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The Post My MIL Will be Sorry She Read

**Warning: Graphic contents ahead. Read at your own risk. Heh. Welcome to my life.**

**Oh, and if you happen to be an adoption case worker or foster worker, or MY FATHER, please skip this post. Thanks.**

There was a time, long, long ago, when I believed in romance, true love and happily-ever-afters. Then I grew up, got married and squeezed out a three shrieking demons. My love affair with romance ended right about the time I had to keep elbowing my husband in the middle of the night to remind him it was his turn to rock the baby back to sleep.

He’d just pretend he was sleeping through the baby’s shrilly cries while the walls rattled and the windows cracked and pretend to snore his way through my elbow jabs.

Somewhere in the middle of the marriage and life, romance fell to the back burner. Romance kinda faded to the background as we paid bills and struggled to stay afloat in the early years of marriage.

I mean, it’s hard to remember the blazing passion we once shared when we were knee deep in squalling infants and mortgage payments.

I never gave much thought to married life before being married. At that point, I was ruled by lust and the need to constantly fornicate.

Oh, how times have changed.

Apparently, as my husband likes to point out, times have only changed for me. He still wants to fornicate as often as possible.

Perhaps it’s because I’m still the sexy hottie I once was (minus the saggy tits and belly jiggle) or perhaps it’s because he is poisoned by too damn much testosterone.

Whichever, he still wants to get it on. All the damned time. Even if I haven’t shaved my legs or my um, nether regions and I resemble a small hairy yeti. Even if I haven’t washed my face or combed my hair or had a shower in days. He still wants a little something something.

I admit, I don’t understand it. We’re getting older for chrissakes, our bodies aren’t the temples to sex they once were. No matter how we try, we can’t recapture the glory of the days we bumped uglies like rabid horny bunnies.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t love him or find him attractive. But the sweet siren call of my soft pillow calls to me stronger than well, his passionate whispers of romance.

Hmm…eight hours of blissful uninterrupted sleep vs. hot and sweaty sex which invariably means exercise because a gal can’t just lie there like a lump while her man goes at it like a dog on a guest’s leg…sleep is gonna win hands down every time.

Boo doesn’t see it this way and has made it his personal mission to rev up the romance in the boudoir. We can sleep when we’re dead, he says. Use it before I lose it, he’ll whisper as he bangs his Pickle against my leg.

Oh the romance. How can I resist?

In an effort to inspire me, Boo came home with a brown paper bag filled with goodies from the local sex shop. I should have known something was up when he wouldn’t let the kids look inside the bag and shooed them outside while sporting a stupid look on his face.

I warily eyed the bag, knowing no good can come from that silly look he was mugging and asked him what was up.

“Me in a few minutes, once I show you what I got for us.”

Oy. I mean, how can a gal resist such temptation?

With a furtive glance to make sure the kids were beating each other with sticks far away from the house, Boo dumped the contents of the bag into my lap and smiled like a little boy who had just picked a handful of posies for his mother.

(Because you know, sex toys are just as wholesome as fresh picked flowers.)

Not one, not two but three different vibrators, some edible underwear and a sex game.

He was thinking about all the naked fun we’d have together and I was thinking about all the energy I would have to expend that night while missing sleep.

Gotta love the romance of the long-time married.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, beaming.

“I’m thinking I gotta take away your bank card and send a babysitter along with you every time you leave the house.”


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As I eyed the treats in my lap, Boo waggled his brows suggestively and offered to take me into the bedroom for a test drive. Charming.

“Why on earth do we need THREE vibrators? How many holes are you planning to stick things into?” I asked very worriedly. “Do even understand how much batteries cost these days?” I whined.

“I’m just trying to spice things up a little for us.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m not spicy enough for you?” I screeched.

Boo looked befuddled, like he hadn’t anticipated that reaction. Probably because he was too busy envisioning me in edible undies with a bunch of vibrators buzzing in the back ground. Or gawd knows where else.

“No, not at all,” he stammered. “I just thought the change of pace would be fun.”

“I can’t keep up with the pace you set now! And you want to change it????” Cue the screechy wife.

“Don’t be such a priss. It’ll be fun. I promise,” he leered.

“Fun.” Snort. “And just what am I supposed to do with these?” I ask, while poking at the strawberry flavored underwear.

“Um, wear them.” Again, with that stupid look on his face.

“Great. Cuz sex isn’t messy enough. Now I’m gonna have jam smeared all over my new sheets.” How is it that guys don’t think about these things? Must be because they never have to sleep in the damn wet spot.

Boo was getting insulted now, because I wasn’t offering to put my ankles behind my ears immediately. Apparently, I wasn’t seeing the romance he had intended.

Call me crazy, but if he wanted to be romantic, he could have brought home flowers and a maid along with pizza and beer.

“You have got to be out of yer ever lovin’ mind if you think I’m gonna eat those nasty undies off of you. It’s bad enough I have to pick hairs out of my teeth, but now you expect me to get strawberry seeds stuck in my molars? And um, ew. Man juice mixed with jam. Yummy.”

Exasperated, Boo tossed the edible undies back into the bag and rolled his eyes. “Forget about the damn undies then, woman. Sheesh. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Um, anywhere warm and tropical where I have half nekkid men serving me unlimited mojitos. Anywhere where I didn’t have to um, exert myself.

Picking up one of the fancy vibrators, I looked at him and sighed. “Boo this thing looks like it will hurt! I mean, I know you mean well, but I really have no inclination to be rubbed raw and impaled by this plastic penis.”

“I knew I should have bought that ball gag in the window,” Boo mumbled.

“Pardon ME?” I’ll show you what that ball gag is for, you twit, I thought to myself as I eyed the vicious vibrator and contemplated shoving where the sun don’t shine.

“You know what, Tanis?” he huffed. “You are no damn fun.”

“Fun??? How about we stick that in your hole first and take it for a test drive? Let’s see how much fun it is when your arse is bleeding?” I pointed out. (Very pleasantly, too, I might add. Heh.)


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Dear Boo. It’s supposed to make me weep with PLEASURE. Not weep from having my insides torn aSSunder. Just so you know.

“Just forget about it,” he snarked as he swept everything back into the paper bag. “I was just trying to liven things up in the bedroom.”

Which to me, means things aren’t lively. Which, in my woman’s twisted brain, means I’m boring. To hell with that, I say. I’m bendy. I’m a damn Gumby! I all but do back flips for that man. How much livelier does a woman need to be?

“I may as well shove dynamite up my arse while hanging upside down from a trapeze while giving you head,” I yelled while looking out the window to make sure the kids didn’t overhear their parents arguing over sex.

“You didn’t have any complaints about my bedroom bouncing the other night! Just so you know, there are a lot of men…and some woman…who wouldn’t mind taking a turn with me under the sheets. You ought to count your blessings!” As I spoke I continued to get more and more shrilly.

“Dammit! I was just trying to be nice!” With that, Boo grabbed his bag of goodies and stormed off. I’m gonna guess this WASN’T how he envisioned how his evening would go.

“NICE would have been you bringing me home a box of fudgesicles!” I yelled after him.

Boo turned around, and said, “You’re insane. Remind me why I married you?”

“Because insane girls are crazy. And crazy girls know how to f*ck like wild monkeys. Without jam drawers or rubber daggers shoved up their hoohaa’s!”"

“What ever. I’ll just take this back to the store tomorrow.” Boo sighed and I could see his shoulders droop just a fraction.

“Wait, wait. Bring that bag back here.” Boo raised an eyebrow but brought the bag back to me.

Pulling out one of the less evil looking toys, I gave the bag back to him.

“There. Return those. I’ll keep this,” I murmured as I caressed my new love toy.

Boo stood there with his mouth open while trying to stifle a look of triumph.

“What??? I may be crazy but I’m not stupid.” I smiled.

Anything to help him get in, get off and get out and get me back to sleep.

Heh.

This post is posted in Carnal Knowledge on Tuesday, 15 July, 2008 at 11:23 am. Keep up with this conversation via RSS or Both comments and trackbacks are currently closed.

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