If You’re Related to Me, Keep Walking—There’s Nothing to Read Here!

I used to enjoy sex.

A lot of sex.

And that’s really saying something… coming from a person who lost her virginity standing up against a tree at a local State park as upper-class suburban children looked on from atop the monkey bars.  Not the smartest and, quite possibly, the most UNCOMFORTABLE  thing I ever did, but I was young (too young) and thought I was in loooove (pukity vomiting gaggy sounds)… until I ran into him a year later when he came back from college and had gained a bazillion pounds or borrowed Eddie Murphy’s fat suit from The Nutty Professor and told me he proudly referred to himself as “The Virgin Surgeon”.

But I digress.

Sex… I’ve had a lot of it.

After my first time, it got better and I started choosing wiser locales (cars, my mom’s foyer, elevators, vacant apartments, and pools) and less obese, douchey partners.

I once slept with my college roommate’s brother on the top bunk of my dorm loft WHILE she was in the bed below.  I hung my head during the walk of shame many a time—trying to remember the guys’ names.  And yes, in an elevator, New Year’s Eve 1989.  I was a Free Bitch, baby!

The hunt for finding a partner was a thrill.  The flirtation and game playing was exhilarating.  I loved the challenge of luring a man.  A new man’s touch was butterfly and goose bump-inducing.  The threat of getting caught used to be exciting.

But sluts everywhere, beware—here is where I pop your whore bubble and tell you that your nymph-like mojo may not last forever.

After 15 years of marriage, the thrill is gone.  The only challenge is to convince him that I am ACTUALLY sleeping when he gets home from work or get out of bed in the morning BEFORE he whispers, so romantically, with morning breath that he has morning wood!  And getting caught by the kids? Surprisingly, not quite as exciting as getting caught by a policeman while you’re in the backseat of a car with your firm, 18 year old ass in the air.

Lately, sex has become a chore, running a close second to scrubbing toilets and sorting socks (no, I take that back, I CAN watch TV while I sort socks, so, in perspective, that’s not so bad.)

It’s not to say that I DON’T enjoy it when I’m guilted into putting out, but my time can be spent so much more efficiently cleaning up dog puke or paying bills.

My head is just NOT in the game anymore. Instead of baby, give it to me, I’m thinking, I haven’t shaved my legs in over a week, my winter feet need exfoliating (I could probably create an entire human from the dead skin that would be removed), I need to thaw the chicken for dinner, get a birthday present for my niece, and I have GOT to clean that ceiling fan!

If I want to break a sweat, I will put on an athletic bra, go to the gym and run the elliptical.  I would just much rather spend my free time clearing out my DVR or napping…

Tagged as: not in the mood, sex, sluts