Horse Whisperer

I don’t know how to seduce a man. I’m married.

Thursday nights my daughters attend one hour of gymnastics at a club that is minutes from our home. Last night, it was my husband’s turn to drop them off, leaving me at home with a plethora of options on how to fill the next 45 minutes of my time. I could check my Facebook and touch base with 132 of my friends, foes and family. Since I had flopped down on the couch and slid down into a lay-on-my-back-stare-at-the-ceiling-dangle-one-leg-off-the-couch position, I could peel myself up and start to make lunches or load the coffee pot for the next morning. My gaze drifts to the coffee table where the book I am savouring rests comfortable from the night before; I could pick it up and sink into the pages…

My Blackberry hums at me. It’s a text from my husband.

“Wanna knock boots”

Hm. I attempt to decipher whether that is a statement or a question. Moot point. In a matter of minutes my husband will be pulling in the driveway and chances are he’ll be hard before he hits the door. I cast a longing glance at the book I was about to pick up, undo the button on my pants, and remain flopped on the couch. He’ll have to do the rest, I’m too tired.

As predictable as the change of seasons, Hubby arrives and without a single word between us, he lowers himself down on top of me and starts to tug at my pants. I now realize that his text was a statement after all.

I have a decision to make. Do I want it quick and dirty? Or do I want to invest in the process?

I normally reserve my ‘quick and dirty’ for pity fucks. They can happen anywhere – the powder room, the shower, the kitchen counter. Often they start as a kiss and I can tell by the intensity of how passionately he is mouthing me that he’s going to need a release. These romps are so freakin’ hot that I have to admit, I enjoy them just as much as he does. But they provide no gratification for me, I mean, it’s over in a matter of minutes, obviously I’m not going to get off. The couch is a prime ‘quick and dirty’ location, so I debate: stay here for quick or make it count… hmmm.

“Let’s go to our room” I say. I’ve decided I’m going to commit to the process.

Like I said, my kids are still tumbling and vaulting their little hearts out in the gym, my house is empty. So, why move to our room? Politely put, investing in the process requires room for acrobatics. I need to be able to flip from back to shins, bed posts are handy, and pillows are the perfect prop.

Aside from the text and my geographic preference, nothing else is communicated. In my post-coital glow, I’m chuckling to myself that the exchange that just happened is very typically how Hubby and I initiate sex.  Essentially, after 11 years of marriage, we’ve boiled it down to “Wanna?” and “Ok”.

Shouldn’t the ‘come on’ be much, much hotter for a Vixen like myself? In fact, for a Pervert, shouldn’t I be setting the bar for wild and saucy ways to lure your man? My chuckling morphs to soul-searching melancholy upon the realization that the last time I seduced my husband it was equally as pathetic with regards to spice and provocateur. It was a lazy night in front of the TV – commercial break – it occurs to me that I could either watch two and half minutes of product and marketing, OR I could have sex. I remove my glasses, casually inform him “I’d like to have sex now” and crawl over to straddle his lap. BO-RING! In fact, I do believe that we he was done and my glasses were back on my face by the time “Modern Family” started up again.

With my bunny tail tucked between my legs, I came to the forlorn conclusion that I suck at seducing my husband. Embarrassing confession: Not only do I never use words when I crave a little nookie, I actually have a much lazier method that will land my husband in the bedroom. I click at him the way a horse-jockey clicks at his horse to get the horse to move. One click then a head nod towards the direction of my bed. I don’t ask. I tell. ‘Click and nod’ tells him “Hop in bed my noble steed, I’m gonna take you for a run.”  It’s occurred to me that perhaps, given my Perv status, I should be a bit more… innovative?

Oh Lady Perv, don’t be so hard on yourself! (My brain rationalizes.) How can you expect to be good at something that you’ve never had to do?

My God, she’s right! In general, I’m beating my man off with a stick, scolding “Down boy!” Mr. Perv has a sex drive the equivalent of a high school football team.  How am I supposed to flex my ‘seductive’ muscle when a man has been doing my lifting for years? My muscles are in atrophy!

I voice my dilemma to Hubby.

“You can always test your skills on me, ya know…” I think he’s getting a little excited at the prospect.

“No, that’d never work. We’re married. I know I’ve got you hook, line and sinker.” I argue.

“Perv, even for research purposes, you can’t seduce another man!” He doth protest. Poop. Plan B.

Plan B: If I know my man seduction skills are weak, and Mr. Perv is being Mr. Picky about Mrs. Perv scouting and gaming other pervs… what to do, what to do? Well, I do what any self-respecting deviant visionary would do – I fantasize. I conjure up methods and people that I draw to my lair with my super hot sexing powers.

The actual process of how to go from “Hey there! Do you come here often?” to full on panting and moaning, I would have no clue how to begin. I’ve been with my man since I was 19 years old, and before that those horny teenagers would flock to me. That being said, once I’ve got that man on my lips, he’s a sitting duck, he stands NO chance. If he didn’t want to screw me before he kissed my mouth that quickly changes. I may not know the words to get him to my mouth, but once he is there, I know exactly how to drive him insane.

(Cover your ears, Hubby)

Frankly, I’ve always been good at kissing. I’d like to thank the countless stream of teenage boys and the many, many hours logged on my parent’s basement couch or their parent’s mid-sized sedan. But, I’ve never kissed a guy without it ending with their dreamy “wow” when I’m done. For the same reason that I give a kick-ass blow job, I believe in committing to the act, ensuring every movement is intentional and with purpose.

So I resign to the fact that I don’t know how to seduce a man, that I ‘click and nod’ to get my husband in bed, and that I’m not allowed to test my prowess on the pizza delivery boy. But like a Venus Flytrap, once you’re in my hold, once I close my trap, I own you.

I guess technically speaking: I can’t lead a horse to water, but I know how to make him drink.

Click click!