When I was about 10, I went over to a friend’s house to play. This girl was a little more “worldly” than I was at the time.
“Let’s talk about boys and sex,” she said enthusiastically. She had closed the door and was standing in front of it, as if to prevent me from escaping. I can remember that moment so clearly.
I was confused by what she said and, more importantly, why she was using her body as a barricade. My first question, before she began talking, was going to be Where are all your Barbies?
Instead I just blinked, “Huh?”
That’s when I knew I was a late bloomer. Other girls were already exploring their options while I was still playing with My Little Pony and Nintendo.
Imagine my surprise when I did actually discover the birds and the bees later on. Find a new place to park your stable, My Little Pony. Mario and Luigi, drop dead. I’m on to
sexier more important things.
I’ve been feeling like a blog slacker this week, but I have a good excuse. Sex. The good kind, not the ho-hum kind. If you’re a friend of mine (or yikes! a friend of my mother’s) and you’re starting to experience blurred vision because you’re disturbed by what you just read you’re excused from reading on. Sorry about that. I like to share. If you’re a friend of my husband’s, sorry again. I’m sure your idea of a good time is not imagining what your buddy does with his (naked) free time.
We all think about it, though. Just some more than others. Sex, sex, sex. There, I said it. Sex.
I think we do it a good amount, my husband and I. We don’t keep track in a leopard-skin notebook that’s stashed under the bed next to various flavored lubricants, a video camera and a pair of handcuffs, but we both know when too many days have gone by without it. He’ll get grouchy for no reason or I’ll feel like there’s a subtle distance between us.
If you’re single or not yet a parent, you may be shocked. You mean, you don’t have sex 3 times a day???
Uhhh, no. For a few reasons and, obviously, the chafing is reason enough…
We have kids. They are delightful angels that are also exhausting. Sometimes trying to change gears from yammering at my kids to not hit, kick, pinch or close someone’s finger in the door and into Goddess of My Husband’s Pleasure Palace is just not happening. (That sounds like we role-play, but we don’t. Do people do that?) Plus there’s always a night or two when Michael works later than usual and/or I’ve been shopping a little too hard in the gourmet gelato section of the supermarket and I’m feeling bloated. Not sexy. (Can you believe they charge like 8 bucks for fancy ice cream? It is good, though.) Talking about money, that’s another mood killer. And the worst way to ensure a sex-free night is when one of us brings up the other’s mother. Ohhh, the obstacles!
Here’s the part where I’m tempted to over-share. Should I tell you how many times a week is the norm for us or should I keep that to myself? Some things are best kept between the four walls of the boudoir – or the kitchen floor or the patio after the kids are in bed. Wherever you like doing it is your choice. In my case, I’ve always just cleaned up the kitchen for the night and there’s NO way anyone is messing it up again – multiple orgasms, or not. Where we live, our neighbors are all in very close proximity so the patio thing is also out of the question. I can just imagine my elderly neighbors peering out from their living room drapes… “Esther, there’s something going on outside. I hear a woman screaming. Maybe she’s praying, I don’t know. You’d better call the police, Esther.”
Hope you’re having lots of the good kind.
PS – I’m glad I was a late bloomer. Life gets way too serious and complicated too quickly once you start acting like an adult. Don’t you think?