I’ve been offered sex!
It was my wife. So, that’s puts some perspective on it. What’s the big deal. How does that make my wife a prostitute?
You see. If you are married and you have been for a while. Lets say, over a month or so, sex becomes a novelty, a treat, £10 found behind the sofa. A hidden treasure chest buried deep underground on a remote desert island only to be discovered after weeks of digging, planning and considerable manipulation i.e. you do the washing up a few times, clean her car and say she looks great for no apparent reason.
So, there you have it-married sex in a nutshell. Hang on a minute! Marital sex is no hidden treasure. It’s a treasure chest alright but, it will only open up and let you touch its little gems when its good and ready and no matter how much planning, scheming and half-hearted compliments (her arse is big after all), that chest will only open up when she wants it to.
Here goes. Let’s suppose, for a minute, the first scenario:
- You get home from work and you’re in the mood for some xxx action. Maybe you’ve been talking to the new sandwich girl at work and you got yourself worked up. (In my experience most sandwich girls I’ve met look like Russian shot-putters, but it’s only a scenario, right). Pack the kids off to her Mothers. A little peck on the cheek. A little make or break compliment, usually about what a great cottage pie she made for dinner, it’s a lie but go with the flow. Agree with everything she says. Pour some wine and BINGO. Nope! She’s not really in the mood tonight. Thanks all the same.
Ok. Let’s take a look at this. Same evening. Same time. Same place. Different scenario:
- Pack the kids off to her Mothers. (So good so far). Take her for a nice meal. Her favourite restaurant, she can have whatever she wants. Tell her she looks great at least three times, but not all within 5 minutes, you’re not so sure about the hair, but keep it to yourself. Buy more wine (but don’t get her pissed, nothing worse than having sex with a dead weight!). Order desert. I recommend profiteroles-it works for me. Champagne? Hell why not, you’re on a roll-go for Asti Spumante, she’ll never know. Get a taxi home. Don’t walk–she’ll be knackered when you get in. Another glass of wine when you get back. Another compliment for the road, definitely something about how great she looks and how lucky you are, who knows it might actually be true. Foreplay? That should only take a minute. Off to bed and BINGO. Yes BINGO. Double bingo, if you were twenty years younger.
So, lets look at the facts.
Scenario No1: Spend nothing – get nothing.
Scenario No2: Lets see, meal, wine, profiteroles, Asti, taxi and more wine (the compliments came free of charge). Well, that little lot would have set you back £100.
Conclusion: Would have only cost £50 in the right part of town and you would have still been home in time for the football!