Years ago my boyfriend gave my husband a little nickname. We call him The Pope. He doesn’t drink much, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t gamble, and he’s never owned a sex toy. Way back when The Single Friend and I were still buddies, she had one of those sex toy parties, and I was only there 5 minutes before The Pope decided to drag me out of there like a cave man by my pony tail!
He later told me that I was just too classy to be at a party like that. OK, I appreciate the fact that he thinks I’m Jacqueline Kennedy and all, but the truth is, I have nothing against spicing up the bedroom a little bit. You don’t have to tie me up in whips and chains or call me Mistress, but a little battery operated assistance isn’t always a bad thing.
And since we’ve established the fact that I take my oral skills very seriously, why not add a little flavored gel to the mix? The Pope has always been petrified that children would find such things in our bedroom and that he couldn’t recover from the discovery! I’ll be honest. For years I was okay with playing it so straight laced. First of all, when we were younger he was the Energizer Bunny! Seriously! He could go and go and go again, so why in the world would I even think about spicing things up? I was trying to figure out when to get some sleep.
Then there were the baby making years, when I was exhausted, and I had no sex drive what-so-ever. Part of that may have been due to the fact that I suffered some trauma as a child. I won’t dwell on it now, but being sexually abused when you’re a young girl does a number on your head. I don’t care how well adjusted you are, when someone takes advantage of you, it’s just fucked up! There’s no nicer word for it, and it can really put your head in the wrong place. For me, I think it left me feeling so broken and unworthy of affection that I just forgot to love myself or let myself be loved!
Fast forward to 35, then take off a few pounds, all the sudden I had hormones and I wanted to use them! I think in some ways I may have shocked the hell out of the Pope. He wasn’t expecting that. He was used to the girl who was too shy to ever admit she wanted to have sex. He was used to being the only initiator. And the fact that orgasms were something never achieved by me was never a problem in his book. He got his, right?
Now I’ve pretty much become one of those housewives gone wild. I spent a fortune getting the girls all dressed up in new digs. I brought home Bob, and a few accessories to try out. I bought some sexy dresses that let the girls have all the fun, even when the Pope doesn’t want me wearing them. I will say the Pope has made some progress in the bedroom, even though he has yet to take his oral skills as seriously as I do. And he doesn’t have a clue just how long I can keep up with that… But last night, I thought for sure we were taking baby steps! The man who seems afraid of spicing things up reached into the drawer where I keep the lubricant. (Important to have if Bob’s around.) He was ready to get sexy, and since kids were all asleep, I was totally into it!
The only problem was that I didn’t look at what he was doing. So instead of a little lubricant, what I got was a LOT of EXCITE. Excite- arousal gel for women! Like KY warming gel x 800. Who the fuck came up with this? Supposedly it will give you just the right sensations to intensify the big moment. Um, possibly, if you use a tear drop of it in only one spot! The handful the Pope poured out felt more like ICY HOT! It wasn’t a tingle, it was a dagger!
I used ICY HOT on my shoulder once, and it was pure hell. It felt good for a second, but the burning got stronger and stronger all night long. I remember waking up at 3am and trying to get it off of me in the shower, only, once you put that stuff on your skin, water DOES NOT HELP! Not at all! Getting in the shower only intensifies the burn. You can’t do anything but endure the stinging until it wears off. Now imagine that torture in your vagina. For you boys, that would be the equivalent of driving a nail through your little guy!
At first it was all warm and fuzzy tingles, and then within seconds it was like SOMEBODY CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT! The soundtrack in my head was playing Burn baby burn! And I was on fire in the worst possible way. It got worse, it felt like someone was jamming ice cubes in my va-jay-jay followed by fire-sticks. The hot-cold-hot-cold made me want to scream. And not in a good way! I jumped up and turned on the light to see what the hell had gotten a hold of me and all I can say is that this hot and spicy night of passion was an EPIC FAIL! The Excite Gel did not arouse me, and I’m thinking I should call the maker and get my $8 back!! Plus a little bonus for pain and suffering. Is $10,000 too steep? What do you think?
I’d like to give the Pope an A+ for effort- for taking it upon himself to make things a little more pleasurable, for stepping out of his 7th grade make-out routine that I am soooooo completely bored with, and for once making my pleasure the point of the game, but I still haven’t gotten over the sting of the whole thing. I’m thinking from now on, we may need to play these little games with the lights on! Of course, it’ll be much harder to pretend we are asleep if there is light beaming under the doorjamb AND a headboard bouncing off the wall… I usually say all that noise is just daddy tossing and turning in his sleep!