Warning, this post is ridiculously long, and filled with inappropriate subject matter. Any Japanese exchange students who should not be reading this, please close the window, now. Thank you. Any one over 18 years old, feel free to continue.
Let's talk sex. No reason to be shy about the subject. We've all had it. Granted, some have had it more than others, but let's try not to get jealous, shall we?
Frankly, with all the talk of babies and impending births around the blogosphere, it's enough to get this momma into the mood. (It's hard to hear all the voices in my head, with the ticking from my biological clock getting louder every second...)
As a woman who has been in a relationship with the same man for almost 13 years, married for nine and half of those years, and best yet, have known her beloved Boo since she was in diapers, well, suffice it to say, there is little mystery left.
Frankly, it's a bit of a miracle that when we see each other naked we don't run screaming in the opposite direction.
To counteract this er, boredom, I have gone to great measures to keep things, um,
up.
We've had couch sex (kinda loses something when you both fall off..), floor sex (but really, is rug burn worth it?), and counter top sex (not so fun for the tailbone, and more to the point, I prepare food for my children on that surface....). Over the years there hasn't been a surface area we haven't tried to christen.
(
Please understand, dear internet, we were very young and stupid when we started bumping uglies. We had a lot more stamina a decade, and three children ago.)
But now, it's hard to hear the soft moans and little pants over top the creaking and cracking of our joints. Quite the aphrodisiac, I assure you.
So what is a happily married couple to do?
Keeping in mind, I am the world's biggest prude. (Sort of an oxymoron, with me putting my private bedroom moments out for the world to ridicule, I am aware.)
That effectively rules out, well, pretty much everything. Sure, we've tried toys and videos, but if it requires electricity of any sort it just seems not worth it. Who has time to find batteries or go and turn the damn video player on, because one of our darling kids put the remote in the trash bag when I wasn't looking.
We've tried dirty talk, but that just makes me laugh my ass off. Not quite the effect my hubs had in mind when he asked if I wanted to be his dirty girl. Apparently, my giggles have a some what
wilting effect on parts of his anatomy.
We've done food. But rubbing each other with whipcream or chocolate just reminds each of us of dessert and instead of leading to passionate love making, we get sidetracked and end up in the kitchen making sundaes and then toddling off to bed with our full bellies and never finishing what we had meant to start in the first place.
There is an upside to this problem. (I think.) At least we still
desire to do it. Perhaps not always with one another, but our libidos do exist. There hasn't been a need for pharmaceutical interventions just yet.
But, after thirteen years, it is hard to feel that passion, that spark, that certain excitement that new lovers experience. No, there have been too many fights, too many tears, too many times you have had to pass him a roll of toilet paper as he sits on the throne. There have been too many intimacies. Teeth picking, farting in bed and my personal favorite, child birthing.
(Of course, all that physical intimacy leads to emotional intimacy, but that's a post for another day.)
And as anyone in a relationship knows, sex is a big part of the equation. With out sex, you may as well be in a relationship with your brother. (Or your cousin, as many of Boo's relatives know...)
Boo and I have worked hard to plow through our sexual minefield. We overcame mismatched sex drives, lethargy, laziness and lately, his absences. It's sort of hard to get your groove on when he is in another town.
Now that the kids are older, it also brings in a new twist. How quiet can we do it? It's kind of like having sex in your bedroom while your parents are upstairs watching
Star Trek: The Next Generation. Not that I'd ever know anything about that, of course.
When the kids were younger, if they barged in on us and asked why Daddy was on top of Mommy, we'd simply tell them we were wrestling. And then tell them to go watch
The Lion King for the umpteenth time. (I never said I was the parent of the year.)
Now, if they barge in on us, they have a fairly good idea that we aren't, in fact, wrestling. Case in point, this summer, the hubs and I decided to get our groove on while the kids were outside, playing on the trampoline. We thought we would indulge in a little afternoon delight. Unbeknownst to us, the little buggers had snuck back in for a snack while we were, er, busy. (Thank God we locked the bedroom door.)
When we were all dressed and satisfied, my hubs wandered out to get a drink, when the kids surprised him in the kitchen. They asked what we were doing and why the bedroom door was locked, and Boo told them we were talking about Shalebug. (Sorry, dear angelboy. Your daddy is not a quick thinker...)
My darling Fric, is, however, quick on the uptake. She knew something was
up. She loudly asked why, if we were talking about her departed brother, was mommy moaning and telling daddy that it felt so good.
Yea.
I avoided their prying eyes for the rest of the day. I might as well have just opened up the bedroom door and given the little dudes an x-rated show.
So sex can be a bit of a chore around these parts. But I like to think that practice will eventually make perfect. Or at least a good red wine can help.
We keep our doors closed, our mouths shut, and we just keep trying. Because if we stop trying to have sex, we stop trying to master our marriage.
But there was one thing we forgot.
Last night, in the heat of the moment, things were looking pretty good. (Wink, wink.) Just when that magic moment was going to happen for a certain husband who shall remain anonymous, tragedy struck.
Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog. Ever, became a little concerned for his mommy. And decided he should check on her. And as he passed by a certain anonymous husband's bare ass, he decided to do what any good doggie would do.
He gave it a sniff. And then he licked it.
Apparently, it was a bit of a mood killer. Who knew?
So if you happen to see a certain snarly-faced man, with a bad attitude roaming your street, do yourself a favour.
Don't ask him how his night went. And certainly don't inquire about his dog.
Because not everyone likes an ass-licker.
Oh, yeah. I'm doing the my Boo-YAH! dance, dear internet. I'd graciously like to thank all my bloggy participants for allowing me to so unmercifully rub my hubby's nose in the fact that he is wrong, wrong, wrong.
What started out as a simple question because I was scrounging for blog fodder and my hubs and I were stuck in our own version of groundhog day, ignited a real brouhaha in our home. It wasn't good enough that I posed the timeless question on the ole interweb, but then I roped and dragged everyone I knew into our little debate. It turned into a real battle of the sexes. I learned (finally) that men and women really are from two different planets. 
I'm not naive, (shut up, dear brother-in law) I do realize not all women and men can be friends. And not every married couple can handle outside non-romantic friendships of the opposite sex. But then, not everyone is me, and not everyone has the fabulous good fortune of being married to the sexiest, sweetest (albeit, slightly archaic thinking) husband like mine.
