My Husband Needs a Pseudonym

My husband quit social media three years ago. He still subscribes to my blog, however. All day Wednesday I was bracing myself for him to come home and blow a gasket over my post about directional sex (You say Position, I say Direction). Fortunately he has long days at work where he has no access to his cell phone and his personal email. Furthermore, he carpools and often drives, so that eliminates another 2 to 3 hours of his potential reading and relaxation time right there.

So when he walked in the door, I tried to read the expression on his face and everything looked perfectly normal in the way a typical kind of ‘it’s Wednesday and we only have 20 minutes to have a family dinner and get P out the door to volleyball practice.’ way.

Steve drives her to practice while I clean up the kitchen. When he gets home, I am thinking, hmm…maybe he is back to only looking at his email once every three weeks. Feeling somewhat relieved and smug, leave the room for a few minutes. When I return, he is laying on the bed looking at his phone.

Me, one-half casual, one half sucking up: Hey, honey…whatcha doing?

Steve: Just reading about my sex life on the internet.

Me, thinking, Oh fuck. How do put a positive spin this?: Um. yeah, People think it’s pretty funny.

Steve: I can’t wait to go to work tomorrow. I’m not going to be able to show my face for ten years.

Me: Don’t be silly. You’ll retire long before that. Plus you could wear this mask Peyton made for school.


I told my husband if he couldn’t show his face in public, he could use this beautiful mask Peyton had made for some class she is taking. Don’t ask me which one.

Then he remembers that all of my FB friends from his job are people he no longer works with so that’s OK. It’ could even be less horrifying than that time I had everyone at work calling him Pookie.

Every few minutes he reread a part out loud and says, “My mother can read this.” Yes. “Your mother can read this.” Yes, though I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it for either of them.

I tell him, “We’ve been married for quite a while AND I am 50 years old. I figured I was old enough to know about and talk about sex.”

Steve, silent for a moment, retreats to the bedroom. He is not angry about any of this. He genuinely seems surprised and amused I published the piece.

Also isn’t he so cute? The 53-year-old former altar boy is embarrassed even though he has technically been a grown up for at least ten years. I think it is cute that he is a little embarrassed that people may know that he has sex with his wife.

So maybe I need to come up with a pseudonym for him. That should make him feel much better. if I start writing about my intimate life with Fabio that will make things much less awkward and embarrassing for him.

Then I hear, “How do you just wake up one day and decide to write about your sex life on the internet?” which strikes me as absolutely hilarious because it really wasn’t a decision so much as a calling. As he was walking out the door that morning, I remember he asked me, “What do you have going on today?” And I can’t remember what kind of bullshit I said back, but I know I was thinking, I need to cancel everything else because I have a really GREAT IDEA.






You Say Position, I Say Direction

My husband and I have a good relationship. We communicate well, we enjoy each other’s company and we have fun together.  We also put up with each other’s crap. Or, rather, he puts up with my crap and I truly appreciate the fact that he is willing to do that. In return, I always like to think he puts up with my ridiculousness because a) I make him laugh and b) because we have a lot of sex. He got the girl who was still a little nuts but who wanted to raise kids and go to sleep by 9 pm so the nuttiness could begin with 4 am runs instead. Woo Hoo. He’s a lucky guy.

In any event, every woman should bring an air of mystery to the bedroom….So the other night when P was at volleyball practice, Steve came home for a little ‘date’. As things were progressing, he asked what position I wanted and I whispered in his ear, “I would like to face Northeast. Maybe even North Northeast.” (Position, direction, whatever) He stopped and started looking  around the room trying to orient himself to direction. See? He’s fun. Up for anything I suggest.

I have had three major surgeries in the last three years so I have worked this shit out perfectly. I knew exactly what I meant and I know he did, too, except that I threw a new term in there. Finally he was like, “Oh, OK, I get it. You mean the after-surgery position.” Yes, yes, yes, but I am trying to pretend it is something new and different to keep things FRESH and HOT and EXCITING because it has been almost SIX DAMNED WEEKS of this. So now it is NORTHEAST.

OK. Except pretty much right away I could tell northeast was not going to work for him.

Me: Would you like to change directions?

Him (trying to concentrate): No, no, this is good.

Me: I know it isn’t. Let’s do something else.

I pull away and set things up another way.

Him: Now we are south.


Him: NO this is South. We are facing I-25.

Me: How could we have just been facing north-northeast, moved a little bit and now we are south?

Him: we are facing south. This is south.

Me: We are facing FUCKING EAST. Get a compass NOW.

This continues on to a full-blown argument about which direction we are facing during a sex act.

But it worked.

And I was correct.

And P has practice again tonight.


Married sex should have an air of mysery

I’m just going to put this picture of Sadie’s bug eyes here because this is what my husband’s face is going to look like when he reads this post.