The Antithesis of Sex
In my last post, I mentioned that I was using positive thinking to get myself in the mood for sex. By mentally telling myself “I want to have sex” over and over again, I found that I really did start to want to have sex.
After the one time I wrote about? Not so much. Of course, I reverted to my habitual negative thinking, so there’s that. Indeed, I not only stopped thinking positive thoughts about sex, I stopped thinking about sex altogether. Worse, I think my husband stopped thinking about sex, too.
I blame it on the swine flu, or whatever it is that took up residence in my sinus cavity about two weeks ago. I had acidic snot. I was coughing up all sorts of not-so-charming crud. I was dead tired. I was living in fleece pants.
I was the antithesis of sexy.
Despite all of this, I wanted to be a hot, sexually needy wife who keeps her man happy and satisfied in bed.
Am I Boring in Bed?
Had my husband pressed the matter, I would have put my snot aside, disrobed, and gotten it on with him in a big way. I would have, at the very least, given him a blowjob, even if it had meant that I would have had to hold my breath the whole time due to the fact that I couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t initiate once. And, until a few days ago, I didn’t think much of it. After all, he was probably just trying to be understanding and supportive.
At least, that’s what I told myself. That’s what I wanted to believe. Deep down, however, there was a snotty little voice that was subtly smothering my self-confidence. It nagged, “He hasn’t initiated because you are a lazy, fleece-wearing, snotty, unsexy, flabby, disgusting mess who is boring in bed.”
I told that snotty little voice to shut up, countering, “I’m as sexy as it gets. He’s lucky to have the privilege of having sex with the likes of me.”
Then I looked in the mirror and noticed the dark circles under my eyes and the red chafing around my nose, so I added, “Usually, anyway, when I’m not sick.”
The cold eventually lifted, but the insecurity lingered, especially when my husband started rebuffing my sexual advances.
The first time it happened, it was Nooner Day. My husband and I are both self employed, so we like to meet at home once a week at midday when the kid isn’t home. Doing so allows us to be more experimental. Like, instead of having quiet sex in the bedroom, we have somewhat louder sex in the living room.
This most recent Nooner Day, though, there was a function at our daughter’s school. It was right in the middle of the afternoon. It completely bollixed up our nooner.
I suggested we do it later that evening, after the little peanut was asleep. Alas, my husband begged off. He had other plans.
Really? Other plans? It’s hard for me to think of what could be more enticing than one’s naked wife suggesting one have sex.
Was I that unsexy?
Again, I told that snotty little voice to just shut up already. It wasn’t as if I’d never begged off having sex. My husband was probably just tired. That’s all.
I suggested we have sex the following night, after our kid was asleep. He initially agreed. Then he trotted off to a friend’s house to watch football. He took our daughter with him, so, at first, I was not at all concerned. To the contrary, I was in mommy heaven. I took a nap. I got caught up on email. I watched a bunch of gory crime shows.
But by 9:30 p.m., though, I was thinking one thing and it was this: WTF? What happened to our sex date?
Was he no longer attracted to me? I’d gained some weight. I knew that. My clothes were tight on me. Only one pair of pants fit comfortably. Was it the fleece?
Or was it the sex? I do try to be playful in bed. I’m all for experimentation. But lately I’ve been stressed about a work deadline. So I haven’t exactly been feeling remotely creative about anything, and this lack of creativity has carried over into the bedroom. Hell, it’s even carried over into my cooking.
My dinners are boring, and so is my foreplay. Rather than wear lingerie or tease him or do anything special, I’ve been taking off my clothes and saying something really hot and enticing like, “You ready?”
Was it that? Did he think I sucked in bed?
That night, when my husband finally got home, I asked, “What happened to our sex date?”
He said, “I’m sorry, the game went later than expected.”
I asked, “Am I boring in bed? Don’t I turn you on anymore?”
He said, “You are not boring in bed. Yes, you turn me on. Why are you asking?”
I said, “Just wondering. Just making sure. So tomorrow night, then?”
He said, “Yes, tomorrow night.”
The following evening, he wanted to go ride some roller coasters at a nearby amusement park. I said, “Please try to be back by 9, because we’re supposed to have sex tonight and I get really tired after that.” I tried not to sound remotely clingy when I said it, but I’m fairly certain that I achieved the opposite. The tone of my voice and my body language made me seem as clingy as a cobweb, and no one likes cobwebs.
He said, “I’m not sure if I’ll be back that early. We’ll see.”
And so my mind started doing this calculation, comparing the thrill of sex to the thrill of riding a roller coaster. It seemed plausible to any normal man who is very attracted to his wife would still choose a roller coaster over sex.
I so wanted to believe that.
But I really didn’t.
So I decided to wait up for him. I didn’t care how late he arrived home. I didn’t care how effing tired I felt. We were going to have sex if the health of my ovaries depended on it.
And the sex was going to be mind-blowing.
He came home at 9 p.m., praise the goddess of sexual self-confidence for that. He hopped in the shower. I lit the Sin in a Tin pheromone soy massage candle that I’m testing for Eden Fantasys. (I’m an official product tester). I took off my clothes. I got into the most provocative position that I could think of. I blindfolded myself. I thought that blindfold part was very creative, by the way. Boring people don’t wear blindfolds. At least, not the boring people I know.
When he saw me, he said something along the lines of, “Whoa.”
The blindfold really took things up a notch, because every touch was a surprise. He poured hot wax on my boobs, on my stomach, and on my thighs.
I’d love to say it was the best sex we’ve ever had, but that would be a lie. For some reason, I couldn’t completely relax. And even though I hovered in the ecstasy zone for a very long time, my body would not release—not even when I stimulated myself.
My husband seemed to enjoy things to the same degree that he always enjoys things. But I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. After all, he hasn’t exactly seemed enamored with the idea of having sex with me lately.
Which is why I’m planning a big surprise for him, one that I will unveil during our upcoming Nooner Day. I don’t care how fried my brain is. I don’t care if I have not one creative cell in my body. The next time we have sex? It is going to rock his world. And it’s going to rock my world, too. I’m not exactly sure how I am going to make this world-rocking stuff happen, but I’m a smart, resilient woman. If anyone can pull this off, I can. Stay tuned.
Alisa Bowman blogs about marriage at ProjectHappilyEverAfter.com.