*I always promised myself I’d never censor myself based on who reads my blog. With that in mind I must preface this post with a warning: This post is about sex. Dirty, nasty, grown-up sex. My father-in-law, grandfather, and step-father should stop reading now. If you choose to continue reading you relinquish any and all rights to comment now or later. I mean it. Perhaps if I just shout CLITORIS I’ll scare you away. Did it work?*
If my husband had his way we’d probably be having sex everyday.
Two times on a very special day.
I’d be naked all the time, having quickies in the morning, and would be proud of my rug-burned knees.
Me?
I’m ready for a king size bed just to ensure some extra space and less of a chance of being knocked around by a late night bulge.
I’m busy and tired and full of a million excuses as to why sex is at the bottom of my priority list. Three kids do not work well to enhance, increase, or create a sexually driven mama. Being forced to take a statistics class as part of a PhD is the definition of a sex drive killer. There’s the fact that as soon as I sit or lay every animal in the house decides to take up residence in and around my personal bubble. And, I jiggle in places that make sex look more like an awkwardly bad porno than an intimate encounter between two people. Add that to the white cotton granny panties that fill my drawer and even the masturbation fairy would say Um, I think I’ll pass.
So, in comes Mominatrix.
Oh, look. One of my writing networks is featuring a cleaver and funny book for the month of February that promises to help moms like me get a little more randy in the sack. Sure! I’ll sign up to review it. It can’t hurt, right!?
Yes, yes it can.
I’m not what most would consider a prude ( I did have nude photos taken for our first wedding anniversary!), but I tensed and clenched muscles while reading that I didn’t know I had!
Butt Beads!?
Anal Plugs!?
No fucking way. Period.
That just insured that my backdoor is locked and dead-bolted.
Maybe all this stuff is normal. Maybe everybody does it. But, I’m pretty sure that if Hubby came at me with some sort of ass toy and wanted to play the Pirate and the Wench for something new and exciting, you’d see this fat girl suddenly able to run a four-minute mile.
But, since I’m a team player and wanted to come away with at least a little bit of a new perspective, I decided to let Hubby in on some of my new found knowledge. He does read this blog afterall…
page 193: like I’d ever turn that remote over to you. Um, no.
page 181: That’s bound to break a hip!
page 184: I’m game if I can get a story line or two.
page 191: What!? What!?
page 196: My underwear is for me and I prefer it that way.
page 201: We did that already and it did nothing but limit my ability to have a career in politics!
page 208-214: No. Moving on…
page 217: If I’m grooming mine you’re grooming yours!
page WFT: What the hell is a ben-wa ball anyway!?
I suppose I could just become a lesbian for a night. Or finally take on that sister-wife. Maybe I just need to be in control for a bit.
Either way, if you’ll excuse me. I’m off to buy some lube and handcuffs.
And maybe something leather…
After all I’m nothing if not a control freak…
This post is part of the Silicon Valley Moms Book Club featuring The Mominatrix Guide To Sex by Kristen Chase. I received a free copy of the book as part of the book club and monthly discussion.
