***WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT. PROCEED AT OWN RISK***

Last week, late at night, my husband deemed it was business time. In true marital fashion, I rolled my eyes at him and groaned about how tired I was and how my back ached and it would require entirely too much energy to get my Gumby on and get bendy.

Boo, not one to be easily dissuaded once he’s had an evening beverage of the liquor variety, just waggled his eyes and offered his magic hands as a remedy to my bad back and invisible libido.

It was one of those evenings when I knew I had a choice to make. I could beat the man off and snarl at him for daring to find me attractive while he was feeling amorous or I could resign myself to one of his magical back rubs and accept the strings attached to his gift.

After all, isn’t a backrub the universal code word for ‘Let’s get it on?‘

It wasn’t a hard choice to make.

“Fine,” I grumped at him cooed romantically, “but don’t bitch at me cuz I didn’t shave my legs today. It hurt too much to bend over and find the razor.”

I am all about the romance people.

Thankfully, Captain Morgan’s was in full command of my husband’s ship and a few hairs on my tree stumps weren’t enough to deter him from his planned evening activities.

I flopped on the bed, er, sexily slinked in between the bed sheets and moaned as my back screamed in protest.

Boo climbed on board, leaned over to shut the bedroom lamp off while whispering in my ear, “I have a treat for you.”

Just then I felt something wet drip on my back.

Trying to push him off my back, I screeched, “What is that?”

“Relax love,” he laughed, “I bought some new personal massage oil. I thought it would help with your back rub.”

I would have asked what kind of oil it was he was slathering all over my backside but I quickly lost the ability to articulate any words as his magic fingers did their job and my back starting feeling miraculously better.

I knew I married a man with strong hands for a reason. That would be the ability to give good massages, you dirty minded people.

Soon I was relaxed as humanly possible and that’s when my husband decided to pounce and move further south.

“You like this?” he whispered as he continued his romantic ministrations.

I nodded my head and tried to verbalize but at this point I may have been a puddle of drool. I’m easy people. This is no secret.

“The boys at work told me this was the good stuff,” he whispered as he worked.

That statement alone should have been enough of a heads up to buck my darling husband off my back like a new stallion in a small town rodeo. But, in my defense, my mind was quickly going in another direction and I may not have been thinking all that clearly at the time.

Moments passed and suddenly I started feeling something new. Something warm.

“Um, Boo? What exactly are you using?” I asked when the warming sensation suddenly turned up the temperature and bordered on uncomfortable.

“It’s a new warming lube. Good for your back and all your pretty woman parts,” he purred oblivious to the alarm in my voice.

Just as he voiced ‘warming lube’ my crotch exploded in flames. Holy mother of God, I thought to myself as I squirmed beneath him.

My husband, half drunk and obviously playing out his own romantic fantasies in his head, was not paying attention to the fact that flames were shooting out of my nether regions.

“Boo! That burns!!” I gasped.

“That’s right baby. Feel the burn. Feel the flames of my desire,” he murmured as he continued.

“NO BOO! It burns!!! My crotch! OW! It’s on fire!!!” I yelped as I arched back and bucked him off me.

“What? Are you serious?”

Apparently the smoke rising from between the sheets wasn’t obvious to him so I grabbed the bed sheet and tried to wipe away the vicious oil flaming my tender parts.

“Oh my GAWD, I’m DYING,” I half cried, half laughed. “Boo, do something before you have to tell the coroner that you killed me with warming lube!”

Boo jumped off the bed and ran into our ensuite bathroom and came back with a wet face cloth.

Grabbing it, I realized it was hot and I threw it back at him. “A COLD FACE CLOTH YOU TWIT! I’ve enough heat here to melt an igloo!”

“Oops, sorry. Didn’t think of that,” he called as he went to remedy the situation.

Snatching the cold face cloth from him when he returned, I snarled something about how next time I was going to pour hot sauce on his wanker and watch him smoke as I writhed in pain on the bed.

“I know!” Boo exclaimed. “Ice!!”

Seconds later, he was back with a tray of ice cubes and I greedily grabbed some and applied to the areas on fire. That warming lube must have been doing its job because those ice blocks were water within seconds.

A few minutes of intense personal pain later, the burning subsided and all traces of the evil acid had been eradicated.

I laid back on my pillow, panting (and not from the way my husband had hoped minutes earlier) and watched my husband laugh hysterically.

“I always told you I thought you were hot stuff,” he giggled as I tossed a pillow at his head.

“Very funny.” If looks could kill, my children would be fatherless.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he asked contritely as he ducked from flying objects.

Luckily for him, the fire was extinguished and I was beginning to see the humour of the situation. From his perspective, I guess it would be fairly funny to watch me shove ice cubes up my cooter while begging to be killed.

Asshat.

“Let me make it up to you, darlin’,” he purred as he reached for me.

“You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking,” I snarled and swatted at his roving hands.

“I promise, no more massage oil!”

It’s hard to get back in the mood of things when the smell of burnt va-jay-jay lingered in the air like acrid smoke. My pink parts were a little tender from the recent barbeque sizzle they had been subjected to.

But still, a girl has to do what a girl has to do and the show must go on.

Afterwards, as Boo lay staring at the ceiling reliving the evening’s festivities in his mind, he reached over in an attempt to engage in the requisite post-coital cuddle.

I squirmed away and hopped out of bed as Boo asked what I was doing.

“I’m finding that demon lube and throwing it in the trash so that the next time the only burn I feel will be from desire and not from my cooter being boiled alive,” I huffed as I bent down to grab the lube from under the chair where it had landed when I hurled it at his head earlier.

“Oh, now, now. It couldn’t have been that bad. You just weren’t prepared for it. Next time I’m sure it will work like it’s supposed to,” he snorted as visions of my smoking hooha danced before his eyes.

Next time? I thought. Next time? Are you f*cking kidding me, I sneered in my mind while smiling sweetly at my husband from the bathroom.

“You’re right darling. I’m sure next time will be better,” I called out from over my shoulder in the bathroom. Ever so carefully I quietly snapped the lid open and poured a few drops on my fingertips before chucking the bottle into the garbage can with a grin of good riddance.

Hopping back into bed, I draped myself over Boo’s body and nibbled at his neck, careful not to wipe the lube off my hand.

“Well, at least it took my mind off my back pain for a moment,” I whispered as I tugged on his earlobe with my teeth.

Boo and his buddy Captain Morgan quickly charted a course for round two. It was right then I reached down slowly and wrapped my lubricated fingers around my husband’s lovely man stick.

“Oh T,” he breathed as I smiled sadistically in the dark and waited.

“Oh, OH..OHHHH!!! OH Shit! Oh Shit!!!” Boo cried as he pushed me off the bed and raced into the bathroom.

Picture my husband at full mast standing at the bathroom sink trying to splash cold water onto his johnson while I howled with laughter from the bed.

“Feeling the burn, baby?” I called out. “I always knew you were smoking hot darling. Maybe NEXT TIME you’ll believe me.”

Needless to say, once Boo’s flame of desire was duly put out he double checked to make sure his newly purchased massage oil was safely ensconced in the garbage can.

I knew he’d see things my way sooner or later.

Heh.