Okay, I’ll admit it. I read the first two Fifty Shades of Grey books. My brain kept saying, “No, no, turn back! You are becoming stupider with each page. You are reverting back to your amphibian ancestors whose brains only controlled their bodily functions, which …[Read More...]

Do you remember the post where Henry and I met at The Avalon Hotel in Beverly Hills and pretended we didn’t know each other? I like to call that role playing The Game. Hottest sex of my life, (all sex, not just married sex) and …[Read More...]

It was 10 o’clock p.m. on a Friday night. The kids were actually asleep. Theoretically Henry and I could’ve been rocking the sheets. Instead: I was in the outdoor office trolling through Facebook, clicking on links which led to videos, which somehow led to Catherine Dukes-of-Hazard …[Read More...]

Dear Abby had her hands full with this query:  Dear Abby: I have been married to a wonderful man for 30 years. Our marriage may not be perfect, but it’s quite good. My dilemma is this: My husband keeps track of every time we have …[Read More...]

Marriage advice from a Wife Dominatrix: Last weekend I wanted to eat my husband alive. His eyes were more cerulean blue than a ‘Sconset sky on a bike-ride Sunday. His pecs were glorious mounds of muscled filet mignon and just looking at his wrists and …[Read More...]

In bed I’m soft. Demure. Enticing as Brigitte Bardot in And God Created Woman, with doe-like come-hither glances and marzipan hair. I’m as tremulous as the surface of tea in a cup perched on a plate balanced on a stick spun by a juggler wearing …[Read More...]

“Henry. Henry, wake up! We have to have sex.” “No, we don’t!” “Yes, we do. Now come on.” “I can’t.” “If the musicians on The Titanic could play their violas and cellos ’til the ship went down  you can wake up and have sex with …[Read More...]

I met my friend Mistress Justine for lunch on Friday. That’s not her real name, but it should be. She and her husband, Raoul (also a pseudonym) have been married 15 years and the last time we spoke Justine admitted their sex life had stagnated. …[Read More...]

It hath come to pass that I am madeth aware, yet again, of a marital sex epiphany. Henry will, from time to ignominious time, refer to me as, and I quote, “SWEETUMS.” This is what Sweetums looks like: Sweetums bakes things. She crochets tea cozies. …[Read More...]

In honor of my little brother turning 40 today I’m reposting his sex life philosophies. The gift that keeps on giving. I love you, sweetheart! My brother and his bride were both virgins when they married at twenty-two and twenty-years old. I wasn’t the only …[Read More...]

Friday night our daughters Bridget and Clare both had sleepovers elsewhere. They were gone by 5:30 p.m. and were not to return until the following morning. Henry and I were home alone for the first time since the new millennium. Should we go out? Here’s …[Read More...]

All people in this post are amalgams of people I know, so if you think this is about you … it probably is. My dear friend, henceforward known as Crystal, (a name I used once to great effect) called me the other night in a …[Read More...]

“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 …[Read More...]

Last night was going to be The Night. I felt a lurking presence behind me as I Googled “Thesaurus” trying to find a better word for “engorgement” (don’t ask) on the internet. I turned to see Henry standing behind me. He was wearing his Mating Plumage. A chest-grazing …[Read More...]

Sarah and Simon had been married ten years.  They had two children, Octavia and Penelope, ages two and four.  Their angels and their succubae.  The couple shared a post-partum stress disorder that manifested in the certainty that their daughters would be felled by whooping cough, kidnapped by infertile women, attacked …[Read More...]