Fashion Models:
sex

I know - I'm a mom (blah, blah, blah) and ... this is a Mommy Blog (blah, blah, blah) and ... some of you are probably screaming, "She's not seriously going to talk about SEX is she?"

I AM.

This is my blog and I'm not getting any younger and ... I WANT TO TALK ABOUT SEX!

(Mom and Dad - get on outta here - I'm fixin' to talk about SEX. Seriously - GO!).

I never write about such things as sex on my blog. I talk about my kids. I occasionally talk about my shoes. I talk about the cats and the dogs and the plants in my yard. I don't talk much about cooking or post recipes - cuz I iz not a good cook.

Today - I'm talking about SEX!

I'm all for SEX and have never had a problem talking openly about SEX.

Today - I'm talking about SEX!

When I married The Cowboy - we were twenty-two years old.

He was very cute!

We had SEX all the time.

We did!

This was back when I was also cute and tiny and sexy and ...

Drove a pretty, white, Firebird with T-tops, leather interior and a rockin' CD player (this was when CD players just came out in cars).

I'd drive around town in my beautiful sports car, wearing short shorts, tank-tops with no bra and have the radio blasting my favorite Michael Bolton, Soul Provider CD (shut-up Jen - he WAS cool back then).

When I'd get home ...

I'd search out The Cowboy ...

Whisper sexy nothings into his ear ...

Rub up against him ...

And, we'd ...

Fall down anywhere we wanted in our empty house ...

Or search out some exotic or risky location ...

And we'd ...

Have ...

SEX!

It's really all we ever thought about back then.

It's really all we ever needed to do to have FUN!

Now ...

I have four children and the poochy tummy and stretch-marks to show for birthing those four children. I've been driving a van for seventeen - SEVENTEEN - years! I am lucky to find a bra that still has the under wire intact and ... I don't even want to talk about the underwear.

And ... what do we do for fun now?

Well, let me just put it this way ...

If I ever fall down on the floor in my empty house - I'm usually looking to retrieve lost Legos or Barbie shoes from underneath the TV cabinet or scraping gum off the tile floor with a butter knife.

And ... the only thing the word exotic applies to anymore is the animal print rugs we have on our family room floor and risky only applies when The Cowboy and I attempt to actually try to have sex when the kids are awake.

There is nothing - NOTHING - I have needed lately, more than ... TO FEEL YOUNG AGAIN.

You know?

So ...

The other night ...

I brushed my hair.

I brushed my teeth.

I slathered on some Obsession body lotion all over my not-so-firm-and-stretch-marked body and ...

I crawled into bed next to my snoring cowboy and I woke him up at 1:30 in the morning.

And ...

The Cowboy and I ...

HAD SEX!!!

*Okay - hold that thought. I have to go to the dentist. I'll be right back*

*Tick-tock*

*Tick-tock*

*Ticktock*

*Ticktock*

*Ticktock*

*Ticktock*

*Ticktock*

Okay, I'm back - sorry about that.

YES!

WE HAD SEX!

What was so amazing was ....

Well ...

Aside from the fact that we actually had SEX ...

Was that ....

IT WAS FREAKIN' FANTASTIC!

It was that kind of sex we had when we were younger.

It was that kind of sex we had when we were in the earliest years of our marriage (BC -before children).

It was that kind of sex where you talk dirty (if that's your thing - it's our thing - there was dirty talking).

It was that kind of sex where there were lots of good, long, lust-filled, lustful, lustalicious ... kisses. YUM!

It was the kind of sex that young girls that drive cool TransAms have with really cute cowboys!

It has been a while since we have had this kind of SEX.

Too long.

Way too long.

LONGER THAN SHOULD BE LEGAL!

I don't know about you but ... kids sure put a cramp - a seventeen year cramp - in my SEX life.

I've tried to keep the spark alive (well except for that one five year stretch in there where I couldn't give a crap about anything other than sleep).

I've tried to shake things up from time to time to keep things interesting.

I've tried to put barricades against the door to our bedroom to keep those little monsters from storming in ...

It's not been easy *sigh*.

The Cowboy won't mind that I told you.

He's all about people thinking he's having sex.

He's all about actually ... having sex.

When we were through the other night, The Cowboy rolled over, sighed deeply and said, "That was just like when we were younger."

"Yes ... it was," *breath breath* "just don't turn the lights on. I look like chit."

And ... I did.

But, that was only after.

During ...

I was beautiful and firm and sexy and ... 22 again!

On the upside ... The only thing that worries me is ... there's a really good possibility that this was all ... a dream.

-

"Where ya goin', Hon?" The Cowboy adjusts his Stetson and moves towards his wife.

"Off to the doctor. It's that time of year again." Kellan rolls her eyes as visions of stirrups send a cold chill from her feet all the way up her spine.

"Oh, good. Maybe ask him about that sex thing again. See if there's something he can give you to make you frisky - like you were when you were younger, you know, before we had all them doggone kids."

Kellan sighs loudly. "Okay, Hon."

*Six hours later*

*Nurse enters waiting room filled with 64 women waiting for their annual exams*

"Kellan - the doctor will see you now. Come this way. Take off all of your clothes. Put on this gown made of Kleenex. Sit here on this stirrup table with your back and ass fully exposed and stare at the huge vagina on the wall for fifty-six more minutes and Dr. I-only-became-a-Gynecologist-so-I-could-brag-to-all-my-college-buddies-that-it-was-true-I-do-get-to-look-at-vaginas-all-day-every-day-I-bet-you-wish-you-were-me ... will come in and see you shortly.

*Fifty-six minutes later Dr. I-only-became-a-Gynecologist-so-I-could-brag-to-all-my-college-buddies-that-it-was-true-I-do-get-to-look-at-vaginas-all-day-every-day-I-bet-you-wish-you-were-me meanders into the tiny room*

"Hi, Lady. How are you.?"

"I'm Kellan. It's me, Kellan. Remember me? I saw you last year. And, the year before that and the year before that. You delivered all of my kids. I've been coming to you for 20 years. Kellan. Remember?"

"Oh, no. I can't possibly remember all of you ladies. I don't remember you. No. You know, this is like a freakin' cattle call around here. We herd ladies in by the dozens each day and I don't have time or the inclination to actually remember any one's name," he says too casually and then straddles the small stainless steel stool across the room.

"Oh."

"So, how have you been?"

"About the same."

"Are you eating?"

"Yeah - I eat. But ... I need to ask you about my sex drive."

"How about sleep? Do you sleep?"

"Yes, I sleep. But ... I have no sex drive. I haven't had a sex drive for over ten years."

"Your legs and arms work?"

"Yes, they work. But ... I could care less about sex."

"How about your fingers. They okay?"

"Yes, my fingers are all fine. But ... I need something for my sex drive. I just don't have any desire to have sex anymore."

"How about your breasts? How are they?"

"They hurt most of the time."

"Too much caffeine," he says, jotting notes in my chart.

"And, your head? How's your head?" he asks, appearing a little bored.

"Hurts most of the time."

"Too much caffeine," he states, jotting more notes in my chart.

"And, how about your mood?" he asks and yawns.

"Cranky. Mean. Bitchy," I say, trying hard not to be cranky or mean or bitchy.

"Too much caffeine," he says, his answer echoing off the walls of the claustrophobic exam room and around the inside of my numb brain.

"But ... Dr. I-only-became-a-Gynecologist-so-I-could-brag-to-all-my-college-buddies-that-it-was-true-I-do-get-to-look-at-vaginas-all-day-every-day-I-bet-you-wish-you-were-me ... what about my sex drive? I never want to have sex. I'm not at all like I was when I was younger. My husband is going to find someone younger to have sex with if I don't get this fixed."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Four."

"Well, there's your problem. Nope. We can't fix that. Nope."

*blink blink*

"Sorry, can't be fixed. We don't' have a clue how to fix it. Honestly, we really don't care. You know, that would take millions of dollars and years of research to figure all that crap out and that just makes no sense to all of us men who are running the country and the research companies and insurance companies and, you know, we run the world and we don't care much about that sort of crap."

"Um - it can't be fixed?"

"Uh, no. It's broken," he says dismissively.

"What's broken?"

"Your rubber band," he raises his eyes along with his voice about three octaves.

"Rub-ber band?"

"Yep, the one in your brain," he says, lowering his eyes to my chart again.

"Maybe I should see a Neurologist - since it's a brain thing?"

"Nope. Can't be fixed. It's not just the brain. It's thyroid, hormones, fatigue, stress, caffeine - too much to fix. It's broken," his tone is nonchalant as he stands to go.

"Um, okay. Thanks, Dr. I-only-became-a-Gynecologist-so-I-could-brag-to-all-my-college-buddies-that-it-was-true-I-do-get-to-look-at-vaginas-all-day-every-day-I-bet-you-wish-you-were-me."

I change back into my street clothes, throw the Kleenex robe into the trash and head back home.

*Later that night in bed with The Cowboy*

"So, how'd it go at the doctor today? Did you get some pills or some juice or some acupuncture to fix that sex thing?" The Cowboy slips off his cowboy boots, jeans and shirt and falls onto the bed - still wearing his Stetson and a big smile.

*sigh*

"It's broken and it's can't be fixed. Sorry, Hon." Kellan reaches for a book on her bedside nightstand and flips it open to read.

"What's broken?" The Cowboy asks curiously.

"My rubber band."

The cowboy gasps loudly. "NO!" His eyes are as wide as a lasso.

"Yep - can't be fixed. How did your appointment go?" Kellan lays the book on her lap and listens.

"It went great." The Cowboy reaches over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and retrieves a freezer-size baggie full of colorful pills. "I didn't even actually have to see the doctor." He smiles real big as he shakes the baggie full of pills in front of Kellan's face. He goes on, "There's like all these pill dispenser machines in the waiting room and they dispense ten pills for a quarter. These are the pills I got." He shakes the bag again enthusiastically.

Kellan sits up in the bed and takes the bag of pills in her hands. "So, what's this red pill do?" She holds a red pill in her palm and stares at it in amazement.

"Oh, that's to make it harder for like 3 hours."

"And, what about this blue pill?" Kellan drops the red pill back in the bag and touches her finger to one of the blue pills.

"Oh, to make it longer," he says snidely as he clasps his hands behind his neck and puffs out his bare chest.

"How about the yellow pills?"

"Oh," he chuckles, "those make it glow in the dark." His grin is wide and exaggerated.

"Case you can't find it?" Kellan giggles.

The Cowboy doesn't laugh.

"What about these rainbow colored ones and sparkly ones?" Kellan pushes the rainbow and sparkly pills around the plastic bag.

"So if you want it to be rainbow colored or ... sparkly," The Cowboy says in a sarcastic tone.

"Ah." Kellan shrugs. "What about the green ones?"

"Oh, those are new!" The cowboy exclaims and sits up excitedly. "Those make it dance." His smile is so big, Kellan thinks it's going to break The Cowboy's face.

"And ... the black ones?" Kellan pinches a black pill between her fingers.

The Cowboy grunts and then rolls his eyes.

Kellan slaps herself on the forehead. "Oh, but of course," she responds, visions of especially large pickles that are grown in Africa popping into her broken brain.

Kellan falls back on her pillow and sighs loudly.

"So, what do you want to do?" The Cowboy asks, adjusting his Stetson on his head and then turning on his side to look into the eyes of his useless wife.

Kellan holds the bag of pills up in front of her face.

She reaches inside and grabs several pills.

She hands them to The Cowboy.

"Here - take these and then turn off the lights," Kellan says, her tone a bit bored.

The Cowboy pops the pills into his mouth, flicks the switch on the clock radio to a country station, tosses his Stetson on the floor, turns off the bedside lamp, pushes the covers aside and ... he and Kellan spend the next 3 hours watching his humongous, rainbow colored, glow-in-the-dark penis dance in the dark while ... yet another rubber band twists and stretches until it breaks inside of Kellan's head.

The End

Note: This is a fictional tale brought on by too many discussions with my women friends about the unbalanced treatment and attention to women's issues compared to men's. The only thing true in this story is my name and the fact that all of my rubber bands are indeed broken. Oh, yes, and I do like when The Cowboy wears his Stetson to bed.

-