tight

And the mood is right

Make love to me tonight

Um, um…

Excuse me

Are you the same man

Who didn’t bother to speak

Or buy a drink

Or ask my name

And now you think

I’m supposed to open my legs

Take you to my place

And give you head

Listen to me

’Cause I’m going to say this once

I don’t suck

When my throat is dry

And my stomach is rumbling

And when my rent isn’t paid

I got my nails done

My hair is fierce

I paid for this lingerie

That’s clinging to my ass

So, no thank you

Keep your dick

I politely pass

Girl you missin’ out

On the best sex of your life

Well, I’ll take that chance

’Cause

A dick just don’t taste right

When I’m walking in broad daylight

’Cause I don’t have gas in my car

I don’t want to fuck

And I don’ already told you

I don’t suck

Listen to me

’Cause I’m going to say this once

This good pussy

Can do flips

She can do tricks

My tight pussy

Can make you whipped

Listen to me good

’Cause I’m going to say this once

Your ass ain’t slick

And I don’t suck

No broke-ass dick

Acknowledgments

I
thank God for His creations—birds, bees, flowers, trees, you, and me.

I am grateful for my blessings seen and unforeseen.

I pray the words I write will encourage you to think about your life. I appreciate my readers who love my work; I sincerely
thank you. To those who are uncomfortable with erotica, sex, or sexuality, yet you continue to read my books, I appreciate
you. When we open our hearts and minds, we find the beauty in our differences is learning to understand one another and not
judge our family, friends, and neighbors.

Wholeheartedly, I invite you to either step outside of or slip inside of your comfort zone as you read HoneyB. HoneyB is my
pseudonym. Mary Beatrice Morrison is my birth name. My HoneyB novels are erotic. My Mary B. Morrison novels are sexually explicit.
All of my books have thought-provoking plots and messages relating to relationship issues, some of which you may have encountered.

Jesse Bernard Byrd, Jr., my loving son, is my perfect child. He brings me joy. Seeing his face lifts my spirit. Son, I’m proud
of you and of your accomplishments as a columnist for the University of California, Santa Barbara
Daily Nexus
newspaper, your determination, dedication, and commitment to the UC Santa Barbara Men’s Basketball team, and your being an
honorable gentleman. You are a brilliant writer. Keep rising to the top.

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