Once you are married for a few years and have small kids, orgasms become, not a luxury like they used to be, an optional extra in your life, like an Dove Ice Cream Bar, but something so essential, so integral to your mental stability, that now, if I go for more than a couple of days without one, I am foaming at the mouth and prowling the carpet like a rabid animal. I am wound so tight these days that if I get a free hour, I collar my husband, and make him my sexual slave. I really do feel so much better after an orgasm, so much less cranky. Also, having orgasms makes me want to do housework, which is extremely strange, but I’m not going to fight it.
So yesterday, I give the kids lunch and say to my husband: “I’m going upstairs, come join me for a roll in the hay.” He looks at me with what I thought was a look of comprehension.
I am really in the mood. I shower and shave my entire body. I lather myself in body lotion. I put on a suspender belt and sheer black stockings with seams. I actually straighten the seams. I do my makeup so that I look like a shimmering, fragrant rose. I put on a corset and do all the laces. At this point I scream down the stairs,
“John, will you put the kids in front of a movie!”
He screams back, “Okay!”
The reason I didn’t go down the stairs and tell him this face to face, was because by this point I looked like a high class (I hope) prostitute, and even if I’d put on my dressing gown, the kids would have seen my glossy pink lips and stockings and asked me if I was going to a fancy dress party etc etc.
So I go into the bedroom, light some scented candles, douse myself in Hypnotic Poison (it’s a perfume) and arrange myself on the bed in the most seductive pose imaginable. I’m so going to enjoy this, I think, my skin already tingling in anticipation.
I hear the front door slam. A few minutes later I get off the bed and look out the window. The car has gone.
I lie back down on the bed and indulge in some delightful sexual fantasies involving a man and a woman pleasuring me at the same time. Yes, I know I could have finished myself off, but why have cotton when you can have silk, know what I mean? I was prepared to wait for John to come back from wherever he had gone. But after a while I was beginning to get a bit hacked off. After about an hour I decided I’d exhausted my sexual fantasy repertoire, put on my dressing gown, drank two glasses of wine and went on the computer.
Two hours later John returns with the kids. I say, “Dearest, where have you been?” Well, okay, maybe the words I used were a little more fruity. He replies, “I took them to a movie. You shouted down the stairs to take them to a movie, didn’t you?”
“I said, put them in front of a movie, not take them to a movie. There’s a difference. I mean, how the fuck did you expect me to have sex with you while you were sitting in a movie theatre with two kids and a box of popcorn?”
“Well, I dunno, I just thought you’d gone off the sex idea and wanted me out of the house. You often want me and the kids out of the house on Sunday afternoons.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the miscommunication,” I purred. “But now can you just put the kids in front of a video and come upstairs and do your marital duties? Because frankly, I’m about to explode.”
This time he got the message.
Next time I will text him the message to avoid miscommunication: “Put the kids in front of a video and come upstairs. I am going to ravage you.”
Yeah, that would work quite well, except for the fact that he doesn’t have a cell phone.
Who am I? Displaced Londoner now living in the States with my two little girlies and long suffering husband. Co-author of hilarious parenting book Cocktails at Naptime www.cocktailsatnaptime.com
My mom's an Austrian, my dad's a Brit, which makes me a Britaustrian, or possibly an Austrish?