We’re back from our holiday trips, which were short, fast and bit tiring. Actually we could only indulge a weekend out to Bavaria, where we left our 18 year-old daughter to spend a two weeks vacation at our good relatives. Where, on a side note, she helps my goddaughter with baby sitting. Then we prepped our twins for their scouts camp and actually made sure they arrived well there. As I write, they are satisfying their curiosity to learn the treks of the forests. Then, yesterday morning, our 20 year-old daughter departed for the freshman college camp. Yes, after finishing high school, she’s studying Germanistic. And so, it’s for the first time, since the month of May, when we found ourselves home alone. Again! But this week our kids won’t return from schools every afternoon.
Saturday evening, Don took me out for a date. We hold hands and chatted like we did in the ’80s. We even indulged an ice cream. Woo… Sugar and margarine? Maybe. “But what the heck, we won’t ruin our shape,” said Don promising that the next ice cream he will buy me will be next August.
The coincidence is that we’re also celebrating our wedding anniversary this early August. Late in the 1980s, on a blessed Saturday morning, we said “I do” to each other and in front of the Lord. Thank to Him, our mutual love grows more and more by the day. There’s no math to measure love. I can tell you. Hubby tried to fit some equations on a whim but had to give up shortly after reason brought his mind back in place. Told him this before wasting his time with the research. Not that he sweated too hard on it. Seeing the nonsense, he rushed to forget the whole metric of love theory and focus on the carnal applications of love.
What he never forgets is having me walk nude around the house and in the garden and, if you didn’t figure out yet, the photo shooting sessions.
The generous sun of August on my skin, the rays of light breaking through the walnut tree, or through the pines, the gentle flowers in blossom, then touching the warm wood on the old bench, all these made me think that we cannot pray and thank enough for the paradise we were given.
Yesterday we had sex with a vengeance, I yelled and screamed and moaned as loud as possible, no one could hear my FREEDOM. Even our neighbors were out in vacation (and still are). The street looked desert… and still looks.
And if you think that your man in his mid forties can’t deliver on you twice a day (not every day, I admit) then think again. They say this is a myth. No, it’s no myth, since it happened to me. Yesterday and today too!
Sure, last time when something similar occurred to us was months ago. And so I suspect that common stress, and the presence of kids upstairs, and the noise of life are more to blame on your man’s unmythical performance decline. It’s the environment, my ladies. “And supplements,” rants hubby from under his own laptop a meter away from me. “Are you peeking at what I write?” — I ask. Well, I think he is and when I turn to him I get that puppy look asking for more cuddling. He is shrewd because he offers to cuddle in order to trap me in his hands. When I tell him why isn’t he interested in just cuddling and sleeping, he replies that anyway ninety percent of the time we touch each other is cuddling, not sex. For me all his cuddling percent are as valuable as his ten percent of man-thought sex.
Consider that this morning he shot almost two hundred photos with me walking through the garden. Naked, of course. Then I pretended to sunbathe on a yellow deck chair. He told me to do that while switching the camera on film mode. Then I gave him a, err, heads up. For him just the movie was sex. The rest was posing. But I feel otherwise. When I please him with a word or with a look, by posing or making love, giving myself to his will is what relaxes and what drives me through life.
Oh yes, you may say that I’m brainwashed to obey my man, to slave him. Well, if you do think this way then let me tell you how love and sex work together in marriage.
First, you gotta rationalize two things about your man, his biorhythm and his ideals. If his left brain balances well with his right brain, it means that he dreams with his feet on the ground. So make sure you’re part of his every dream. If he’s a beer drinker, or the job keeps him away from you, then you don’t have to worry so much about pleasing him sexually. But if he’s a fitness fan then you know that one of his preferred sports is loving you physically. Mine’s sole sport is this.
Denying your man what he expects from you is plain wrong. And teaching him what to expect from you is the key to your everlasting marriage. Case in point. For various reasons, not the theme of this post, my hubby won’t come in me. I blame the birth pill on this. How’s that? …
Will write about this in my next post. Until then let’s share some fresh photos, in original, no artistic effects for now.
It’s almost midnight. Twelve minutes left to run from the record of our nostalgic wedding (it was a VHS tape before Don digitized it on a CD). And I desperately need my beauty sleep.
Don promised to return with more, as he finds time to edit and process them, and comment. Nite… yawn…