When Office Sex Become “HO-hum”

For the squeamish of heart, I would skip this post entirely.

I never thought I would live to say this, but office sex has become routine. Mundane. Run of the mill.  HO-hum. Bordering (need I say it?) boring.

You’re probably thinking, “Why doesn’t she just do it in her house? Doesn’t she have a bed?”

For the uninitiated, yes, we do have a bed. Several of them, now that many are empty because of nest evacuation by the little birdies. We also have a hide-a-bed in the basement, but there’s a brigade of centipedes down there, and I don’t spend much more time other than running to the laundry room and back.

We also live in a house that is largely windowed with no window treatments. The upside is that the cat doesn’t have to scratch his way up the drapes to get to a window sill. The downside is that everyone, including God, the meter reader and the retired doctor neighbor down the street can see inside straight to the back yard.

Office sex used to be exhilarating. There was a bit of taboo in having sex almost in public, along with incorporating inspiring moves among the furniture usually not conducive to sex. (Ever do it in a standard office chair? That takes some imagination.) We would hurriedly clean up. Sometimes, we would forget the box of Kleenex and have to run willy-nilly (heh, heh… willy?) down the hall to get something to absorb body fluids. (The poor leather couch!) Then there is the fact that we buy Febreze by the case, just to get rid of the lingering odor of sweat and stuff. We own the building, so we can do whatever we want. The business doesn’t officially open until 9, so we would usually make hot nasty love between 8 and 8:30. Our walls are paper thin, but that psychologist who leases the space below my husband’s conference room is never there at that time of day anyway.

Yesterday, while putting my clothes back on, I thought, “Hmm, this doesn’t feel quite as exciting as it used to.” Perhaps it’s because we’ve overused the space. It used to be kind of thrilling in a weird way when the one employee who has been trying to catch us in the act shows up at 8 a.m. to see what we’re doing. It was quite hair raising when the workmen came at 8 to make repairs on the roof and they weren’t scheduled until 9.

I’m thinking a change of venue might be in order. Hmm… I wonder if we can get into a nearby now-closed sports arena?

I’m opening up the floor to suggestions.

All of My People Have Died, or I’ve Become Grossly Uninteresting

True, this week I’ve been beset with a terrible cold. I’ve also been busy with life and have not been able to post as much or as thoughtfully as I have in the past. However, I’ve just checked my WordPress stats (now that I have found them in what is now the “brand new” WordPress) and found that my readership has dropped down to ZERO as of today.

Zero?

Not even a visit from MIB? (Okay, I know where he is. Busy with his own life too. At least he had the decency to email me.)

I also see from the stats that my two biggest article draws ever were on posts about having sex in the office. (Just as an aside, since I’ve been sick, I haven’t felt amorous enough to make whoopee anywhere, much less at the office. Now that my health is taking a turn for the better, I should investigate this and report on it soon. Perhaps I can move from the conference room to another location.)

Our other venture online seems to be suffering as well. I don’t know if it is because everyone has spring fever or if some of my peeps have been kidnapped by aliens. I’ve noticed that the number of other writers’ posts has diminished, too. Perhaps the government should conduct a study. There are studies on other things a whole lot less important.

I think I’ll take advantage of this lull in the action. However, it is raining and will be raining (they say) until Tuesday, so that precludes digging up dirt in the yard or a round of golf. This means I am trapped indoors, where I may have to *gasp* clean the basement, work on my book or my violin playing. (I’m so bad. With all three of those things.)

Anyway, this is a shout out to those who will listen, or those still with a heartbeat.

“Hello?”

Hope you all have a great weekend.

The Tide Must Be Out

I just realized that my husband and I haven’t had any remarkable sexual encounters lately.

Oh, we’ve had plenty of sexual encounters, they’re just not very remarkable. In fact, you could probably say they were bordering on the mundane.

I wish that I could teach my husband how to use a digital camera. Then he could take pictures of my ass like another well-known blogger’s husband takes of her ass. You can check that out HERE. My husband has a camera in his phone, but the only photos on it are those that I or my daughter took. He is using my old cell phone, the one I gave up when I got my BlackBerry. Once I sent him a photo of San Francisco taken from the top of Twin Peaks. This was back in April 2005. He’s never figured out how to open it. I used to text message him, because if he’s teaching a class, he can’t be disturbed by a phone call. Again, he’s never figured out how to read my messages.

Speculation is that office sex must becoming ho-hum. I’m sure I could get into it more if he could take me on his desk. We used to do it there, because we often couldn’t make it across the room to the couch in time. Unfortunately, right now his desk is covered with papers, pens, crap, crap and more crap. If the contents of his desk were in a house, it would be a garbage house, no doubt. I’m not sure what color the desktop is. If I were to sit on it today, I’d likely break something either on me or on the desk.

We could move over to my office, but I don’t have any comfortable furniture in it. Since I do a lot of layout, I mostly have tables. Tables are hard and cold. The floor is an option, but my rug needs cleaning in the worst way. We had our Christmas party in there, and I think someone spilled something made from cranberries. Anyway, I’m too old to be having sex on the floor.

We’ve done it in the car, which is not very comfortable either, especially in the wintertime. Our winters are brutally cold, and you have to be really horny to have sex when it’s any degree below 32. When you get to be my age, comfort is of utmost consideration. After seeing “Titanic” where the two lovers do it in a car (and someone’s hand wipes the steam away from the window), I lost my enthusiasm for in-the-car sex. If my ship were going down, I think I’d be looking for a life jacket and a sturdy boat and not to get my rocks off. We’ve also done it on the car. (Don’t worry, folks. The car was parked in the garage. The garage door was closed.) My personal tip: if you’re going to do it on your car, make sure you’ve taken it to the car wash first.

Perhaps we could move from his office into a classroom. The thought of having sex where teenagers normally congregate is so very wrong. Teenagers equals hormones. It’s so wrong, it just might get the juices flowing again.

The one thing they say about the tide is always true. If the tide is out, it will no doubt come back in again, sometime.

Caught in the Act, Sort Of…

Today I woke up a little early. My honey brought coffee up to me while I was still in bed, which is always a treat. It’s so cold in the house, if I don’t have something warm to entice me out of bed, I might just stay there all day.

I drank my one cup down, and proceeded to get ready for the day. Then, as is my custom, I practiced playing my violin for a half hour. I’m not making much progress yet, but since I am planning to live to 109, I have plenty of time left to improve.

Since I awoke before schedule, I had time for – you guessed it – office sex. Hey! We own the business, we should be able to do whatever, whenever. Luckily, our office is not far from the house, and I barely get chilled on the way.

Usually I start the festivities off with something unromantic. “Take off your clothes!” breaks the ice nicely. Then we trip over (literally) piles of crap which lays in wait like booby traps all over the floor. There’s a small conference area with a leather loveseat and table adjoining his office. We usually have thirty minutes or so before the first person might walk in.

Today, I forgot to lock the front door. Well, my husband said, “This will be quick,” so I took him at his word.

“This” was also loud. The moaning was not coming from me, but from him. We rent some of the space out, and everyone and their cousin has a key. Besides, the walls and doors are paper thin. I know better than to let loose.

As we were finishing up, we heard a door slam. Oh, no! It was a mad dash to dress. I stayed in the conference room, while he went out to see who it was knocking about the office.

It turned out to be one of our employees. An employee who is a devout churchgoer. One who is as honest and straight as you could find. My husband had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Now I know I have to lock the door every time.

We Haven’t Had Sex in Bed for Months

As most people who have been with a partner for longer than a couple of months knows, the intensity of emotions in a relationship can ebb and flow. The same can be said for sex, or what I like to refer to as “making love.” (Sex sounds too clinical, or maybe it sounds too automatic. Fucking sounds detached and animalistic. Not that I haven’t had sex or fucked. These days I try to keep my physical interactions specifically as “making love.”)

My husband and I have been together ten times longer than Britney Spears and K Fed. There’s been a lot of ebbing and flowing over the years. If you think that sex wanes as one grows older, you would be very, very wrong. If you have been with the same person who is both physically attractive and interesting as a human being, the likelihood of that person being physically attractive to you after more than twenty years is highly probable.

Since summer, my husband and I haven’t had sex in our bed. The bed has one of those super-comfortable, and I love the smoothness of Egyptian sheets and the coziness of cotton comforters. Our pillows are down-filled and are like sleeping on clouds. My bedroom is more like one you’d find in a high-end hotel. It’s large, roomy. The bedroom is situated at the back of the house, so we hear no car noises, kid noises, or neighborhood lawnmowers and snowblowers.

Lack of sex in the marital bed does not, however, mean a lack of sex.

Since June, we’ve been getting up early and meeting at our office for sex before everyone else gets there.

It’s not far from the house, but there’s no bed there. The chairs are not conducive to doing it. His desk is so cluttered, he can’t throw me down on it like he used to. Still, we’ve made love there at least four times a week.

There is a downside. The bed is now too unfamiliar to make love in. Most nights, as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out like a light. Anyway, it doesn’t feel right. Now I feel strangely odd if he tries to initiate anything while on it, and usually I won’t comply.

I’d rather wait for the morning, when I can make love in an office.