Sexual Liberation for Married Ladies

It was lunchtime when I logged onto my computer. My husband was at work and I was thinking of sneaking in a quick round of Internet Scrabble. But my plans quickly changed as an angry orange box bleeped across my screen.

WARNING: We have detected spyware on your computer! Your boss, your family, and even God will see all the degrading sites that you have been visiting. Install Spy-Be-Gone now and we can keep this between ourselves. Operators are standing by.

Alarmed, I quickly scanned my browsing history. I found no porn sites, no sex manuals, not even a Craigslist’s Casual Encounters ad. Just to be on the safe side though I told Spy-Be-Gone to install its software and let me know what it discovered. After a quick scan of my computer it shrugged apologetically and offered me my money back.

 God, I was boring.

And I wasn’t even from the Midwest.

When my husband returned he found me cuddled up in a Snuggie watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. “Uh-Oh,” he said, cautiously hanging up his jacket. “What’s happened now?”

“The computer thinks I’m boring.”

“But computers can’t think,” he said, pouring himself a diet coke. “And even if it could think, what would make the computer believe that you, of all people, are boring?”

“It said it was going to reveal my most disturbing secrets to the world, but all it came up with was my obsession for everything Toddlers and Tiaras. Oh, God!” I cried. “Not only am I boring! I’m a freak!”

I nestled my head into the sleeves of my Snuggie, trying to get a handle on this newest revelation. My children, my siblings, and even my mother had called me prudish but I had always disregarded them. They were family. But to be called out by my own software...well, it was just too much.

“I blame our generation.” I continued. “We were born repressed. I mean, even our music was repressed.” I took a sip of his soda and blew my nose. “The Baby Boomers had a song about loving the one you're with and the Gen Y’ers have a song about girls kissing girls and liking it. All we Gen Xers had to proclaim our sexual freedom was a song about learning how to relax if you wanted to enjoy yourself. It made us not only repressed but neurotic!”

My husband patted my knee and grinned. “There, there honey. I will help you unleash your inner deviant.”

I shot him a look. I didn’t want to become unrepressed with him. We were married, and that meant it didn’t count.  No, I had to think of other ways to accomplish my task. Preferably sanitary ways with dim lighting.

My first step towards sexual liberation was to visit an adult toy store. I had seen the neon glow of its lights on a dark night before but I had never been inside. Clandestinely clothed in a long trench coat and a beanie stolen from my mother, I followed my husband inside. The shop was so bright I had to squint and even though it was still early, there were several customers milling about.

“What do you think?” My husband asked, gesturing towards a wall with an assortment of items in various animal-like shapes.  

“I think I’m going to go look at the lotions instead,” I said, as my husband perused the contents of a glass case. Maybe sexual repression wasn’t a symptom of Generation X after all. He seemed to have no trouble being a pervert.

 

The lotion section turned out to be pathetic so I wandered towards an area marked Arcade. After scavenging three quarters from my purse I headed in. Then quickly headed out. Thirty seconds in that room and I knew that I would never be able to play Donkey Kong or Pinball again.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, grabbing my husband’s arm before he could purchase the gladiator club he had been inspecting. “I don’t think this place is the answer.”

“We could go to a bar,” my husband suggested. “One of my old stomping grounds.”

If ever there was a place to find sexual liberation, it had to be at one of the bars my husband frequented back in his single days. I could probably find other things there too; things that required an insurance card to cure.

“Sure,” I said. If he had done it, so could I. “Let’s do it.”

The bar was dark. Almost pitch. And I couldn’t make out the faces of any of the patrons. “You used to pick up girls here?” I asked. “How could you even tell what they looked like?”

 

“It didn’t matter,” he shrugged, ordering a beer. “That’s the beauty of liberation.”

 

 “But what if they had warts on their face. Or back hair? Or a peg leg? You wouldn’t be able to tell until the next day.”

My husband took a long swill of his drink. “Nope.”

“God, I hate men.”

“See, now that’s an idea. You’ve been with men before and you still don’t feel like you've experienced everything right? Maybe you should try a woman?” Even though it was dark I could see the gleam in his eye. He was baiting me.

“Maybe I will,” I said crossing my arms. “Just to serve you right.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then. And maybe I will like women so much I won’t come back to you.”

I looked around the room, trying to determine which of the dark shapes were men and which were women. It was a losing battle. In this lighting, they all looked the same. I cocked an ear, hoping for some voice differentiation, but voices were drowned out by the static music of an old juke box.

“Look,” my husband lifted his bottle towards a figure at the far end of the bar. “That’s a woman. And she’s been looking at you all night.”

I peered into the darkness and could almost make out some curves on the frame. “Fine,” I said, slamming my drink down. “I’m going to hit on her.”

“You do that.”

As I marched towards the shape I began to lose my nerve. I had never hit on a man in a bar before, let alone a woman. I swallowed hard, embarrassed that I didn’t know any good pick up lines. I would have to opt for directness.

“Excuse me.” I said to the shape. “I have never kissed a woman before and I wondered if I could kiss you. Just to see what it’s like.”

I think the face smiled and nodded and I hoped she was cute. I didn’t want my first female kiss to be from a golem. She stepped down from her bar stool and stood before me, dwarfing me by a good five inches. I could feel my husband’s eyes bore into the back of my head and I turned, giving him one final haughty look before reaching up to find my companion's lips. But the moment my lips were about to touch hers, I freaked. “Sorry,” I said bolting back back towards my spot at the bar. The figure slumped back onto her stool and mumbled something about experimentalists.

“I guess I am repressed,” I sighed, grabbing my jacket.

“No my dear, you are just straight. And this is a lesbian bar. But I had to try.”

It was late when we got home and I settled into a deep funk. Why was it that everyone else could be liberated and confident in their sexuality, while I blushed when someone saw me picking out a pair of underwear in Target. I was a prude and I the sooner I faced it the better.

“You know,” my husband said, bringing me a bowl of ice cream and flipping off the TV. “I don’t think you are repressed at all.”

“You don’t?” I took a spoonful and remembered the time he brought home the fake handcuffs. I quickly hid them in the sock drawer and when he asked about them later I said that they had probably been burgled.  

“You’re just you.” He said. “And that’s marvelous. And amazing. And sexy.”

“And boring?”

“If there is one thing you are not, it’s boring.” He stood, took one of my hands, and pulled me up from the couch. “Let me go prove to you how un-boring you are.”

“Okay,” I said, following him. “But is it okay if we turn off the lights? This ice cream is already settling on my thighs.”

10 Creative Ways to Lose Weight

Well, it's summer again and that means I am forced to don a swimsuit in a few weeks for my husband's family reunion at the lake. An entire week of sucking in my gut, smoothing out my cellulite, and squeezing into a piece of material so small I can use it as a dish towel. I don't have much time left to 'get in shape' so this year I got creative. That said, here are my top 10 tips to lose weight (or at least look skinnier), without the drudgery of real diet and exercise.

You're welcome.

1. Go shopping. Walking burns tons of calories. So does running from your husband when he finds the receipts. Especially effective if your husband is also a runner.

2. Double up on the Spanx. Wear them whenever you aren't in your swimsuit. You wont be able to walk, sit, laugh, or pee, but you'll look super fantastic as long as you can hold that mannequin pose.

3. Eat at Taco Bell three times a day. Taco Bell is nature's cleansing system. Ever seen a fat roach? I didn't think so.

4. Eat quickly. Chew and swallow your food so fast that your stomach wont have time to count the incoming calories. This is the way the Ninjas ate and they were all skinny.

5. Run on a treadmill. Especially helpful if there is a Twinkie dangling in front of treadmill. Also works if someone has a taser pointed at you from behind.

6. Watch The Biggest Loser. Suddenly you aren't feeling so bad about yourself anymore. If Biggest Loser isn't on try The View. See? You're gorgeous!

7. Eat off your husband's plate. It's a little known diet fact that calories only count if they are on your own plate. If he objects tell him he is looking pudgy himself and you are trying to help him out. If that still doesn't work, threaten him with fork.

8. It is another little known fact that calories in batter format do not count. Eat half the cake before it is cooked and the other half after it is cooked. You have just saved yourself 50% of the calories!

9. Install a vomitorium. It worked for the Romans. It can work for you. Best when used in conjunction with Tip #3.

10. Enroll in an exercise class and tell everyone. You don't have to actually go. Just let them think you are going. You will suddenly get comments from friends and family about how great you look.

Married Date Night

I sat at the small round table, my hair curled, my face done, my breasts pushed up as high as I could possibly hike them. I smiled flirtatiously at my husband, shaking my head so that my oversized hoop earrings would jingle alluringly.

"...and then I went to Target and got us chips for the weekend. Baked Lays were on sale for three dollars a bag, so I stocked up."

It was date night and I was regaling him with the tales from my day. I had already filled him in on my shopping trips, the two episodes of Big Rich Texas I watched on our DVR, and the toilets I had cleaned just because they needed it. I gazed at him, waiting for that look of love that would surely spread across his face. Instead, he reached for the last warm pretzel on our plate and dipped it in cheese.

"Are you listening to me?" I asked.

"Yes of course I'm listening," he said, taking a bite.

"Then, what did I say?"

His face froze mid-bite and I could hear the wheels turning in his head. Finally, like the reels of a slot machine, they settled on something and hoped for a win. "The Dodgers game," he said, "You said you could win a trip to a Dodgers Game if you volunteer as a cancer testing guinea pig." Satisfied with his answer he turned his attention to a large flatscreen across from us. I growled but he didnt hear me.

I had feared this would happen when the hostess told us that the only seats available were in the bar. The room was a noisy, testoserone filled mancave complete with tabletop trivia machines and enough televsions to cause a power outage in a neighboring small town. But my husand seemed okay with the arrangments. In fact, he seemed downright happy.

I, on the otherhand, was peturbed. It was date night. A weekend ritual in our coupledom, forged in those first few grope-filled meetings and carried on into our now married existence. It was a tradition, damnit, and he had better pay homage to it. And attention to me.

"So," my husband said during a commercial break, "Did I answer right?"

"No, you didnt answer right."

"But you were talking about Dodgers and volunteering."

"Yes," I sighed, "I was talking about the Dodgers and volunteerism, but they were two different subjects separated by at least ten minutes of conversation about other subjects. I also talked about my mother, my diet, and what kind of cats we should get when we are old."

My husband stared blankly back at me, like he was hearing my words but not understanding them. "What I was saying in regards to the Dodgers and volunteering was this: #1 I am volunteering to assist with the local cancer awarness 5k this year and #2 Lee Dewyze is going to sing the National Anthem at the Dodgers game."

"Well, I was close anyway. I got two words right."

"You were not close. You listened for key words and combined them into something you hoped would work."

He shrugged, taking the last bite of his pretzel. "But I was half paying attention. That's better than a lot of guys."

"Maybe I should turn into a lesbian. That would serve you right."

"Okay, I'm listening now. Keep talking." He paused, his eyes rolling back into his head like he had just received divine inspiration. "Although, that lesbian idea isnt a bad one..maybe just on the weekends."

I sat there stewing, but decided to continue. We could still salvage date night if we tried. ."I talked to my mom today. She needs new glasses, but she is really enjoying the..."

"Fuck! Did you see that play? They are going to replay it. Watch!" My husband's gaze was directly over my shoulder and I turned in time to see some guy in white tights touching another guy in white tights with a small white ball. Safe! Declared the announcer to a jeering crowd."That could be the play of the year."


That was the moment I gave up. Maybe date night was something you did in the 'woo-ing stage of courtship, something that shouldn't be carried on once the monotony of marriage took hold. I mean, what could we talk about now that we spent 16 of our 24 hours per day together? Weeds in the backyard? The best preschools in our neighborhood? Who are neighbors have buried in their back yards? Perhaps date night for couples was a myth and I should just give in now. Better to give up now then to fight it for the next forty years only to come up with weekend after weekend of bitter disappointment. Our dinner came and I ate in silence, my husband's eyes still moving from one monitor to another making the full rotation of the room. It took him 15 minutes to notice that I hadn't said another word.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, wiping his chin with his napkin. "You suddenly got quiet."

"Nope," I said calmly as I polished off the rest of my wine. "Im just watching tv. Thats what we do on date night."

"Right on," he grinned, toasting me with a drumstick.

The Bastard.

***

"Honey, you sure everythings okay?" My husband asked later that night as we were getting ready for bed. Two hours had passed and I had still not spoken to him. I put on my oversized flannel pajamas, spread cold cream all over my face, and replaced my good underwear with the giant white ones purchased from the dollar store. If date night was offically over for us, so was the lingerie.

"Everything's fine," I said, making my way towards the living room. "Just going to watch more TV. I bet there's a few games we didnt catch in the restaurant."

My husband scratched his head, following me. Things were starting to register for him. "Im sorry," he said as I put my hair up into a ponytail with an old scrunchie. "I should have been paying attention to you tonight, not watching sports on TV. I'm terrible at multi-tasking."

I nodded and plopped onto the sofa. "I put on Spanx just for you." I said, fiddling with the remote. "Do you know how hard it is to get into those things? Let alone, out of them?"

He smiled. "Yes baby, you've told me. Again, I'm sorry. Tomorrow I will take you out again. Your choice. And there will be no TVs"

"Fine," I said, warming but not quite satisfied.

"You know," he said, settling down next to me on the couch. "You looked really good tonight. I liked your bangs, the way they wisped around your eyes like that. You must have got them cut."

I nodded and unfastened my pony tail. I shook my hair out for him to inspect and peered up at him from beneathe my newly carved bangs. "You really like?" I asked, surprised. No one had noticed, not even my best friend.

"And was that a different perfume you were wearing?" he asked, pulling me into his side. "You smelled amazing."

"You sure it wasnt the chicken wings?"

"No, it was all you."

I breathed deeply feeling his warm presence next to me.

"It was a free squirt from the Victoria's Secret store."

"You should get some. It was very sexy."

I smiled, accepting his arms. "I guess it was partly my fault too. I spent the entire evening talking about reality TV and my mother. Not exactly sexy."

"This must mean we are offically married now," he said, watching as I stood up and made my way towards the staircase. "Where you going?"

"To wipe this stuff off my face," I said, smiling at him. "And maybe if you are really lucky, to put on the good underwear."