I came home from work feeling defeated, demoralized, and suffering from a sugar-induced and Barbie-doll-fueled depression.  George took one look at me and poured me a glass of wine.  He picked up the phone and ordered a pepperoni pizza and settled me on the couch.

I love George.

I might not feel sexy, but at that moment, I felt cherished. 

I leaned over and kissed George just under his jaw line, and his eyebrows shot up.  I worked my mouth down and around his neck, licking and biting like it described in the book.  I nuzzled in, enjoying the feeling of his evening whiskers scraping gently across my lips, then I rose up and seductively slipped my tongue into his ear.

George screamed so loud the cat farted.

George leapt up and dumped me onto the floor.  He rubbed his ears like a madman--both ears, as if my tongue had squished through his brains to infect both sides of his head.  When he finished buffing and polishing his auditory orifices, his body gave a final quiver like it was shaking off the remnants of something creepy. 

“Don’t do that again!” George scurried outside to sit on the front porch and wait for the pizza.  He didn’t even help me off the floor.

I don’t think his thoughts are centered on cherishing me right now.

 

 I came home from work feeling defeated, demoralized, and suffering from a sugar-induced and Barbie-doll-fueled depression.  George took one look at me and poured me a glass of wine.  He picked up the phone and ordered a pepperoni pizza and settled me on the couch.

I love George.

I might not feel sexy, but at that moment, I felt cherished. 

I leaned over and kissed George just under his jaw line, and his eyebrows shot up.  I worked my mouth down and around his neck, licking and biting like it described in the book.  I nuzzled in, enjoying the feeling of his evening whiskers scraping gently across my lips, then I rose up and seductively slipped my tongue into his ear.

George screamed so loud the cat farted.

George leapt up and dumped me onto the floor.  He rubbed his ears like a madman--both ears, as if my tongue had squished through his brains to infect both sides of his head.  When he finished buffing and polishing his auditory orifices, his body gave a final quiver like it was shaking off the remnants of something creepy. 

“Don’t do that again!” George scurried outside to sit on the front porch and wait for the pizza.  He didn’t even help me off the floor.

I don’t think his thoughts are centered on cherishing me right now.

 

I know God created sex for marriage. Sex is supposed to bind a man and wife; to give them an intimacy they share with no one else. Sex is supposed to be fulfilling. And fun! I think we're supposed to want to have sex with our spouse. What's my problem?

Food is not a great substitute for sex, but it’s all I’ve got.

It’s not that I’m not happy in my marriage.  I am.  George is a good man, and I love him. But I’m bored out of my mind.

I look at the college students walking around the campus where I work, and I think they are getting way more out of sex than I am.

And that is just not fair.

George and I did it by the Book.  We are the ones that should be tingling, panting, and dripping with lust.  We’re the ones who should be the models of sexual satisfaction.

I needed something else.  I needed more specific instructions to liven up our sex life.  But where does a sexually uptight, Christian woman (with a reputation to protect) go for help?