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How To Seduce Your Husband
November 3rd, 2011
“I’ve looked on many women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me.” Freakin’ Jimmy Carter, man, he lays it out there.
Okay, so I’ve had this fixation on Gavin DeGraw who’s a singer/pianist no one seems to’ve heard of. I decided it was time to Take Action in order not to commit adultery in my heart. Henry and I have been together 13 years. Something had to give.
When he came home from taking the girls to soccer last night the babysitter was waiting with a note from me. He had no idea this was going to happen.
The note told him to dress for-a-first-date (no orthopedic tennis shoes or white socks), to meet me in the bar at the Avalon Hotel at 8 p.m. sharp. I wrote that we would not know one another and could not be who we truly are. Also he should be cocky and entitled. And if he arrived before me he was to order me a Grey Goose martini straight up with two olives. Because that sounded like a drink Mrs. Robinson would have while smoking thin cigarettes.
Unfortunately I arrived first and had to order my own martini. A harbinger of doom re: our tête-à-tête? The minutes driveled by. He was late. Did he get my note? Did the babysitter open it, read it and quit? Maybe he just wasn’t coming. I’d floated this idea by Henry over the years and his response had been, at best, lackluster. This just wasn’t his thing.
As I sat waiting I began to feel like an aged hooker with no John. I was wearing these items.
Earlier they’d seemed hot, now they seemed a bit pathetic. Wait. Was that…? …Henry had arrived! He strode through the lounge not looking at me once but going straight to the bar to order a beer. A red beer. Henry doesn’t drink. He can’t drink. Alcohol gives him blinding migraines. Could it be my reserved, buttoned-up husband was going for it?
But why wasn’t he looking at me? I whistled at him. He didn’t turn around. WTF? Was he deaf? Didn’t he see me? Waiters and busboys were falling into my cleavage never to be heard from again. My dress skirt was so short the concierge had offered to give me a full Brazilian wax. How could he miss me? Would I have to whistle again? Just put my lips together and blow?
Henry turned. Our eyes met. He looked at me quizzically. Wow. He was really going to go through with this. My heart melted. He approached. ”Are you Crystal?” he asked.
Crystal? Crystal? That’s the best he could do? I hated that name and the bimboism it implied. Shouldn’t we be able to pick our own names? I was going to be Georgia, a techie from the south who knew how to make marzipan and drive a back-hoe.
“Yes,” I said bitterly, “I’m…Crystal.”
“I’m Paul,” he said. Paul. I could live with that. Pauls are tall and broad-shouldered, let’s face it, macho. I didn’t want to be married to macho, but wouldn’t mind visiting from time to time.
“So Crystal,” Paul said making himself comfortable on the couch next to me, “I feel like I know you already…. from your videos.”
Turns out I was going to be a porn star. Yes. A porn star. Completely ignoring Tina Fey’s advice that you should trust your partner during an improv I said, “I’m not in that business.”
“You’re not?” Paul’s eyes began to dart about confusedly.
I realized I was about to blow this whole thing, so I backtracked. I informed him I had worked as an adult performer in my misspent youth, however, I’d been such a classy, intellectual porn star whose demographic was college-educated women who preferred erotica to misogynistic wham-bam-thank-you-ma’ams that I’d been able to create my own brand, turn it into a thriving production company that raked in so much money that I was able to retire early to Tampa, Florida (just pulled that one out of my apparently well-known ass) where I owned several properties including a baseball team.
“Oh,” said Paul. Flummoxed. We had nowhere to go but up. And so we did. Turns out Paul was disillusioned by his profession as a porn producer. Had just gotten divorced from one of his starlets. Was looking for deeper meaning in life. He unfortunately made a bad porn-pun with the word “deeper.” But let’s face it, I was a Sure Thing.
Soon we moved to the restaurant where I couldn’t help snarfing down a pizza with prosciutto and finishing off Paul’s beer.
Paul had been born in Portland, Maine apparently, but his father was a blimp operator so they moved around a lot. In fact, his father piloted the first ever Goodyear blimp all over the country. Unfortunately Paul’s mother found out that his father had a girl in every Blimp port. They were known as “Blimpees.” Paul thought it was his father’s duplicitous life – there are an unknown number of Blimpee kids across the U.S. – that caused him to turn to the dark business of the flesh trade.
He had no children. I had two sons from a high school relationship with a drug dealer. My boys thought I was their wicked, fallen, older sister. I secretly paid for their private school college educations with my ill-gotten, filthy lucre, but I would never tell them. Sacrifice just came naturally to me – a Jezebel with a heart of gold.
After a while Henry and I became Paul and Crystal. We saw each other differently. We smiled at each other differently. I laughed at all of his jokes and didn’t reprimand him for eating mashed potatoes that would just add to the belly fat that was a widow-maker. When we touched across the restaurant table it felt as though we were touching for the first time. It was electric.
In fact it went so well that we had to leave the restaurant before dessert. This is where I’ll Fade To Black… Paul and Crystal deserve a little privacy. (But there might have been a freshly vacuumed mini-van involved. On a public street. This is all hypothetical.)
I learned in a whole new way that marriage takes effort. It’s easy to be lazy and tired and uninspired. I really had no idea how things would go last night. I thought we’d feel like idiots and just give up the quest. But it went so well that Henry said he’d be the one to leave me a note the next time.
I think the best thing it did for me was allow me a certain distance with which to observe the man who is my husband. I remembered why I’d thought he was so adorable in the first place. I saw him through fresh eyes. Albeit porn star eyes. That damned Crystal, she might be naughty, but like most ladies she’s just looking for love.Share and Enjoy
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Looove this – esp your request for avoiding orthopedic tennis shoes –haaaa!
what a fun idea. you naughty mynx, crystal!
Wow. Wow. I am nowhere brave enough to do something like this. Plus, if my husband recreated me as a porn star he might be sadly disappointed when everything fades to black. He probably wouldn't call again. Even worse, embark on his journey to find Crystal……
I tried that game once. Some other woman at the bar hit on me. I thought it was a twist on the game that my wife had sent her to do a threesome and went along with it. She said she was in the Navy and shipping out in the morning.It wasn't until I was in her apartment and she was strapping on the leather that I realized this was no game. My wife was not there. it was just me and a naked under leather naval officer who had a long knife scar down her left side and did not seem amused by the notion of a misunderstanding.
Anonymous Hal
Anonymous Hal — is that story fact or fiction? No real way to tell – BUT I LOVE IT!
And Catherine — I was nervous the entire time. It just seemed like an opportunity to completely embarrass myself. Henry admitted to me he was really dreading it once he got the note — but it was silly and thrilling. You just never know what will happen when you step out of your comfort zone.
*Very* impressed by your valor. And bra. Maybe I will follow in your stilettos one of these days, after a few Geritol.
Signed,
Lazy and Tired and Uninspired
Hi, I'm a regular Married Man Sex Life reader who was so jazzed by this post I did a post on it myself. Nice work.
http://badgerhut.wordpress.com/2011/10/01/faking-an-affair-with-your-spouse-for-fun-and-profit/
Anonymous Hal,
More than once I've approached a woman in a bar, and she'll tell me she's waiting for somebody. My response:
"How do you know I'm not him?"
It's like the ending to You've Got Mail.
Badger I'm reading your post. Sonora – my bra had its own stilettos.
Bad, bad bad girl!
Girl to Mom.com- Heidi
Dear Crystal, this was so hot! Lucky you to have such a fantastic husband who played along. I'm still looking.
Love always, Roxanne
Miss Sadie — By Grabthar's Hammer… Never give up! Never surrender! xoxo
Huh. I just may have to copy this, especially given the horrible dream I had last night wherein my husband divorced me because I was "too boring".
In my dreams my husband's always divorcing me because "he just doesn't love me anymore." I wake up crying and so glad it was only a dreeeeaaam
Crystal, however, couldn't care less. She's so non-committal
Full of salient points. Don’t stop beileving or writing!
I feel like I’ve seen this in a movie! I am proud to call you my niece!
You are happy your niece had sex with her husband in a public location?? (Thanks Aunt Joy)
Oh Jamie — was Gavin really that lame? I am praying to get over this crush. It’s ridiculous. I think if he sang “let’s get it on” to me I might get over it.
To be fair to Gavin Jamie — you are gorgeous! How could he help himself? But I will take a listen to Andrew Zimmern because my kids are pretty sick of my Gavin shuffle. xo
sorry for all the weird typos and commas in random places. I’m still trying to learn how to type on my phone
Wait. Was he eating a penis?
possibly…
you’ll learn to love him…he’s a lady magnet…
I may or may not be writing the note for my husband right now. We’re so uncreative, though, I worry that he won’t get into character or we’ll interrupt it with whispered shouts of, “By the way, the dishes in the dishwasher are clean at home. DON’T load any dirty ones in there!”
Seriously.
I worry about that. And I don’t own any leopard bras, or stilettos for that matter. I’ll just make sure the shirt is low-cut, and I’ve got on my pretty all-white push-up. Lord knows those ravaged-by-three-nursing-babies girlies need all the help they can get.
Found you through the “I’m Not the Babysitter” shout-out. Loved reading your wittiness. Happy new week to you!
Hi Jessica — that Jamie is too kind to me. Thanks for reading! My breasts are sitting on the keyboard as I type thhhhiiiiissssss betttterrr go get that braaaaaaa.
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terrific, formidable … thank you you two …
‘m a poor old thing lots on the top of a snowy mountain in provence France, totally alone, isolated with a true fluI never had since centuires, headache to use the pickaxe and suddenly the smile the laugh and the PLEASURE to read you, ô my God thank you !!!
go back to bed with the most delicious trea
terrific, formidable … thank you you two …
‘m a poor old thing lost on the top of a snowy mountain in Provence South of rance, totally alone, isolated with a true fluI never had since centuires, headache to use the pickaxe and suddenly the smile the laugh and the PLEASURE to read you, ô my God thank you !!!
go back to bed with the most delicious treatment of the day … must find a husband, a fresh one and quickly before my eighty if ‘m enough clever to wander so far …curently mine, my Prince Charmant my Terrible on the other side of the world is cooling between other sweet arms not knowing what to do of his too much of heart and apricot while ‘m dying slowly but surely of pain and devastation and suddenly the fresh air from the faraway America, thank you thank you thank you Crystal&Paul !!!Niki
Dear Niki — thank you for reading and commenting! Kisses to you in France and to a love who will appreciate such a passionate woman. xo
I wish I could do that but I don’t think it would make a difference. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t him.
It requires a lot of alcohol
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OMG Love this! My husband is Mr. Role Play, he’d probably love to do something like this.
I love that your husband’s into role play. The men do tend to balk at this kind of stuff.
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Please meander!
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