Sex

There's something wrong with me. I mean, there is seriously something wrong with me. My libido is in overdrive and I think about sex more than I think about chocolate which, for me, is quite impressive as chocolate consumption consumes most of my caloric count; I'm seeing a pattern with the Cs here... So, sex, I'm getting to the point where even my husband is looking good right now or all the time. I liken these feelings to that teenage boy who lives inside of me, wait, that didn't sound right, that teenage boy libido that has suddenly emerged and has taken over the thinking part of my brain. Growing up with two brothers, I think lately I've begun to understand what they were going through as adolescents and guys in their twenties. And, now I get it, I really get it when people say, "If I had known then what I know now..." I interpret that solely as "I would definitely have fucked more people and I would have had more of a random sampling;" kind of like the mixed pack of See's chocolates, a little bit of everything. The problem with teenage sex is that you're a teenager when it's happening and, even if it is "good" all that meant was that anatomically all of the pieces fit together. But, as a teenager, you could have said G-spot and he would have been looking for the G-string that you were wearing. Whatever... I just understand it a little bit more now; the intensity of wanting to have sex all the time. It's frustrating.

I've rationalized this by telling myself that I'm pre-menopausal and that it's just my hormones coming into play. Well, I'm glad something's coming. And, I can't even use the notion of having a baby as a way to get more sex because I've passed that momentous milestone with the tying of my tubes after Ty was born. Come to think of it, I've got to stop typing that word come (shakes head to clear it just then), maybe subconsciously I named that third kid after the procedure that would in fact eliminate the possibility of any other siblings coming (For God's sake) into the picture. Hmmm, I might be on to something (I wish). I need to go and lift some cars.

I was chatting with a friend the other day about this whore-moan phenomena and she likened it to the desire to sleep more; a craving if you will. The body wants what it wants and if it doesn't get it, the want manifests itself in another way. Like addiction I suppose although I don't know what that feels like as my brain has never wanted anything so badly that I actually had physical symptoms from withdrawl. Okay, that's it, I'm going to have to come (Fuck!) up with an entirely new vocabulary to explain my newfound sexual appetite. What a great expression, sexual appetite. As if it can be satiated at this point. Even chocolate isn't sounding so great. So, my friend and I were talking about solutions to this dilemma and also, how to solve other pressing social issues because, after all, there's nothing worse than a lot of horny, angry, frustrated middle aged women walking around. At least I can't think of anything at the moment. A terrible image. I even resorted the other night to surfing the net for good porn (hahahahahaha); there is no such thing as good porn. It's an oxymoron. Not really, but a fun word to type. A real oxymoron is Jumbo Shrimp and if I have to explain it, then you're too stupid to understand my point in the first place. So, stop reading. So, back to my friend and our conversation; well, I don't remember all of it because I was laughing so hard when she talked about how her vibrator broke and her husband fixed it for her. Damn men like that should get a fucking medal, a fucking medal hmmmm. Maybe there needs to be a sex olympics but, you know, I wouldn't want to watch that, would be just like porn and really, all that does is make me laugh.

When I was about 11, I spent the night at a friend's house. There were actually three of us and we snuck out in the middle of the night because the girl's parents had ON tv and back then, in 1980 ON tv was the HBO of television programming. So, we're flipping channels, looking for something offensive or scary or... and all of a sudden, images come on the screen of people in positions that, even after two months of yoga, I cannot get myself into. Nor, do I want to. Although position number 36 sounds pretty good right about now. Positions, I read a knock off version of the Kama Sutra and interestingly enough, after 17 years of marriage, well, during those 17 years of marriage, even when we were in shape, we couldn't get into some of those positions. So, ON tv, my friends and I were watching these images and I was completely fascinated and disturbed and disgusted by such behavior that after a few minutes, I left the room. I remember not even being able to laugh about it because the thought that sex involved such random body positionings and multiple partners was more than my 11 year old brain could handle. So, we never spoke of it again, but it took a long time for those images to wane. Actually, I think that they are still there, but now they don't bother me. Maybe I am maturing finally. So, porn, good for some I guess, for eleven year olds, not so much.

I've been to sex toy parties where vibrators cost as much a a great pair of running shoes. I've been to Victoria's Secret where, no matter what I try on, I never look like Heidi Klum. I've been to my doctor to ask him what the hell is wrong with me, only to have him say, Where do I start? And, maybe we need to prescribe something. Really I ask? Yes, masturbate more he told me. God, I love my doctor. And so, my discussion with this particular friend continues as we explore the ever changing climate of hitting your sexual peak and what to do about it. I'd ask Dr. Phil but he looks like he never gets laid.

I suppose my real problem here is that what turns me on now isn't the same thing that turned me on then. And I don't just mean physically. I don't care for ambience or dressing it up or playing it down or whatever although if it works for some people and I know it does, then I think that's great. But me, I like words. I like the verbal exchange between people and I'm obviously not just talking about in a sexual situation. There's so much to be said for how a person communicates and I feel a connection with people who are witty and funny and charming and who can put me in my place. And those are the people who I'm attracted to, in life and in sex I guess, if you narrow it down like that. I don't think at any time in my life, other than when I was in my early twenties that I gave so much power to the sexual side of myself. But it really wasn't until now that I understand that it really isn't physical; it's mental, it's emotional and it's spiritual. Sure, the vibrator comes (I did pretty well there) in handy for the physical part, but now, as a woman in her forties, the connection is deeper because I know myself and I understand my body and my brain. I can sense the difference between what I'm attracted to physically and why I wouldn't want that, no matter how many packs are on his abs. It's strange because I can see a really attractive man walk by and... nothing, no reaction but then I can have a conversation with one, or even with a man who I'm not physically attracted to and... good lord, watch out! The neurons are firing. I can't remember being that way before. If that was the case, then I've had sex with about a million men. Maybe that's one of the benefits of getting more "mature," I'm not going to say older, I'm not going to say older. The next time the doctor tells me that he can prescribe something for my condition, I'm asking for Viagra and if my husband doesn't want it, I might be willing to try it, just for a go round.

It's funny too because I'm a romantic. Not dim lights, flowers, soft music kind of romantic, but Casablanca, Gone With the Wind, holds your hand in public, lift the toilet seat up kind of romantic. It's all about the little things. Yesterday, Tim turned to me out of the blue and said, "You have a really pretty face" or whenever he goest to bed at night, he brings me a bottle of water and sets it by my side of the bed, or, he always buys me a card on my birthday or our anniversary or Christmas that is both funny and sappy because he knows that I like them. And, best of all, he always gets me a gift card to buy books, on any occasion because he knows how much I love to buy books. Talk about orgasmic; the bookstore is like my Paradise Island. Words, words, words, wait, I need to breathe. Okay, so, romance. I can appreciate the effort and, most often, it does make a difference.

Ironically, right now, it's not even about the quality of the sex; it's totally and completely about the quantity. Like jackrabbits or newlyweds or those first two weeks of dating. I really mean two hours, but that's just because I'm a total and complete slut. No one believes that about me. It's not true. Just for my alter ego. I'm a normal, obsessive, attention deficited (not really a word), exhausted, undersexed mother who cannot get a handle on her rebellious libido. Part of me wishes that it would just go back to normal and part of me wishes that it would stay like this forever, well, at least until the next stage of my life comes (sheesh)...