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It’s V-day, as in please service my vagigi, or what my sister calls, her pretty fine china. For Valentine’s Day, this is my request of The Husband. Like a true dear, he has promised to fulfill the assignment. If nothing else, he has a strong work ethic.

Can I be frank? It’s gotten fairly quiet in the bedroom. Hot, nasty married sex is just not happening in my house. I mean, we’re practically newlyweds (what is the cut-off date for this anyway? One year? Two? ), yet I find myself suffering from the same erotic apathy that plagues many of my married with children girlfriends. Too tired. Not in the mood. Don’t feel sexy. Although, coming from them, it’s understandable—they’re cleaning up newborn barf and chasing erratic toddlers around the house. What’s my excuse? I’m a stepmom to a moody teenager who stays in his room?

Earlier this week, I said to The Husband, “Our sex life sucks ass.” He nodded and said, “Agreed.”

We were driving to the grocery store (totally unsexy) and upon our mutual agreement that our private parts were becoming distant friends, we made a firm pact to regroup, refocus– get back on track. Effective immediately! “Tonight, you’re mine,” I threatened. “Prepare to be violated. And possibly bruised.”

A slacker sex life just isn’t acceptable.

We’re high functioning people. Professional perfectionists. Wannabe over-achievers. A slacker sex life just isn’t acceptable.

When we returned from the store, The Husband had already provided me with a detailed outline of what he hoped to achieve that evening. Step 1, Step 2, Step 3. A bit ambitious, but I appreciated he had specific goals in mind. His enthusiasm was infectious and I was optimistically upbeat.

We can do this, I thought.

But, by the time we got into bed later that night, we were both exhausted. “I’m so tuckered,” I whimpered. “I’m gassy,” moaned The Husband. The idea of throwing each other about, rolling around, mounting and dismounting—it sounded dreadful. The only position I craved was horizontal and unconscious with blankets on top. So, I suggested we make an amendment to the schedule.

I said, “If we don’t have sex now, then we HAVE to set the alarm for 6AM, and do it then. That’s the new rule.”

At 5:50 AM, the alarm went off. I looked at the clock and mumbled, “Snooze it.”

The Husband said, “We’re supposed to wake up and have sex.”

“Not yet. The love session doesn’t start until six. Ten more minutes. Snooze it.”

The Husband laughed at this. “Okay, we will begin lovemaking promptly at six straight up.”

I realize this isn’t the most romantic or spontaneous approach, but so far, it’s proven effective– So, what if we just started the routine this week. After reading this story in The NY Times: Reinventing Date Night, I have a hunch that our dismal sexual record of late might have to do with spending too much time in our familiar comfort zone. Check it out…

“Simply spending quality time together is probably not enough to prevent a relationship from getting stale… Rather than visiting the same familiar haunts and dining with the same old friends, couples need to tailor their date nights around new and different activities… several experiments show that novelty — simply doing new things together as a couple — may help bring the butterflies back, recreating the chemical surges of early courtship.”

It’s true. I’m so much more in the dirty slut mood when we take the wrong exit, get lost in suburbia and have to ask the mailman for directions back to the freeway. I desperately want to avoid slipping back into our familiar slump: consensual abstinence, so between now and sundown, I’ve got to come up with something ridiculously novel. Perhaps even unlawful. I better start drafting an outline right now.
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Action Item #1: Have hot, nasty married sex

Image courtesy of The New York Times