You know what I’m talking about. First you flirt, or ogle if that’s your style. Then you feel that little tingle start somewhere deep inside. Your toes start to curl up, and then suddenly your body’s on fire. You’re entire being is pulsating like a giant time bomb. The anticipation of a good orgasm keeps you in the moment. You start the countdown 10, 9, 8…
You’re just about there when all of a sudden your mind wanders and you wonder whether or not you switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer…
Hot sex to me is when I accidentally burn my finger cooking dinner and I start hopping around the kitchen screaming ‘fuck me, fuck me’ while I dash to the sink to run cold water over it.
Of course this could actually lead to hot sex because if hubby’s in the house and he here’s this gut wrenching scream, the next thing you know I hear him sprinting through the house to get to me. I’ve seen him actually breaks a sweat after maneuvering the furniture in the living room, running hurdle over the dining room chairs, where upon entering the kitchen I can see he’s already got his pants undone, and yep, there it is, the boner. Unfortunately, there are just some fuck me’s that cannot be resolved with anything short of cold water.
Now don’t get me wrong here. I am uber-grateful that after more than thirty-one years of marriage he still wants to jump my bones! He’s forever grabbing my ass at the most unpredictable times, and while this is all well and good, I often times wonder whether this is a sex thing or is he just checking to see if I’ve been working out or not.
Sometimes he’ll rub my shoulders only to let his hand wander down the front of my shirt. Sometimes I stop him and sometimes I don’t, it all depends on whether or not those little stray nipple hairs have been removed or not. It is not cool to have more hair on your chest than your husband. But all in all–it’s all good!
Yes, in my world, hot sex is something that happens when the air conditioner is not working. Oh there’s plenty of steam and sweat but I can’t actually say it’s caused by body movement.
There have been times when we’re engaged in ‘you know’ and I get caught up listening to my spine cracking every time I move. Yes, at my age, it seems like all my bones are a little cranky when put to the test. My hip bones doth protest on occasion too and I wonder if I’ll be stuck in that god awful position forever. I do not want to walk around looking like I just got off a horse after a day of riding bronco bulls.
I got an e-mail in my in-box the other day. You know the kind. The ones that randomly show up and peak your curiosity. Well I clicked on the link and low and behold I got schooled on how long a man can have an erection. Forty-eight to seventy-two hours is what they claim.
Are there really men out there willing to walk around like that for two or three days in a row? Is this stuff safe? Does it come with a side order of nitro glycerin for your heart? I’ve seen all those televised ads for Cialis and Viagra and they always have a warning about “if you have an erection longer than four hours” you should contact your doctor. With this product if your doctor is not female and horny, what’s the point of seeing her?
What makes their ad particularly appealing to many consumers out there is that you can get absolutely shit-faced drunk and this stuff, ‘ViagPURE’, will still have the desired effect, and better yet it claims it can save a failing marriage and can make your sperm shoot farther and with more precision than an arrow leaving a spear gun.
Hellooooo! Is the distance sperm can shoot something we give a lot of thought to? Mmmmmmmm! I guess I may have to ponder on whether there are actually any benefits to this.
Now unless you’re a famous golfer claiming ‘hole in ones‘ all the time I don’t see the point. Or maybe, just once, for two or three days I would ‘get’ the point and then wonder what’s the point.
It’s already bad enough that I don’t get enough sleep. I can’t imagine staying up for that many hours in a row just to wreak the benefits of this man enhancer, nor would I want to.
And what about the kids? Don’t you think they’d wonder where we were for those three days even though we were home the whole time? And how would we explain the bags under our eyes and the fact that once we emerged from wherever we’d hidden away that we could no longer move? That we actually might need medical intervention.
I don’t know, call me old-fashioned. I like a good romp in the hay but I don’t think my gina would be as acceptable to participating in this kind of marathon sex any more. Of course this would all boil down to whether I gave in to one of those middle of the night commercial I told you about earlier. You know…for VD–vaginal dryness. Maybe this is where that old adage comes in–the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Now I’ve known a few men during my lifetime who proclaim they can go at it all night, but seventy-two hours under the best of circumstances seems, well, a little excessive to me–for anything.
I can’t help thinking that with all the blood running down there to keep that sinking ship alive, what the hell is keeping the rest of the boat floating? Doesn’t the rest of the body need some of that blood? But then again, women have always said that a man thinks with his dick so maybe the brain IS getting exactly all the blood it needs. I don’t know, call me crazy.
I say forget about a drug that keeps it up like the energizer bunny and instead just get one of those miniature life alert bracelets and attach it directly to the penis. You let your imagination run wild until a situation ‘arises’, the life alert goes off, and whammo.
“Oh honey….did you hear that?”
“Oh…I thought that was the oven timer.”
“No, it’s me, hurry up, turn off the oven. We’ve got about two minutes.”
“But it’s a souffle, it’ll deflate without the heat.”
“Yeah, well…so will this.”
Maybe I’m just old. I do not want to have sex for seventy-two hours in a row, nor do my hip bones.
Let’s be real hear.
If you have the ability to stay awake for several days in a row you’re probably still in your twenties and don’t need this shit anyway. If you’re an alcoholic in a failing marriage, hello, it’s probably not lack of sex that’s causing your marriage to fail.