The Surprising Thing that Happened when I had Drinks with this Looker
Is it just me or am I a handful for any man? I often wonder if I could be married to me, so it’s fortunate I don’t have to be. But my husband, Henry, is stuck. The good news is that he’s a sensible man.
Whenever I try to drum up drama (Are you looking at my spreading ass or are you accusing me of being an ass?) he gently yawns, stretches and gives me a hug. You just can’t ruffle the guy.
I’ve paraded across the internets naked. I’ve had meetings with sexy celebrities (Luke Perry you know you’ll never forget me!). I’ve danced in bars with girlfriends and fondled particularly well-hewn gay men (much, I’m sure, to their chagrin).
And then there’s this.
I write about my married sex life. Which includes Henry. I’ve always found sex an interesting topic. And not because it’s sexy. But, to me, because it’s funny and messy and inexplicable and real. All wonderful adjectives for any writer.
And my man, because he loves and supports me and wants me to feel unfettered and free in my creativity, allows me to take him along for the ride.
I’ve tried to offer quid-pro-quo. I’ve told him I want him to write his own posts here, his rebuttals and repartee. But frankly, he’s too busy writing his own works; which are fictitious, leaving no real person pimped out or emotionally chafed.
My darling. Mayhaps you indulge me too much, but you, as always, are my hero. Thank you for allowing me to have my way with you and I promise, in return, to cook you rack of lamb infused with rosemary and thyme.
But now I must, once again, share one of the vicissitudes of our marriage.
Henry, as I mentioned, takes stock of my shenanigans and remains unruffled. Except when it comes to Claudius.
Claudius is a boy-man I met in a writing workshop many moons ago. We tend to see each other every three years when he’s in town interviewing for jobs as a broadcast news reporter at all the networks.
Claudius is almost ten years younger than me and is very handsome. He’s half Filipino, half Caucasian and both ethnicities have melded to create a preternaturally patrician luminosity.
On top of his seemingly ageless good looks, he’s smart, caustically funny and has won an Emmy for a news story he covered about a goat.
And he tells you that with a cocked brow. He’s in on the joke.
Throw in my joie de vivre and zaftig insouciance and we should be An Affair To Remember.
But here’s the thing. Claudius and I are not attracted to each other.
There’s just something about that guy that reads LITTLE BROTHER in my brain.
And, not just little brother but, meant in the most affectionate way possible, annoying little brother.
I can’t help giving him unsolicited advice about his love life and he can’t help listening.
Sometimes I even scold him.
I love the guy, but I just don’t looove the guy. And the feeling is mutual.
Yet whenever Claudius blows through town and we meet for drinks, Henry always greets me at the door when I return utterly disgruntled.
He scowls, quizzes and probes, just trying to see if there’s a crack in my story.
It always catches me a bit off guard because I’m startled, yet again, when I realize that Henry is jealous.
HENRY IS JEALOUS?
He stalks my perimeter as if I’m his territory and he does not want anyone else trespassing. And because he’s never like that, and because he’s gentle and doesn’t wear wife-beaters and drink brewskis, I find it unnecessary, but flattering.
I love it when this intellectual, sensible paragon claims me like a caveman his Jane. I’m taking it for all it’s worth right now, because I probably won’t see Claudius again until 2017.
Don’t bother calling or knocking. Hopefully we’re busy.
Are you ever jealous when it comes to your spouse? And what do you think, can men and women just be friends?
And if you like this article you’re going to love Shannon’s book, “Married Sex: Fact & Fiction.” You can order it HERE.