“If you want this to go anywhere in the next half hour, we really need to pick up some speed here,” I mutter. I’m in bed with the best of all husbands, not quite dressed and not quite naked. We just got back from our weekly grocery run and have a bit of down time before we need to get ready for our dinner invitation. Jeff spent the morning playing with clay at the ceramic studio, though he likes to think of it as important creative work, and I caught up on some important paperbacks. So here we are with a sliver of time to ourselves, ready to do what a couple is supposed to do on a Sunday afternoon and it feels a lot more G-rated than triple-X.
So how do we bring back the heat to the love we have? Have we just become too comfortable with each other, too invested in the trappings and routines of the coupled life? Go to work, come home, cook dinner, go shopping, look after the house and yard, see friends and family. When did I get so fascinated with growing vegetables and started to expect dinner on the table when I come home? Is this what married life looks like? Is it middle age?
With my head buzzing, I wonder whether Jeff feels that way too. Perhaps he too is as wrapped up as I am in all the stuff we are supposed to be and do. Surely the agitation I feel must be radiating off me and making him jumpy. I pull myself from my ruminations and turn my head to check on him. If he is agitated, it doesn’t show on his face. To the casual observer it looks much like he has drifted off to sleep. The slight snore might even convince you that he is not that agitated at all. He looks sweet, totally adorable and is in my bed. Well, our bed, but same difference. I take an exploratory bite at his nipple. No reaction at first, but the snoring stops. I keep doing what I started and slowly things move in a different direction.
Where did I just read that men approach sex the same way they might approach a sandwich? Good, bad or mediocre, in the end they just go for it. Food and sex indeed satisfy two of our very basic needs. Sometimes they might even feel like the only needs. Since Jeff and I have been together, I have gotten used to a steady diet of solid home cooked meals. Sure, the Earth doesn’t move every time. But when was that ever true? In my single days, I spent a lot of time planning, plotting when and where, with whom sex might happen. These days, I think a lot less about how to have sex and have a lot more of it.
Before I completely come across as the chauvinist who takes his hubby for granted, I do want to add that much of the time I used to spend on scheming for sex goes now into our relationship. I don’t like to call that work, but rather side with Erich Fromm who asserted that love is an art and therefore requires skill and effort. Effort in suggesting to your husband that there will be time for a nap later when more exciting possibilities have just come up and skill in discovering new sights and trails in a familiar landscape.
Half an hour later, back on schedule for dinner, we are in the bathroom, showering and getting ready to go out. The buzzing in my head is lot more quiet. I see the man I married standing naked at the sink trimming his goatee. I enjoy the view and what I’m thinking is far from G-rated, but we don’t want to be late. So I settle for a quick hug from behind and little kiss on this neck. I pick out a shirt and count myself lucky.
This article was first published at Frontiers LA.
Rolf Danner 