Wedding Bed Bliss
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The world has changed. We talk about this frequently, my friends and I. For so long men were able to “love em and leave em” but at some point women realized how good of a gig it was for men. In spite of what we are told we should want, we dont want to get married. At least, no reasonable woman would. A wedding ring is the noose that chokes the life out of romantic relationship. Why trade dinners out and back rubs in, for crock pot cooking and body noises. No sane woman jumps at that, trust me. Still, it is getting harder and harder to find a man willing to be just “friend.”
They all seem to want to get married now-a-days, men that is. What is it that they are looking for—mom, best friend, child bearer, a steady but incredibly boring sex life? Theres the crux of this marriage business. Why is it that men are more than willing to put out before you marry them, then once the ring is on the finger it is as if the blood flow is cut off from the penis. It lies there, lifeless, except maybe on Saturday night, every other week. And its always the same. Two minutes of kissing, tongue if he is feeling a bit frisky, three minutes on the right breast, one minute on the left. This always results in an odd sibling rivalry of sorts… “he likes you better”…”you were always his favorite…”, back up to the mouth, one full minute of kissing and then…hes in… and then hes out. Ten minutes, max.
Women get bored easily. Its our nature, thats why we collect shoes. Some of us collect husbands and lovers. Trust me, the shoes are a better bargain. Caught in a what has been reduced to a ten minute love fest, you try to spice things up a bit. You ask your gay guy friends for advice on blow jobs. You read magazines to find out what the latest, hottest position is, only to realize most women have been doing that since the girl on the cover was conceived. You search the net endlessly. Equipped with this “knowledge” you try it out on your unsuspecting man on the following Saturday. He seems to enjoy it until about one minute into the two minute post sex snuggle. Then he panics. He thinks you are having affair, really, how else would you KNOW how to do that and even more important, WHY do you need it to be different. You blame it on Oprah.
I blame this on the hippies of the sixties. The women had