Sex and the Married Woman

Fiona is mad because in my last post I did a bait and switch. I didn't talk more about my sex life, and instead raged about my fender bender. In order to appease her, let's talk about sex, baby. The topic of the Juliet Applebaum mystery I just finished (out in the summer) is sex. Sex or the lack thereof.

It's no secret that people aren't having sex. I have one good friend, a mother of four, who claims that she's had sex with her husband three times since they were married. (She has a set of twins.) Another friend who's been married for 16 years (she and her husband married right out of college) can't honestly remember the last time they did the nasty. And I'm willing to bet that what they did way back then wasn't all that nasty. So what gives?

I blame the feminist movement.

Relax. I'm a committed feminist. I embrace the term, unlike so many of my contemporaries who believe wholeheartedly in women's rights but are terrified of calling themselves feminists. I'm proud to be a feminist. I'm proud to align myself with the whole hairy-legged Boston Women's Health Collective thing. (I'll tell you about the unshaved armpits, my cousin Marcie's wedding, and the pink strapless dress another time.) But I still blame feminism for the fact that no one is getting laid.

I think it's just a fact of hormones that, by and large, most men want sex, they think of sex, they desire sex, more than most women. Don't lynch me, but I think it's really true. A man is exhausted, drained, stressed out, and what does he want? Just a quick blowjob to relax. A woman facing similar anxiety and fatigue just wants to read a novel or go to sleep. Or blog. Back in the days of yore, a woman felt an obligation to provide sexual satisfaction to her husband. Whatever she was going through, however exhausted she was, little wifey would lie back and think of England every Saturday night (and on alternate Tuesdays). Nowadays, women no longer feel this sense of obligation. He's been out there working? Well, so has she, or if not, she's been schlepping from soccer practice to ballet to nursery school committee meeting.

Are you waiting for some personal revelation? I'm a little hypomanic this morning, so I'm willing to be somewhat indiscreet. The secret to a good sex life, I think, beyond having an absolute obsession for your husband that borders on the psychotic (can you stalk the man you live with?), is to take a lesson from the Queen. Within a moment or two, as long as your partner has even basic fine motor capacity, Victoria will be gone, and in her place will rise Lady Chatterley.