Salt water does not make a good lubricant, and neither does sand. So when my husband and I got the brilliant idea to sneak out of the cottage one night and have a quickie down at the shore, I was ill prepared.
Ow, ow, ow, can you wipe that thing off before you put it in me?
No, it does not feel like a French tickler.
No, it is not extra stimulating.
And no, I absolutely do not want to lick the sand off.
Can you tell we’ve been married for ten or so years?
I can remember the days where I would have happily put up with a little sand down there, and thought it all the more exciting . . . but now? Well, now I am used to my creature comforts, which apparently include a bed, a washcloth, and KY jelly.
So where did we go wrong? What happened to that fun, adventurous couple who toured Europe and made it a point to have quickies in as many castle towers as we could find? Or park on the side of the road and give each other hand jobs as the traffic whizzed by? Those people were fun, and didn’t care about stick shifts jamming into ribs (don’t ask) or hard stone floors. And they certainly wouldn’t have minded a little sand.
Okay, so maybe I was the only one complaining about the sand, but the fact is that as we have gotten older we have gotten more complacent, less willing to risk a little discomfort for the sake of great sex. Yes, we still have sex at home, but the floor is hard and my knees are old, the shower too small, the kitchen table too high or too low, depending on what you’re going for . . . you get the picture. And the bed is just so easy: it’s there, it’s soft, and most of the time we are already in it when we start thinking about making love. But let’s face it, after ten years, there are only so many interesting things you can do in your bed (without bringing in outside parties, that is).
So here’s the plan: this summer I will not be discouraged by the other night at the lake. I will not let a little sand dampen my sense of adventure. I will forge ahead. Tonight I will be prepared. I will bring a blanket, wipies, and gel if that’s what’s required. I will not complain as I look up at the beautiful stars and try to find a more comfortable position. I will watch the moonlight reflect in my husband’s eyes as I work the sand out of my mouth. I will whisper in his ear how much I love him and how happy he makes me even as the scratchy wool blanket bunches underneath me. And when we come, I will remember those two people, who so many years ago never dreamed how wonderful it could be . . .