Posts Tagged ‘sex life’


Sexy Amnesia

love questionI was watching a talk show earlier today and an interesting question on relationships came up. Would you prefer a relationship that was emotionally blah with amazing sex, or emotionally amazing with blah sex?

For me, this was a complicated question with no easy answer.

I mean, seriously, I can’t think of anything more stimulating than someone who listens and is actually interested in what I’m saying. Someone who recognizes that I, too, am out here making the bacon so willingly shares in all of the household responsibilities. Someone who understands that I may not come to bed looking like an airbrushed beauty but recognizes that this woman knows how to handle her business.  Someone who treats me like a true friend not just the girlfriend or wife.  Someone who knows how to carry himself like a man but isn’t afraid of the fact that I am a strong woman.

To me, that is emotionally erotic, and I would take that any day over many things. But since this is just my dream, a good dose of mind-blowing, freak nasty, push-your-wig-back-kinda-sex can be just what the doctor ordered to give me a good case of amnesia, have me sucking my thumb, and mumbling ““oooooooooh , I love me some him…what was the question again?”


Dear Santa:


Dear Santa,

It’s been a long time since I wrote you a letter, but if you really exist I could use your help. I know you specialize in toys, so what I’m going to ask you for may really sound strange. It’s just that I’m a little desperate right now, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. However, before I tell you what I want under my Christmas tree, let me give you a little background so you’ll understand my request.

First, let me share that this is my favorite time of the year! I love all of the hustle and bustle, the good eats, and the time spent with family and friends. I just love it! The fun really starts at Thanksgiving but truly kicks into high gear the day after. No, not because of Black Friday sales….it has much more to do with the sounds of Christmas.

It’s the magic of Boys to Men harmonizing Let it Snow; little Michael, Jermaine, Tito and them sweetly singing Give Love on Christmas Day; and the soothing baritone of “Merry Christmas, from The Temptations” that officially sets it off for me.

Of course, we have to toss in the traditional Christmas songs and movies like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Even though I’ve watched these movies hundreds of times, they never get old and I never get tired of singing along with Frosty or the “misfit toys.” Seems like this time of year puts everyone in a good mood. Heck, even my husband is feeling the holiday cheer. Earlier today, I couldn’t hep but smile when I heard him humming the tune to The 12 Days of Christmas. I was singing and swaying along to his tune until I heard an unfamiliar – and unusually long – note that caused me to pause. It went a little something like this:

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaad.

On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaad.

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaad.

[This went on painfully for “7 days,” until he got to the 5th day of Christmas and sang out…]

On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaad, and licking of the baaaaaaaaaaalls.

I’m at a complete loss for words. My husband is a bonafide nutcase.

So, Santa, please, please, please… bring me a XL straight-jacket and a wooden club for Christmas. My husband needs a good dose of get right.

Thanking you in advance,



Got an App for that?


I was crying the other day over how silly I felt for believing that if I treated someone with love and respect that I would receive the same in return. After listening intently to my woes, one of my closest girlfriends replied, “men are stupid. Do you think they have an App for that?” I cried laughing.

Sometimes all it takes is a listening ear and some straight talk from a true loved one to snap you out of a funk.


Bedtime Wars

Never go to bed angry.Couple sitting up in bed, both looking away   Original Filename: couple.jpg

When I was younger, I would hold on to these words of advice as if they were the answer to my happily ever after. Too often, I would push aside my wounded emotions and crawl under the covers with a smile on my face and tears in my heart. While I was nurturing peace in my relationship, I was waging war in my spirit. By pushing aside my feelings for the sake of peace and a “good night’s sleep,” I was allowing my own feelings to be devalued.

As I’ve seasoned in life, I’ve learned that I also have to be true to me. The key to a happy marriage doesn’t start and stop at the bedroom door, so why pretend as if the answer lies somewhere between the tangled sheets? Besides I have yet to learn how to sleep peacefully after the one I vowed to love, honor, and cherish just threw a verbal barb that cut me down to the white meat.

Instead I build a fortress of pillows down the middle of the bed, put on my flannel armor, and lull myself to sleep with episodes of Snapped and pray that I don’t do just that. So, if this means that I go to bed angry…so be it.


No More 50-Yard Lovin’

This post is intended for the menfolk; so fellas, I’m going to break this matter down into language that you might better understand. Sports.

In the game of football, each team’s objective is to move the ball all the way down the field. When done successfully, the team scores points. Game won. Easy, right? Not necessarily.

The game of football involves strategy and teamwork that must occur not only on the field but off the field as well.

In the locker room, players psyche each other up about the pending game and give the Do-it-for-Brian-Piccolo/Brian’s Song locker room speech that has the players motivated and hyped to perform their very best on the field.

Well, the same thing applies in the game of lovemaking.

You wouldn’t start and stop the game on the 50-yard line, would you? So, why do you think that the game starts and stops in the bedroom? This game begins in the teasing text messages and calls that are exchanged throughout the day. It moves down the field in the kitchen when you brush up against one another while making dinner. It’s played out with each passing glance and successful play of words.

But, this game, too, can be set back with unnecessary personal fouls like illegal contact (excessive grabbing), unsportsmanlike conduct (taunting), unnecessary roughness, or hands (or balls) to the face.

All I’m suggesting, fellas, is that you play the game of lovemaking like you couch coach the game of football every week. Hype your woman up in her mental locker room. Make passes throughout the game. Huddle (or cuddle) up to talk about what you plan to do. And, then sit back and watch how easily the ball(s) can move down the field.

And, after all of that is done, if you want to go and stand with arms wide open in the middle of the field T. Owens style, then knock yourself out.

Until then – Hut! Hut!


Love Tug of War

Relationships can be so darn complicated sometimes…who am I kidding, most times. Things can be going so smoothly, then bam! all of a sudden you’re flailing your arms and trying to untangle yourself from the cobwebs of life that you unsuspectingly walked into.

Just yesterday, a friend of mine was sharing her woes about a tangled romantic web that she’s caught in. For years, she’d be in a quiet, unassuming, unspoken, committed relationship with a man. Sounds complicated already, right? You see, although they live in separate homes and live separate lives, they share responsibilities and a very intimate bond. Not intimate in the romantic sense, but a connection that will never be torn. They have a child.

Sure, she loves him but not in the I-can’t-sleep-I-can’t-eat kind of way. More like in the way that happens to people who put love on auto-pilot. She’d put thoughts of love up on a shelf because she was too busy raising her daughter, building her business, and being a “friend.” She didn’t need romance; she had reliable. And, she was content with that…or, at least that was what she said.  

Until she walked smack dab into love.

All of a sudden she was glowing. Entering from stage left is the new guy – Prince Charming. He was attentive, caring, protective, and romantic. He looked, smelled, and acted like looooooove.

(Umph, umph, umph. Don’t you remember the feeling?)

He stirred things up in her that she didn’t realize she was missing, and all of a sudden that old Saltines cracker didn’t taste so good anymore. She wanted the Ritz.

Problem is that even the Ritz is just a cracker. Although Prince Charming had all of the qualities that appealed to her as a woman, he also brought a few unsavory elements to the equation. Jealousy. Control. Insecurity. That’s when a woman wants to just fall to her knees and say “Dayum, dayum, dayum!!! Where was this part in the Happily Ever After tales that momma used to read?!”

So now she finds herself in a love tug of war, mentally trying to weigh the pros and cons of each relationship. Should she stick with the ol’ reliable man who perhaps isn’t the most romantic but who she shares history and a child with? Or, should she go out on a limb and follow Prince Charming who might just be a Saltines in disguise?


Don’t make me act like a man

In the book/movie “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man,” Steve Harvey seeks to provide the ladies with the answer key to the well-guarded man code. Most times, I tend to agree with what “Uncle Steve” shares with his fans on this subject, but what happens when a woman has to do more than just think like a man? Sometimes, unc’, we also have to act like a man. By that I mean sometimes our menfolk ain’t handling their business the way they should, and the ladies are left with no alternative but to slip our freshly pedicured toes into some scuffed up Timberlands (or wing-tipped shoes for my white collar brothas) to handle business.

We prefer our man to take the car to the auto mechanic. We rather our man sit in the barbershop with the boys while they get their hair cut. We appreciate an old-fashioned fella who remembers to pull out his wallet to pay for the meals (even if it’s from a joint account). And, yes! We expect a man to open – and hold open – a building door, garage door, trap door, any door for us to pass through.

As my girl Jill Scott cooed “even though I can do all these things…(by my damn self) …we need you.”

But, if our man asks us to cut the grass, take out the trash, or jumps behind us if a brawl breaks out, we might want to leave our lady-like mannerisms behind and man up.


My hairdresser is ruining my sex life

Every time I go to the hairdresser, my husband seems to be singing a new tune in the bedroom when I get home. At first, I guess I didn’t pay it much mind; I mean, it’s really difficult to decipher someone else’s mood when I am already trying to decompress from my own exhausting day on the job. Besides a monthly visit to the hair salon is always a much needed, and from the looks of my split ends, long overdue treat. I just assumed that he was equally exhausted from his long days and commutes, or perhaps he needed to unplug from the noise and chaos of the four (yes, count ‘em, 1 – 2 – 3- 4) kids. Whatever his reason was, I found myself too tired to figure it out, so I would shrug my shoulders, wrap my hair, adorn my fleece pajama pants and sweatshirt, and dive under the warmth of the comforter. (Aaaaaah, nice.)

Well, the truth finally came out. Yes, my husband really despises when I come to bed with my sweats on; apparently, he has visions of the naked, flexible me (or at least I hope it’s me) floating around his mind. But, it’s not just the sweats, it is the head scarf that accompanies the sweats after my visit to the hair salon! Come on, folks. I just spent $50 + dollars to get my ‘do done, so I am simply trying to protect my investment and maintain the style for at least a couple of days. Look, I understand that it’s not the most attractive bedwear, but seriously who’s looking at my head? And, more importantly, why is it that men think that women are supposed to come to bed looking like sex kittens when they are over there farting and scratching their balls? (Can I say that?)

He says that my scarf confuses him and that when he wakes up in the morning he’s not sure if he needs to throw up gang signs or order a hot stack of pancakes. It looks likes there will have to be a little bit of marital compromise here. How about this? I’ll throw in a French maid’s uniform and ask him how he likes his hotcakes, because the scarf is here to stay!