Don’t Try to Have Sex When You’re Suffering From a Bad Back

For the obvious reasons, although not obvious to me until after the act. There’s momentary pleasure, but the resultant excruciating pain is not worth the wa-hoo.

NO Sex Musings

Putting my back out came at a horrible time in my life.

This is the time of life when I am the horniest. Don’t let anyone sell you the notion that menopause is the end of the world. It’s the beginning of fresh adventures untold.

I suppose I could call my gal pal who sells toys for the bedroom. She has asked me several times why I won’t buy from her. I am one who is constantly toy-less. I don’t need sex toys, not yet anyway. I’m still in the honeymoon stage, when I can amuse myself with mere thoughts. (In my twenties, I was orgasmic just watching R rated movies in theatres. There’s still steam in this little engine.)

I am well enough to walk today, well, as best as I could being hunched over at 73 degrees. I am, however, highly perturbed that any arching of my back leaves me in severe pain. I’m with 99% of humans who don’t want to equate pain with pleasure.

This leaves the problem of boudoir gymnastics. I informed my husband that he would have to do all the work. To this, he lifted one eyebrow and looked at me with bemusement. “I already do all the work!” he emphatically replied.

Well, yes, he is right… I’m one spoiled spouse.

Hmm… I may have to jump him anyway. I wonder if I can lure him back to the house for a rousing round of afternoon delight?

Sex Comes Home

For those of you who don’t know me well, it’s a prerequisite that you read this:

We Haven’t Had Sex in Bed for Months « Pandemonic’s Time & Space

If you’re the least bit squeamish or the type who doesn’t enjoy reading sexcapades, stop reading right now.

An update: today sex came home.

One reason? We have two furnaces for our office, one for each side of the building. We found out after the first frost that the furnace doesn’t work on his side. Hitting an ice cold leather couch with your nice warm butt can be likened to jumping into the hole of a frozen lake. Invigorating, but initially uncomfortable.

The other reason? The employee who busted us the last time has been conspicuously hanging around in the hour before we officially open for business. My opinion is that he’s trying to catch us again.

Of course, we still didn’t make it to the bed, or even the bedroom. We didn’t make it out of the kitchen.

Having sex in the lower level of our house is somewhat difficult. If you are an exhibitionist, it’s a perfect set up. We have no window treatments and a lot of windows. There are over 30 on the lower floor. We chose a corner of the kitchen where there were no windows and a generous view of the back door.

I’d want to say the randy fun was more like a Harlequin romance, but unfortunately, due to the fact that we have workmen coming to the house at 8 a.m. to deconstruct a bathroom, our outing was more like a quickie. It could have been porn, except that I was squealing because my ass was turning into an ice cube. He was squealing because his balls were knocking into the side of the granite, and thus becoming companion ice cubes.

One very important thing to note: a granite countertop is way colder than the chilly leather surface of a cold couch.

Women (and Other Things) I Would Totally Not Sleep With

Now that some of my gender are discussing the women they would totally sleep with, I thought I would take this moment to discuss some of the women and other things I would totally NOT sleep with. Let me preface this by saying I’m not a lesbian, but as you will see later on in this discussion, that’s not the least of it. I can keep my options completely open and still draw some parameters as to bedtime partners.

The list of women and other things I totally would not sleep with:

1. First of all, need I say it? Britney Spears. I couldn’t sleep with her. Frankly, I don’t know when she sleeps, but she can’t be on the same circadian cycle as me. Plus, she doesn’t wear panties, and that might be one late night surprise I don’t think I’d want to delve into. The mental picture of me unconciously sliding my hand over her naked ass, well… yech! I don’t want to go there… Also, I don’t want to sound shallow, but her body is horribly out of shape. Instead of having the washboard of a pop princess, her stomach sort of looks like… well, mine.

2. Hillary Clinton. Again, I must be shallow. Hillary was no beauty queen at Wellesley and she’s packed on a few pounds since becoming a senator. Perhaps she shouldn’t eat at all on the campaign trail. Also, she couldn’t keep her man happy, time and time (and time and time) again, so I can only deduce that she’s unimaginative in the sack.

3. Rosie O’Donnell. ‘Nuff said.

4. Dogs. I’m a cat person. I can sleep with cats, especially if they’re well behaved and don’t like to pull pranks when you’re sleeping. It’s disconcerting to have your eyelids licked or your earlobes munched on, but these are minor inconveniences, considering 1 through 3 above. Besides, dogs smell.

5. Rocks. I’ve slept with small TVs in my bed, with fast food wrappers (I was younger!), with books, telephones and sketch pads. When my son brought a large hunk of gold ore into the bed, I had to say “no” to that.

6. My children. As long as we are talking about what the children bring into bed (donuts, potato chips, pop tarts, cookies, etc.), let’s also discuss my children. The last time the three of us shared a bed was about ten years ago at my sister’s house. She had a huge king sized bed and we thought it would be big enough. It wasn’t. My son, who is now twenty, tends to sleep on the diagonal. Yes, even now. My daughter kicks, and kicks hard. I can sleep with other children in my bed, just not MY children.

7. And finally, the ultimate deal breaker. A dead person. I definitely could not sleep with a dead person in my bed. At first I was going to limit it to skeletal remains, but I think any dead person would negatively affect my sleep. This includes zombies, vampires, and those who spontaneously combust.

A girl just has to draw the line somewhere.

Men I Would Totally Sleep With… or Not

This post is brought to you because of  this post, which was the direct result of this one.

Perhaps I am old-fashioned, or maybe just plain boring. The only man I would totally sleep with would be my husband.

I’ve often said that if anything should happen to him, that is it for me. There’ll be no other long-term relationships. No marriages, no boyfriends. Nosiree Bob. I spent a good twenty years getting this one into shape, and some days I’m not sure if it was worth all the hard work and effort. Oh, I love him, very deeply, but I don’t see that kind of love happening again. This marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime deal for me.

This is not to say that I don’t think some other men are appealing. Take Bobby Goat Gruff (My Internet Boyfriend), or whatever moniker he is going by this week. This guy can be extremely funny. Humor is very important in my world. And that’s not all. When MIB and I are discussing deeper topics, I feel that he can see right into my soul. This is very comforting. However, I don’t have any inclination to have sex with him. Although the thought of really sleeping in the bed with him and his sweetie is a tantalizing thought. I’d bring the down comforter, the flannel jammies and matching flannel sheets. We could eat popcorn in bed and tell ghost stories. It would be just like a slumber party for adults!

Just because I’m satisfied at home doesn’t mean that I don’t think some men aren’t attractive. Take Richard Gere now. Richard Gere back in the day when he was An Officer and a Gentleman-NO. Yes, Mr. Gere has aged very well. He is eye-candy of the Godiva kind for this woman. I’ve often said that Adam Sandler would be my perfect dream date. True, he’s goofy looking, but again, I would be looking for a funny collaboration. Also, I’ve never dated a Jewish boy. This would kill two birds with one stone.

My fascination of the day is Stephen Colbert. He’s ridiculously funny, and not bad looking too. I’m a sucker for a guy in a tie. Plus, he could be the President. We all know how being in the Oval Office can charm the panties off some gals.

Tastes Like Chicken

Someone I know here decided to pepper a personal email with anecdotal trivia regarding oral sex. He mentioned he likes doing it. A lot.

I think these musings came about because he was looking forward to some alone-time with his beautiful sweetie, and was therefore overcome with male urges and the subsequent male juice.

Okay, you might have guessed by now that this person is my internet boyfriend (MIB), and we were in a four-way email loop.

Most men like to do it. Oral sex, I mean. My husband absolutely loves doing it, and who am I to deny him his pleasure, especially when the action results in pleasure of my own? Actually, if he does it, I really, really am in the mood after that, and for days later.

(An aside: you can always enjoy oral sex in the office.)

MIB then mused about the taste. “Tastes like chicken” came to mind. (Why is it that anything “different” tastes like “chicken?” I feel badly for the poor birds.)

I read that and laughed. Then I thought about what I think oral sex tastes like to me.

A man’s love juices gains the flavor of whatever he’s been consuming. You do not want to go down on a guy if he’s been eating brussels sprouts or asparagus. Vodka and whiskey flavor badly too. Feed your man lots of bland meats and fruits like oranges, and make him drink green tea and you will find that swallowing might be easier to achieve.

Of course, there’s that problem with the texture. No matter how you look at it, there it is, like warm, steaming snot, and in most cases, just like a Blue Point oyster, it’s too large to gulp in one breath.

Hey! Oysters! Maybe I should make a champagne vinegar and shallot dressing or slather on some seafood sauce with lots of horseradish as a condiment…

Tastes like chicken, my ass.

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.