It was still summer and the c&%blockers were gone.
I’d driven them at breakneck speed up to my mother’s in Santa Barbara. It was the first time in 12 years my daughters would be away from home. Because the oldest is 12 and the youngest is 10.
I barely slowed down, just drove by the curb and pushed them out the door at about 5 mph.
Okay. That’s a lie. I did park. Briefly.
But I really couldn’t wait to be rid of them.
In the previous week, out of sheer guilt that we were packing them off, I’d kept them out of summer camp and had spent about a thousand dollars in quarters at two different arcades with sticky floors.
I’d taken them to the Santa Monica Pier where I barfed a little in my mouth on The Scrambler.
I’d taken them to see Maleficent and the fucking Transformers abomination while they sipped Slushies sure to destroy their expensive orthodontia.
And finally, I just about drowned boogie boarding with them on a kajillion waves at Venice Beach.
I’m too old for this shit!
But now they were gone and Henry and I could relax.
And by relax I mean HAVE SEX IN EVERY ROOM IN THE HOUSE!
- What would it be like to be able to walk around naked for week?
- To yell and scream at the top of our lungs without fear we might traumatize someone’s childhood?
- To have so much sex that neither of us could sit at our computers and type?
- That we might forget to eat and become effortlessly slender again, engendering jealousy and loathing from all of our thicker middle-aged friends.
Mwhahahahahaha! It was going to be great!
And then … well … hmmm. We did have sex. Twice in two days, in fact. And it was … well … hmmm … and there may still be more to come … so to speak, but …
I guess, in a way, not having to be sneaky and quiet and furtive has made sex just a little too accessible and just not as dangerous as when the kids are home, hence kind of just … adequate.
Do you remember the scene in Diner when Daniel Stern as “Shrevie” is talking to either Eddie or Boogie about how sex used to be so hot with Ellen Barkin before they got married because they had to sneak around to do it?
They had to do it in cars, or closets or like, dumbwaiters and it was always dangerous, but now that he and Ellen were married they could have sex anytime they wanted to and so it had become sort of, well, boring?
That, in a nutshell, is the feeling I have in an empty house with no kids.
Where’s the challenge? Where’s the sneakiness?
When you can have sex in every room, you kind of just don’t want to. Google “Empty Next syndrome” for answers.
Who knew having cock-blockers around could make sex so much sexier? I realize, after writing that sentence, that it seems a little bit creepy. Ack.
Empty Nesters, does this qualify as Empty Nest Syndrome? Please tell me it gets better?
If you enjoyed this article you’re going to love Shannon’s book, “Married Sex: Fact & Fiction.” You can grab it HERE!