If you can’t get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you’d best teach it to dance.

puppet(quote by George Bernard Shaw)

The same applies to your spouse. You don’t really want to get rid of him, do you? He’s a decent fellow. Sure, he has some flaws. Who doesn’t? Luckily, you’ve learned how he operates. Being a man, as well as former spouse, I must admit to dancing on the end of strings occasionally. Although my strings are long gone, I watch lovely puppeteers make their men move. Last night one worded it masterfully, as she devised a plan to join the next girls’ night out.

“I’ll fuck my way there.”

“Fascinating.”

“Plus, I’m a bit horny anyway.”

“And, I’m a bit intrigued.”

“Oh, come on. We do the same with pets and children, don’t we? Dangle the reward to get what we want.”

“Woof. Or, do you prefer paw language? One stomp means yes; two means my foot itches.”

“I’ll just do another shot of tequila, then go home and fuck his brains out. Then, while he fades into post-coital bliss, I’ll seek permission to hang out with the ladies tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like you may have used this strategy more than once.”

“Numerous times. You’d be surprised what a blowjob gets me.”

“Would I?”

“He’s putty in my hands, he’s well aware of it, and he has no complaints.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he may be perfectly fine with you going out, even without his glazed wiener?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could go home tonight and simply express your desire to join the ladies tomorrow. He probably doesn’t mind, but he might furrow his brow, knowing resistance will lower your panties.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“Hello, Miss Pot. Meet Mr. Kettle.”

“It’s easier to just screw him into submission. That way I get something out of it too.”

“Ah, marital bliss. I miss it. Here I sit–the stiff wooden fellow in the corner of her toy closet. Nobody wants to make me dance.”

“Aw. Don’t pout. I’m sure some puppet master will come along and yank you.”

“Yippie!”

Sexual currency is quite precious, but frequently devalued when presented to the woman. Sad.

“Honey, how about I give you a good beefin’, then you let me join my bros for UFC fight night this weekend?”

“How about you fix the garage door, paint Josh’s room, hire a new gardener, and then I’ll consider it?”

“I’ll throw in a ten-minute foot rub.”

“You’re picking up dinner from PF Chang’s, and folding the laundry. Oh, and don’t forget to pick Josh up from soccer at six.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Yes, Mr. Stewart, you have.”

“I think we should go shopping tonight. How about a few laps around the outlets? I hear BCBG is having a sale.”

“Now we’re talking. Tell you what–we can turn this into an exercise of efficiency. You pick up dinner and Josh while I go shopping. We’ll eat, I’ll model my new blouse, and allow you to make love to me. If you ring my bell, you’ll be free to go.”

“Deal. Wait. How much does that new blouse cost?”

“Three blowjobs, plus tax.”

“Done.”

He who demands little gets it.

(quote by Ellen Glasgow)

There are reasons why we have currency instead of promises, the primary one being that people can easily deny making promises, but when you hold evidence, you can rest assured. If someone borrows a hamburger, glass of wine, or wrench from me without handing me a promissory note, that shit is gone–for good. Lesson learned: Demand a receipt, or get little.

Same applies to relationships. I may or may not have heard of or been party to making promises for advance blowjobs, which went unfulfilled. Men will promise almost anything for five minutes of road head. Then, after a good throat coating, the poor women is stuck desperately seeking a breath mint, with little hope of her man reciprocating as she drives his drunk ass home. Now, if she were to obtain one lick-gasm buck from her man before unzipping, he would not be able to deny ever making such promises while falling asleep face-down.

There needs to be love currency, and it should be issued in the state of California so there are no expiration dates. As with other currency, there needs to be exchange rates. Allow me.

  • 1 road head to completion = 1 twenty-minute lapping while she reads Glamour = 1 Coach purse
  • 1 dinner with her two best friends and their husbands = 1 just lie there and let her do all the work = 1 nice bottle of 12-year-old Scotch
  • 1 woman wearing uncomfortable lingerie = 1 man never wearing those tighty-whities and yellowing T-shirt again
  • 1 ten-minute (each) foot massage = 1 toe-curling two-fisted beej with gentle bag fondling
  • 1 evening at the mall = 1 morning quickie without kisses or speaking
  • 1 cleaning of the garage = 1 sex session during the evening news
  • 1 exchange of cars so he can have hers fixed = 1 condom-free kitchen counter boffapalooza
  • 1 couple’s massage = 1 pair of tickets to a pro baseball game, and he can choose whom to take
  • 1 half-marathon = 1 balls deep banging, reverse cowgirl-style, while she rubs Ben-Gay into his sore knees
  • 1 evening with the in-laws = 1 entire evening of topless boobies bouncing back and forth delivering ice cold beer to him as he enjoys the game

The precious metals of sorts, upon which the love currency depends would be, for him:

  • Aluminum – Nipple Exposure
  • Silver – Sex
  • Gold – Blowjob
  • Platinum – Butt Sex

For her:

  • Aluminum – La Crema
  • Silver – Coach
  • Gold – Tiffany
  • Platinum – A quiet bath with fine scents and high water pressure.

This is the way it must be, people. Verbal promises (sometimes referred to as oral promises), have no legal binding, even when witnessed or recorded. If your man promises to eat an entire banana cream pie off your cooter, you need to get that shit in writing, otherwise he might deny it all and hand you a zucchini. If he expects you to fellate him in order for him to suffer through another week of The Bachelor, call your local notary and make it official, otherwise he’ll be done and halfway to the pub before Chris Harrison delivers the first date envelope. In case of a dispute or termination of the relationship, you may be able to cash in that currency with another merchant. Some accept Traveler’s Sex Cheques. Look for that shiny decal in the window.

Sexual Olympics you should try tonight.

sexual olympicsAll right, folks, it’s time to spice up your love lives. Competition is exciting. Some of you may be too shy to have judges nearby (I am available and will work for wine), so I recommend events that can be scored objectively. I hope you learned a lesson from those evil badminton teams: no intentionally losing events or you will be punished. Speaking of punishment …

Event #1 – Spanking

  • The objective here is to cause impermanent reddening and heightened sensitivity. This is typically easier for the man to excel, especially in the doggie position. However, a skilled woman can slap an ass in missionary position as long as her ankles aren’t in the vicinity of her earlobes. Extra points are scored for the slab-grab maneuver. Deductions will be assessed for booby and testicle slapping.

Event #2 – Slicking

  • This requires props, so load up on oils and syrups. You’ll receive extra points if you use honey, whipped cream, and jelly. There are deductions for buffalo wing sauce. I’d consider throwing down a baby pool, but that’s just me and my pristine sheets.

Event #3 – Sneak Attack

  • Instead of the usual–we go to bed, you blow me some, I go down on you a bit, we hump for five minutes, squirt, and sleep–this event requires spontaneity (and the ladies likey). Sneak up on your mate in the parking lot of work, the gym, or the market. Toss your lover into the back seat and have at it. Bonus points will be given if it’s sunny. Deductions will be given if you have a convertible and you’re parked near a school.

Event #4 – Sexting

  • Search online for sexy phrases (Why reinvent the wheel?), and fire up that camera phone. Keep your face out of the pictures and always take shots from above, not below, as saggy things look less saggy that way. You’ll get bonus points if the privates in the pictures are engorged and you get deductions if they are not your privates.

Event #5 – Water Sports

  • How creative you get in this event depends on how large your tub and shower is. I advise against using the Slip-n-Slide in your backyard, as neighbors can be nosy. In a pinch you can use a hose and your garage. This event requires soap bubbles, and I insist you use “no tears” brands as bloodshot eyes, while they conceal imperfections, are not sexy. You’ll receive extra points if you wear nose plugs, can shave privates without nicks, and can massage a scalp during penetration. There are deductions for losing the soap and peeing.

 

Be thankful that you can enjoy these events without the annoying delayed broadcast, which keeps you up past your bedtime watching something while making believe you don’t know how it ends. In fact, it’s perfectly acceptable to have NBC’s Olympic coverage on during your events, especially if swimmer/diver chests and crotch bulges, or gymnast/volleyballer lower ass quadrants enhance your performance.

On your mark … get set … go!

Top things that get your juices flowing.

It’s odd how far apart the genders are when it comes to what gets us in the mood. Occasionally those roads intersect (like on Tequila Drive), but most of the time what gets one going gets the other scratching a scalp.

Take, for instance, porn. Now, the women who speak to me of this may indeed be lying, but what I usually hear is disgust around how unrealistic most scenes are. Men rarely meet a porn they don’t like, as long as a brother’s nasty bunghole is obscured. We certainly have preferences. There’s always a certain position in the clip that we consider to be our money-shot. (For those unaware, the money-shot is that brief moment of ecstasy before we need a towel and a nap.) The money-shot for me is the seated position with woman on top facing away from the camera. As the imaginary director, I prefer the scene to be clear of ugly tattoos, hemorrhoids, and ball scars.

Women sometimes find porn useful as long as it contains romance and intrigue instead of a woman giving a horrible operatic performance while an ape tries to pound her hips through the bed frame. Men care not of plot.

Gifts can put a person in the mood. This can include flowers, chocolates, jewelry, clothing, or a bullet vibrator. Heck, I once was treated to good loving for performing a simple household chore (emptying the dishwasher). A man never really knows when his deed will create a spark or spray of asbestos. Worse, there’s no consistency. I emptied that fucker four subsequent times without being granted similar treats.

For men, gifts aren’t necessary to get us in the mood. I appreciate a nice bottle, Padres tickets, and a soft T-shirt, but those items are insignificant to my little friend, Willy. However, seeing you emerge from the bedroom in one of my shirts barely covering your biscuit certainly does the trick for both Willy and me. If you happen to be carrying two wine glasses, a fine bottle of red, and have glittery cleavage, I doubt we’ll make it past the first five ounces.

Since I write books, I wonder if a reader ever slyly undoes her top Joe’s Jeans button, slides her free hand southerly, and brings herself physically in the direction my words point. I’d be flattered. Heck, I’m blushing as I write about it. I’d have to admit I’m suddenly in the mood. Be right back …