Ah, the good old days
So last week, just when I was ready to give my wife 30 or 40 seconds of the most intense pleasure of her life, she informed me that she doesn't know one woman who has any interest in having sex with their husband.
Armed with this inspirational news, I figured that today, I might even make it to a full minute.
"Not one?" I asked.
"Not one," she said. Then she said, "Are you done?"
And even though I wasn't even in yet, I was in fact, almost done.
Afterwards, I ignored what she had said. Only because she was kind enough to have sex with me. Then I looked her in the eye and told her I loved her. The reason I looked her in one eye and not both eyes was because her head was turned away from me because my breath was a little too stinky for her taste.
"Your breath is a little too stinky for my taste," she said.
"Um," I said, "I know you mentioned that none of your friends have any interest in having sex with their husbands. But you weren't counting yourself, right?"
There was a long, dramatic pause. She smiled as she gently touched my face. Then she looked at me and said, "Hey, do you know if we have any sherbert left?"
Y'know, the more I think about it, the more I think sex was better for me when I was 14.
I mean sure, at 14, I was only having sex with two people. Sealy. And Posturpedic. But still, back then, sex was so much better for me when it was just me thinking about having sex.
Back then, there was no one to laugh at me. There was no one to deny me. There was no one to criticize me. And did I mention there was no one to laugh at me?
At 14, I thought having sex was all about love and roses. And women bending over tables.
At 14, I just had to think about having sex with somebody and, goodness gracious, that's exactly what happened.
From my head to my hand. Just like that.
When I was done, all I had to do was crumple up my Kleenex in 20 other Kleenex so my mom wouldn't find it. Then I would sit down and read a comic book.
At 14, that was sex. And the sex was good.
Back then I didn't have to worry about if she was tired, or if she had a bad day, or what my wife would do if she found me in bed with her.
At 14, I just thought about three things:
1. My thing.
2. That hole.
3. My thing in that hole.
To tell you the truth, I thought about sex so much because I never thought it would ever happen. But boy, did I spend countless hours thinking about if it ever did.
I thought about what she'd look like, how she'd act, what she'd be wearing, and how I'd be so calm and cool about the whole thing, like I'd done it a bazillion times before.
I thought about how I'd say exactly the right thing to make her realize that I was the man of her dreams.
"Swear to god?" I'd think about saying. "You're gonna let me put it in there?"
Honestly, I think my sex life was so much better before I had a woman I could have sex with.
At 14, I could look at any boobs I wanted to and not be afraid that the boobs I was with would be mad at me for looking at the boobs I wanted to be with.
That's because at 14, the greatest things on earth were boobs. It was impossible to walk out of the house and not see a pair on every corner in America.
Hey look! The lady across the street has boobs!
Hey look! The girl next door has boobs!
Hey look! That dog has boobs!
Boobs were magical spheroids. And while the boobs couldn't talk, they always seemed to be saying, "Look this way." And I did.
Did you ever wish you were a bra so you could hold boobs all day?
Right. Um, me neither.
It didn't matter what I was doing or where I was, but as soon as I saw boobs, I was caught in their majesty and put into a deep, hypnotic trance.
"Hello, lady. Your boobs are making me sleepy. Very…sleepy."
Regardless of how big they were or how small they were or how lopsided they were, they were boobs. And dammit, they just made me feel good when I looked at them.
"Mooooom! Do we have any more Kleenex?"
Back then, I didn't have to hear, "Are you serious?" or "Tell me you're kidding," or "No, I will not put on that Bea Arthur mask."
Back then, when it came to me thinking about having sex, I was a machine. I drove women crazy. Because before I had sex, I didn't know that it was possible to suck at sex.
That lesson came later in life and continues to be reinforced at least once or twice a month.
At 14, I could have sex anytime I wanted to. Anyplace. Anywhere. With anybody.
I didn't have to worry about complimenting women. Or buying them things. Or taking them out for a fancy dinner.
At 14, I would just think I wanted to have sex with a woman, and she'd say okay.
Heck, if I wanted to have sex with the woman on page 324 of the Sears catalog -- the second one down from the left with the dark hair wearing the black bra -- I could.
If I wanted to have sex with one of the girls on the Price is Right, I could.
As long as Bob Barker said it was okay. And he was done having sex with them.
The ironic thing is, though, as good as the thinking about sex and the sex before I ever had sex was when I was 14, I never knew I had it so good. I didn't appreciate what I had.
I thought it was just prepubescent foreplay until I got to do the real thing.
I thought the only thing I really wanted to do was have sex with somebody else. Real sex. A woman-lying-there-having-sex.
How stupid was I?
Why didn't somebody tell me that there was a woman attached to that hole I was obsessed with?
Christ, I didn't know. I thought that was what I wanted. C'mon, isn't that what every guy wants?
Little did I know that sex with a woman wasn't going to get any better than what it was without one.
Jeez, I remember the first time I had sex. I'll never forget it. No one does. It's one of those moments in life that you'll always cherish no matter how long ago it happened. For me, it seems like it was yesterday.
Even though it was more like four days ago.
When we were done, I paid her the 20 bucks she quoted me and thought, "That's it? That's what I've been waiting for all this time?" I mean, don't get me wrong. I appreciated the fact that I just dipped my pen in the company inkwell, but the bottom line was, hell, I could've done that myself.
And y'know, I would've brought my own Kleenex, too.
My all-time favorite quote:
At the peak of an orgasm, it doesn't really matter who you're having sex with.
Never have truer words been spoken.
Because when it's time, it doesn't matter if it's Faith Hill, Grant Hill or Granny from the "Beverly Hillbillies."
So I ask, what's the point of meeting women…dating women…marrying women…having sex with women when you're no better off than you were when you were 14?
I guess part of it is a guy thing. I guess guys like to use sex as a symbol of manhood.
I guess guys like to have reputations for their sexual prowess.
"See that guy over there," guys want other guys to say. "That guy gets a lot of chicks."
I guess it's not very often that you see one guy tap another guy on the shoulder and say, "See that guy over there? That guy jerks off like nobody's business."
I guess guys like having sex more than thinking about sex so they can brag to their buddies, "See her? I did her."
Well, when I was 14, I could look at my buddies and say, "Jeannie, Bewitched, Morticia Adams, the girl from the "Mod Squad," Cheryl Tiegs, Valerie Bertinelli, Pinkie Tuscadero, Aunt Bee, The Bionic Woman, Wonder Woman, Marcia Brady -- twice, Daisy Dukes, the chick on "TJ Hooker," Nancy Drew, Hazel, Farrah, Wilma, Mrs. Howell, Judy Jetson and the girl cat that Pepe LePew thought was a skunk?
"I did them. All of them."
Yes, as much as I'd like to, I realize that you just can't go back, can you?
Unfortunately, that's not the way life works. You can't ever return to a simpler time. A better time. A more innocent time where the sex was easy. Where I could think about sex with any women I wanted to and she always wanted to have sex with me back.
The older I get, the more I've come to realize that sex without women was the best sex I ever had.
I had to spend my life going out and actively pursuing a living, breathing woman, only to realize that all I was ever looking for was already in the palm of my hand.
And so, here I am. Fourteen in my head, but 41 in my body.
With a house, two kids and wife who has no interest in having sex with me.
The funny thing is, other than the house and the two kids, I'm in the exact same place I was 27 years ago. Thinking about sex.
Well gosh, that was a good use of the gift of life, huh?
WIFE: "Hi honey, how was your day?
ME: "Good. How was yours?"
WIFE: "Oh, I'm so tired. The kid's drove me crazy today."
ME: "Sorry to hear that. Hey, I brought you home some flowers."
WIFE: "Aw, that was sweet of you. So what'd you do wrong?"
ME: "I didn't do anything wrong. Why do I have to do something wrong to bring home flowers for the woman I love?"
WIFE: "You want sex, don't you?"
ME: "What are you talking about, sex?"
WIFE: "You want to have sex tonight, don't you?"
ME: "What you mean? I dunno, do you?"
WIFE: "Aw, honey. I had the longest day. Can we just wait until tomorrow?"
WIFE: "I'm sorry. I promise tomorrow."
ME: "That's fine. So what's for dinner?"
WIFE: "Chicken with rice and beans."
ME: "Sounds good. I'll go wash up."
TEN MINUTES LATER….
WIFE: "Honey, where are you?"
ME: "I'm in the bathroom."
WIFE: "Dinner's ready."
ME: "I'll be right there."
ME: "Hey honey?"
ME: "Do we have any more Kleenex?"