Desperate in DC

Little Blue Bliss

Darling P,

Desperation has finally occurred in my attempt to seek diversions in your absence.  Decided hubby might even be entitled to one night of true passion. In order to stay absolutely cutting edge, obtained some little blue pills for him.  Not that he needs them, you understand, but if the twenty-somethings are doing it for grins, why can't we?  And then, as only a quite mixed-up feminist could, I decided I was entitled to take one too.

I think hubby was satisfied enough as he did say something about having the best evening of his life or something like that.  I'm never really sure, however, as he has orgasms in the same quiet way he claims to want to take a bullet--stoically and with dignity.  As I'm not very familiar with those forms of expression, I barely pay attention.

The real issue, of course, is  how it was for me.  I'd like to back up claims they haven't found a "magic bullet" for women b/c, you know, we are all about our feelings and the moment, etc. etc. I think they've got it all wrong.  Every single woman (except those at high risk for a drop dead cardiovascular moment bc you may have one) should try one little blue pill.

Still, today, just now, I feel amazing.  Felt inspired enough, in fact, to make whole grain blueberry pancakes for the cherubs--and you do know how I loathe messy ineffiencies, such as homemade breakfast.  It's a new sensation entirely--as if--and pls don't laugh, I have my very own, well, package.  I now clearly understand why men parade around like peacocks so often, one hand clutched below for no apparent reason at all.  It's amazing to feel one's power far far below the brain. 

Frankly, this experience explains so much to me.  It's why most men have such confidence in their ideas and themselves when they are certainly far less brilliant than the women I know.  With blood flow diverted to a region having nothing to do with one's head, it's nearly impossible not to feel empowered.  So run, don't walk, dearest P, to the nearest Boots and grab your share of the glory.  I think, if we could only slip Hillary a little of this, she could, at last, rule the world.

C.

Re: Little Blue Bliss

Dear C,

So glad to hear you are continuing to drive the forward march for feminism in my absence. In fact, dear C, it sounds like you may have just taken the greatest leap forward in human development since homo erectus took his first step out of Africa. Who knew that thinking with one's penis could leave men with the impression that they are smarter and more competent than women, when in fact any dickhead should be able to tell that this notion is simply laughable. Then again, since when do facts ever matter in life? As every woman knows, it's only impressions that count. Hopefully, this pill will at least level the playing field on that front.

I'm sure it's only a matter of time, of course, before studies come out proving that little blue pills are far more dangerous for women than they are for men. No doubt, they will start with a study that 'proves' it is dangerous for women to take during pregnancy, for fear that labor will become orgasmic (highly dangerous, don't you know), or that  girl babies will be born with beards. Next, there will be talk of college coeds engaging in pill-popping orgies (literally) that will result in a significant drop in their grade point average - no matter if they go on to become President, like so many of our great leaders in the past. The greatest amount of research, of course, will be devoted to a report that solemnly proves a clear corrolation between pill-popping Cougars and heart disease - one that works in reverse correlation with the age of the male participant.

In anticipation of such oprobium, dear C, I propose we start our very own focus group to lobby for a report of our own: one that definitively demonstrates the relationship between the equal sharing of domestic duties, female contentment, and by logical extension, male sexual satisfaction?

By way of research, dear C, may I start by prevailing upon you for a supply of my very own little blue pills?

P.

Post-Coital Disappointment

Darling P,

It's taken me far too many years, but I've at last realized how much more persuasive I am with hubby before he has achieved the most exulted state known to man: post-orgasm complacency.  Just today, he was murmuring far too many proclamations of love and adoration-- but only before fully satisfied by my affections.  Afterwards, barely attentive, he seemed interested only in knowing how long my droning would continue b/f he could, politely at least, excuse himself from my company.

I'd like to think hubby is unique but know only too well, from my previous though (as you must know) clearly limited experience, that this is not an uncommon occurrence.  I've known women to sail upon a raft of jewels while enticing their beloved with their siren song.  Once consummated, sadly, the relationship becomes a partial re-enactment of enticement and satisfaction for many years to come. Know one wife (whom I can only admire from afar) who actually creates a check-list of goals for her spouse to complete before their next act of love.  Do you suppose I could motivate hubby to sort those long-abandoned single socks in this way?

Really hope you have a solution to this thousands year old dilemma, dearest P.  One complicating factor for me, frankly, is my inability to remember that sex is, after all, only to be used as a marital tool and not, utlimately, for one's own satisfaction.  Unlike that woman I mentioned, I do seem to have frequent needs of my own which make hubby, even through the glare of his unmatched socks, quite enticing to me. 

I do feel, however, it is really a matter of self-discipline, P, and will endeavor to fall in line with all those women I so admire who can, quite easily, resist the call of the wild.  They may not be sexually (or at all otherwise) sated, but I imagine their dresser drawers are well-organized.  And really, is there any greater satisfaction than that?

C.

The Story of O

P,

I've been meaning to ask whether you've followed the recent controversy over whether women's orgasms are, evolutionarily speaking, obsolete.  And I thought it was just in my bedroom.  Although I am reticent to discuss a subject that would seem to attract so much male interest, I find myself drawn to the topic like a moth to a flame.  It may not be in my self-interest, P, but I think for millions of dollars in grant money, I could prove an equally compelling corollary theory, that is, she who rocks his world controls his wallet. 

You do know I am loathe to drag out my women's studies credentials, but I wonder, really, whether the "O" controversy only attempts to provide the male with yet another excuse to subjugate female desires in far more important areas.  It is clear, however, P, based on my own failed experiment in feminism, that conceding sex as a man's domain may ultimately lead to total control over the purse strings.  And although I may be willing to give up pleasure in bed, I will never give up my right to shop. 

I do, suppose, dearest P, that we may simply teach our daughters what we know all too well--a satisfied man has no idea where his wallet lies.  But a sexually frustrated woman always does.  Sure, we could teach them that their own economic freedom would solve the issue entirely, but in case that doesn't work out, they will at least know the rules of the game, won't they? 

Faithfully,

C.

Re: The Story of O

Dear C,

I'm not sure your Women's Studies alums would approve of your interesting scientific hypothesis, but the romantic symmetry of the arrangement you describe certainly brings tears to this woman's eyes.  Personally, I thought the female orgasm fell under the category of 'nice if both parties are prepared to put in the work, but frankly, who has the time?'  Now I see what I must do on these less than satisfactory occasions: reach for his credit card and hit the real big O - Overstock.com.  (Wouldn't it be nice if technology could just take over for both ends of the bargain once and for all?)

Your inspired explanation also takes care of the issue I had with the scientific assumption that there is no evolutionary need for women to be 'in the mood' before propagating the species, while for men it is the whole point.  Clearly, a sexually-frustrated woman is more in charge of her shopping wits, while a sexually-satisfied male can be easily relieved of his cash.  What better scenario could there be for ensuring a mutually-satisfying outcome for both parties?

QED,

P.

Kissing Fools

Dear C,

Is there anything more nauseating than the sight of a young couple engaged in a Public Display of Affection? I ask, dear C, because I happened upon one yesterday, and almost felt compelled to vomit into my brand new South Moon Under tote bag. As it was, I merely registered my disgust with a few loud 'tsk, tsks', but in retrospect, I regret not interceding more. Don't these youngsters know that kissing is an obnoxius display of narcissism, not a  pleasurable act to be indulged in for hours on end, to the point where lip-chafing and third-degree stubble burn may occur? Or that no matter how enjoyable something once seemed, the moment you have kids it's guaranteed to seem like a complete waste of time?

Alas, dear C, I fear this generation of young people is a lost cause, choosing the mindless pursuit of pleasure over the invigorating regime of no sex, cold baths and long hours of study by candlelight that we endured. But all is not lost: we still have the minds of our own children to mold and shape in our image. Nothing narcissistic about that now, is there?

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Kissing Fools

P,

It seems quite likely, dear P, that the next generation has figured out how to have altogether too much sex without producing offspring.  Shocking idea, really, as we were raised to believe that one pleasurable moment should be saddled with years of toil and burden. 

I've decided to encourage my own cherubs to take such pleasure wherever it may exist.  This should be enough for them  to pledge a lifetime of celibacy.  Just to be safe, however, dearest P, I encourage you to batten down the hatches.   I have one pre-adolescent cherub ready to emerge from his youthful innocence.  I shudder to think he may take his mother's advice and lure your own sweet girls into his inexperienced embrace (we really want much older predatory partners for them don't we?).  Just remember that it's never too early for Norplant and a basket of condoms by the door would certainly only be admired here in DC. 

Faithfully,

C.

Sex in the Workplace

Dear C,

Loath as I am to complain, I'm afraid the time has come to speak up on a matter close to my heart. As someone who's husband is gainfully employed outside the home, you may not have to struggle with this issue. But for wife of the work-at-home husband, this dilemma is a specter that haunts us daily: namely, when is a good time to have sex? For most mothers of young children, I am sure, the safe answer is never, but for we wowahhs, the problem is compounded by the yawning discrepancy in the perception of the two parties involved. For our husbands, naturally, any time is a good time, but for the wife, of course, no time is convenient, seeing that she generally has her day planned down to the nanosecond with absolutely no time scheduled for fun, let alone multiple orgasms (or showers). And yet, to refuse, as she frequently must, is to spend the entire day consumed by a vague sense of worry about the state of her marriage, while the husband merely shrugs and moves on to Internet porn. The solution, dear C, would seem to be for one of us to go out, get a job, and confine sex to the office, like normal people. But in my case, I fear, this might interfere with shopping - I mean being there for the children, when they get home from school. As for the oldballandchain, I'm not sure he could cope with the bright glare of sunlight, let alone being forced to re-learn all those socialization skills, after so many years in his lair.

Faithfully,

P.

Re: Sex in the Workplace

Dearest P,

Wasn't it Betty Friedan who pointed out this very dilemma in The Feminine Mystique?  It is much better, she supposed, to fully emancipate oneself from one's significant other and never actually have sex as this is the only true way to control the balance of power.  Of course, one might wonder with whom the S.O. is having sex, but you know good feminists can't be bothered with these insignificant details.  I have instead a adopted a corollary of this promising but problematic theory: using sex as a weapon, I mean, of course, tool, for getting our "mutual" goals accomplished.  And by mutual, I mean, of course, mine.  For a husband who works from home, for example, you might prepare a list of daily chores (helpfully called "work" so as not to confuse the poor lad).  You might hand the list to him while attired in some lingerie (and granny panties don't count), giving him a hint of what might follow completion of the list.  As we are dealing with men, you might have to spell it out: list done by 1pm, sex today (there's no need to state the opposite result as we like to keep things positive).  If it all sounds rather daunting in the beginning as you have for so long been giving the milk away for free, don't worry as, in my experience, men are much like children and their initial whining and tantrums will turn to compliance once your resolve is made clear.  I can't wait to see the spiffed up homestead, P.  If I don't see some immediate changes, I won't blame you, but I may lose some respect.  The women's studies certificate I earned in college really must count for something.

Faithfully,

C.       

The Penis Perspectives

P,

My father, recently visiting, noticed an advertisement for the Vagina Monologues, a well-known stage play.  He suggested the other side needed a shot at glory as well.  I'm not at all certain he had the following in mind:

Penis at 4a.m.:  Wake up!  Wake up!  I gotta go!

Penis at 4:03a.m.: Hey, wonder if the old lady is interested...Hmmm, no response to my repeated pokes.  Does she have to be awake?

Penis at 7:00a.m.: Wife's awake.  I'll just keep a low profile and do what I'm told.

Penis at 10:40a.m. (also 1:50p.m., 3:12p.m., well, you get the idea): Cutie pie in my sights.  Wife and kids?  What is that?  I am free and strong and brave and handsome too!  I think the brain agrees--it helps me that all blood flow immediately leaves the cranial area at these moments.  What do you mean she's not interested?  Hey, did you see that girl over there?  O.k., how about the one on tv?

Penis at 6:00p.m.: Evening with the family.  I'll just keep a low profile and do what I'm told.

Penis at 10:00p.m.: I've been a good boy all day---please, please!  Yes, yes, of course I'll finish the "honey do" list.  And buy you jewels.  And shoes.  O.k., o.k., I even promise to watch the children for the rest of my sorry existence. 

Penis at 4:00a.m.:  Wake up!   Wake up!  I gotta go!

Repeat previous day endlessly.

Shocking to think there's no Broadway production yet, isn't it, dear P?

Faithfully,

C.