Babies crying, car alarms, the neighbours kids destroying various items outside the house, incessant ringing of novelty alarm clocks, dogs barking, World War 3… When you think about it, men can pretty much sleep through anything. With this fact pretty much agreed on the world over; why is it if you decide to have a little ‘personal’ time to yourself at night you’re man will not only wake up, but will think that your ‘you’ time should automatically become ‘our’ time. Of course, I mean straight women NEVER get sexually aroused unless it’s by their significant other. We NEVER want to ‘waste’ our precious few orgasms on ourselves, if indeed we are able to achieve it all by our lonesome, when we can share them!!!
Is Nessie being sarcastic? Is Nessie pissed that she can no longer do the two finger shuffle without comatose Mr Nessie waking and thinking it’s his lucky night? Frustrated? Just a tad!!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a lucky, lucky bugger. I’m able to reach the highs with and without Mr Nessie . I realize I’m in a minority here and I’m not knocking it. I just feel more than a little pissed that my ability to have a stealth like a personal moment is getting less and less likely. Here’s my story, feel free to sing along when you have the tune!
Now obviously I’m a sexual person (you’ll know that if you’re at all observant) and I’m lucky enough to have met an equally, if not more so (on the basis that he’s male) sexual mate. I like to pride myself on my open mindedness to all thing sex. Pretty freaky really given that my mother insinuated that I would practically drop dead from an STD the second I looked at a man or, perish the thought, had sex outside of the marital institution… Then I’d get an STD, become pregnant with Satan’s child AND be forever doomed to live out my sinful existence in a housing estate, eternally single and with a litter of hell spawn. Shocked I ever lost my virginity? Hell, I’m shocked I didn’t flee to a nunnery.
Now I’m not knocking my upbringing. I grew up in the Highlands of Scotland, the fact I never married my brother at age 7/approached sleeping livestock with spare wellie boots/introduced my washing machine as my life partner is something to be proud of… I’m told.
So, I met my man and went about learning all things sex related and disproving all things mother related. I was one of the lucky ones. Mr Nessie had had enough experience to learn a few things but not enough to jade him against some wet behind the ears highland lass with completely the wrong idea of bedroom fun… that’s a story for another blog I think. I can digress with the best of them, and if that’s something that irritates you then might I suggest leaving now before you try to hunt me down for infuriating you?
Where were we? Being sexually open but limited in the self editing department. Och, maybe I’m just bitter because my other half seems to know what makes me tick sexually better than I do myself. Maybe it’s because I’m always up for a bit of slap and tickle but rarely take the time out to slap my own tickle. Who knows, but one thing is certain… It must stop! What the hell am I going to do if Mr Nessie kicks the bucket? Am I doomed to become one of these teeth grindingly irritating women who claim that since loosing their ‘soul mate’ their body has become their temple which no man, woman, finger or battery operated device must pass? Good Lord shoot me now and make it hurt.
I’ve tried nearly every sneaky trick in the book to confuse and in turn allude Mr Nessie to the fact that I’m ‘pruning the secret garden’ in bed. Yes, corkers such as waiting for him to turn on his side away from me and loudly sighing ‘Damn I’m having an allergic reaction to the soap/bed sheets/neighbours and it’s itchy as all hell’ Having set the ground work that if at anytime during the night Mr Nessie should feel the bed shaking with vigour, then he’ll assume I’ve got hives and am scratching myself to buggery, then fall back into his comatose state in seconds. Hell it works if I try to have a conversation about our finances, his family, my family or why my constant battle to loose weight was failing long before I consumed twice my body weight in junk food the night before. Does it work? No, no it does not. He’s like a mere cat the second he feels the bed shudder. I swear I’d accuse him of setting me up every time if I honestly believed he had the ability to stay awake longer than the obligatory 4 minutes 7 seconds it takes him to fall into such a deep sleep that his snoring vibrates the bloody window frames.
You know what? I had loads more examples of just how sneaky I can become in getting some ‘me’ time, but I suspect that if you’ve read this far then you’re more than familiar with all of them and so I gratefully turn over to all of you. Why not use this blog as a sounding of board for all your grievances with sex, the opposite, the same, the getting of, the lack or the escaping of. We’ll all nod, smile, wecome you to the group and then concoct a suitable plan of action on how to overcome it.
On that note, I’m of some personal time before he gets to bed. I’m no sadist, it’s never going to happen with him in there… no matter how silent I am!
Til my next brain fart