It Was Like That....

But I don’t really want to all that often. If, on any given night, you gave me a multiple choice quiz and you asked me, “Would you rather:

• Clean your bathroom
• Wash your dog
• Have sex with your husband

I would choose the first two, pretty much every single time. I’m not proud of this. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I were the kind of woman who would choose the last one consistently.

But I’m not that kind of a woman. I’m the kind of woman who thinks that sex is important. I’m the kind of woman who wants her man to be happy. I’m the kind of woman who generally enjoys sex once she starts having it, but who develops Sex-Enjoyment Amnesia right afterward. I’m the kind of woman who is willing to try just about anything in order to rekindle that lost spark.

But I’m not the kind of woman who is horned up all day long. Or even once a day. Or once a week. Or maybe even once a month.

And, even when I am horned up? I sort of want to take things into my own hands--because it’s easier and faster that way.

Just being honest.

That’s why, until yesterday, it had been more than two weeks since I last did it with my husband. Maybe it had been more than three weeks. But who’s counting? Who?! Okay, I am. That’s who. I actually mark it down on the calendar, like it’s exercise or something. The only reason I don’t know precisely how long it’s been? I refuse to look at my calendar to check. I’m too scared by what I might learn.

Usually, I try to have sex with him 1 to 3 times a week. But about two or three weeks ago, I got sick. Then I had my period. Then my husband was busy with work. Then I went away on a business trip. Then I got really stressed out over something. Then my in-laws came to visit.

And, here’s the really distressing part. Just a couple months ago? We were on a sex streak, doing it nearly every other day. I was initiating like I was a 16 year old on the testosterone patch. My husband would sit down at his computer and I’d offer to give him a blowjob. Seriously. I wrote erotica and read it to him. I dressed up like all sorts of things and pranced around in these skimpy outfits. I bought numerous sex DVDs. You know the ones that show hot actresses demonstrating sexual techniques on other hot actresses? THOSE DVDs.

I was being your usual dream wife, minus the perky boobs and perfectly tight and skinny body. Well, minus a lot of things that 39-year-olds don’t tend to have when they are not wealthy enough to afford lipo.

But then, somehow, I lost it. Sex fell off my priority list. At first I thought I was just tired. Maybe I’d overdone it with exercise, or maybe I wasn’t getting enough sleep. But my too-tired-for-sex issue lasted for days and then weeks. I started to think that I was just going to have force myself to have sex with my husband.

Gee, wouldn’t he be such a lucky man to be married to a woman who forced herself to have sex with him? (Note: that’s sarcasm. I don’t think he would be lucky at all).

And then yesterday, I was reading that Rich and Happy book and, on page 155 or so, the authors got into this bit about how the things we say to ourselves have a great effect on what we can and cannot motivate ourselves to do. Saying things like, “I have to have sex” or “I should have sex” makes sex seem like an abysmal chore, similar to having to change 100 poopy diapers in a row. Yet, just changing a couple words can completely turn that thought upside down. By telling myself, “I want to have sex”? I’ll end up wanting to have sex.

At least, that’s what the authors said, except they said it about rich and happy things. I don’t think the word “sex” is printed anywhere in the book.

So yesterday morning, I asked my husband to meet me at home in the late afternoon, so we could end our most recent dry spell. Then, periodically, all day long, I told myself, “I want to have sex with my husband” and “I can’t wait to have sex with my husband” and “I am so looking forward to having sex with my husband.”

I know, it sounds silly. It sounds like something that could not possibly work, right? That’s exactly what I thought, too. But I wanted to have an open mind. So I kept right at it, even if I had to argue with myself, like this:

I want to have sex with my husband.

I do?

Yes, I so totally do.

You are so full of crap.

I am not. I can’t wait to have sex.

Yeah, that book is so totally full of crap.

Sex. Sex. Can’t wait to have sex.

I can’t believe you are a part of me!

It was like that.

Well, I have to say, come 4 p.m.? I wanted to have sex in a bad way. So I took a shower. I shaved down there. I got all gussied up.

And my husband didn’t show.

I called him to see if he was running late. I heard a ringing sound. I found his cell in the bathroom. Nope, he wasn’t going to answer it.

I got all mad at him. I mean, here I am, doing these silly affirmations and getting myself all hot and bothered FOR HIS BENEFIT and he doesn’t even show up?

So I called a friend instead.

And right when I got to talking with her, he showed up. So I cut her short, telling her that I had and appointment with my husband. She got it. She’s cool like that.

And I took off my clothes. I told my husband to go straight for the main event, and I broke the World’s Record for the fastest orgasm ever. He didn’t know what hit him. That’s for sure.

Now, let’s see if I can keep up the momentum.



Alisa Bowman offers free marriage advice and help at ProjectHappilyEverAfter.com.