A few years ago, I watched a television reality show where couples vowed to have sex with each other for thirty days straight. The premise was that, if you engage in sex more often, you’ll inevitably become closer as a couple. You would think most men would leap at the chance – and, at first, most of them did. But then it got hard for both the men and women – some days they were tired, or sick, or just sexed-out, but they kept at it (usually after some nagging from the wives) and, sure enough, after thirty days all of the couples said that they were closer and their relationships were much better.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, while we were staying at a nearby B&B, I told Doc about the show. I wanted to be closer to him – both physically and emotionally – and I thought if we repeated the experiment, it certainly couldn’t hurt. He thought it was a little ridiculous, but he agreed. I found an app for my phone called “My Love Life” where you can track how often you copulate (it also has the ability to track flirting, dates, and episodes of self-love – just in case you are interested). We started to work right away.
It was easy while we were on our anniversary trip – we had sex at least once a day – but the first day back at home, Doc opted out. He was too tired, he said. I didn’t nag – I was tired too – but he kept on being tired, every single damned day for a month! That’s pretty much how it worked for the last five years of our marriage. I wanted more sex and intimacy and he…didn’t. And then you know the rest of the story – he announced he didn’t want to be married anymore, he moved out, my heart was broken and my self-esteem crushed, blah, blah, blah…
So, according to my handy little sex app that I checked this morning, it’s now official. It’s been a year since I’ve engaged in coitus. A year! Three-hundred and sixty-five sex free days! For you Brits, that’s no shagging – for a full rotation of the earth around the sun! The little sex-graph on my app is flat as a wide expanse of ocean on an extraordinarily calm day – and there is no rescue in sight for my sad, marooned lady parts.
Why did I check my sex app? Well, apparently my subconscious already knew it had been a long while since I’ve had some fun, because it sent me a crazy dream last night to remind me. Thanks for that, subconscious.
In my dream, it was present day and I was just waking up. Apparently, I wanted to start the day off with a literal bang, because I had strewn my sex toys on the bed so that I could choose the very best one. I had a LOT of sex toys – like, I could have started my own adult shop with the amount of sex toys I had – it was a bit scary. As I was trying to decide between the massive “Deep Impact” or the odd-looking, but effective “Ram Rod Deluxe,” the door suddenly opened. I threw myself, spread-eagle on the bed, covering the sex toys like I was an incredibly brave Marine and they were dozens of rather large, vibrating grenades. But it turns out that I didn’t even need to try to hide them – Doc came through the door and marched by without glancing at me, “I need to take a shower,” he announced as he went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I was flabbergasted. First of all, why was Doc at my house? And secondly, why did he feel he could just barge into my room and take over my shower? I had to shower and get to work, dammit! I put my toys away while I contemplated the situation. I needed to shower – naked, and he was in the shower – naked, and I still had an itch that had not been scratched – perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone!
I opened the bathroom door to find Doc standing at the sink – probably admiring his rugged good looks or lamenting his receding hairline – but he was naked and that was all that mattered. In tossed my very long hair (in the dream it reached past my ass) and the next instant, we were in the tub (of course this was a dream – I would never take a bath in the morning before work — it’s just too time consuming). As we fooled around, there was a bit of an issue with…hydraulics…and so I gave a little special attention to a certain part of his anatomy, going after it like it was one of those sugar free/fat free fudgesicles that are my desserts now that I’m on Weight Watchers again.
Then the dream started to get all crazy, like dreams sometimes do. I looked up and Doc’s head had turned into one of those mylar balloons on a stick. It was creepy, and not at all sexy!
I reached up and yanked the head off the stick, fully expecting to see Doc’s head behind it. Instead, it was just a stick! I didn’t want to have sex with a stick for God’s sack! For all intents and purposes, I had already been doing that with my myriad of sex toys for the past year! Then, Doc’s head was back — but now we were at my parent’s house (that’s not awkward at all) and we were floating out onto the back patio, where there were a bunch of people standing around (now that I’m a sexually liberated woman, apparently I didn’t mind). Before I knew it, Doc had disengaged from me and planted his feet on the ground, striding away to a large white pickup truck that was parked in the driveway – being driven by Joe Biden. At that point, Doc turned into Will Smith and hopped into the back of the truck and, spitting gravel behind it, it sped away – while I floated along beside it for a while, shouting, “Doc! Doc! Will!!! Come back!!” You see, my itch STILL had not been scratched – at all.
So, you can see why I checked my sex app first thing this morning to see just how long it had been since I’d gotten lucky. It confirmed that I’d had a dry spell – an extended, dry as a small Texas town with unreasonable liquor laws, drought in the sex department with no end in sight. *Sigh* I might have to get some new sex toys.
Tell me about your strangest dream (or better yet, your weirdest sex dream). If you could make up a name for a sex toy, what would it be? Do you like fudgesicles?