We all reach that point in our relationships where ground rules are determined. Unfortunately, they’re unwritten and left open to interpretation. I contend that, since women make the final decision about whether there will be sex tonight, women should initiate.
You don’t realize how ego-bruising it is when I reach for a boob and am stonewalled. (I’m not referring to flat-chested females, whom I actually prefer to cereal-bowl-breasted babes.) There needs to be some indication of interest. Aside from the obvious male indicator–lumpius en pantsium–it’s safe for women to assume men are always in the mood. Even one hour after my vasectomy, sexual thoughts arose.
However, women are sometimes ready and other times prefer postponement. They are also in the mood for various acts, not just penetration. Sometimes they just want to make out or cuddle. Occasionally, they want to peak externally. On a rare occasion, when tequila hasn’t sufficiently saturated the bloodstream, they want to get downright freaky.
How’s a man to know?
It’s a precarious balance. If she’s in the mood and I don’t pick up on the signal, it signals a variety of possible issues I might have:
- I can’t get a hard-on and am in dire need of little blue pills.
- I masturbated too recently.
- My mind is on other things like taxes, hockey playoffs, and all-season radials.
- I’m gay.
- I don’t like her anymore.
- I’m concerned that I am (or she is) presently a bit unkempt.
- I need sleep.
- I’m not over an ex.
- I have a penis blister from the previous extended session.
- I hear my Mom calling me to dinner.
Typically, the issue is “none of the above.” It’s a matter of timing and communication. No man wants his woman to mercy fuck him. It smacks of desperation and neediness. He wants the desire to be mutual. Believe me, it’s not fun when your woman rolls onto her side, facing away from you, and says, “Help yourself and don’t take too long. I’m tired.”
What’s the solution?
How about a modern use of the refrigerator magnet? (It’s just my luck that magnets don’t stick to my goddamn refrigerator, so I’ll opt for Post-It notes.) I’m going to invent a horniness meter, similar to that spinning game piece used in Twister. There will be one for each partner.
The women’s indicator:
- Blue – “Touch me and I may de-dick you.”
- Green – “All right tonight, if you must.”
- Yellow – “Open for business, but I suggest you put a towel down first.”
- Red – “By the time we’re done tonight, you’re going to need an icepack and Advil.”
The man’s indicator:
- Blue – “[Pouting with lower lip extended.] But, honey … I’m all backed up. Please? Pretty please with Peppermint Astroglide on top? I promise I’ll do all my chores tomorrow.”
- Green – “I read online today that man-o-naise is good for your skin.”
- Yellow – “I’ll bring home flowers, rub your feet, make you dinner, watch Idol, and visit your parents with you this weekend.”
- Red – “I can hang. No, I’m not done yet. Five minutes. Come on, coach. Give me another shot.”
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