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Give The Dog A Bone

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

Give The Dog A Bone

Photo courtesy of www.ehow.com

Well crapola.  In the last couple of weeks my sexual revolution has been on a snooze fest.  When the party should have been in my pants (and the Dukes), blasted work deadlines and getting ready to move house has taken any semblance of sizzle and left a dreary drizzle.  Yikes. I suppose that is called “life getting in the way”. The Duke’s deadline got extended, so whilst he remained in the edit bay, I finished part 1 of the 50 Shades trilogy and was (spoiler alert) mollified at least that Anastasia did finally come to her senses after he spanked her with the bat.  Had to take a good hard spanking to get there.  Each to their own.

The Duke did get one day off and we spent the day frantically trying to make a dent in packing up the house before he goes underground for another week.   Not to be deterred, I suggested the idea of him packing his load for my eyes only but as the suggestion came during lunch, with the Boy Duke looking inquisitively at me as I was saying it and the Duke covered in dust and packing tape, it was met with a little derision.   I must remember to time my suggestions more appropriately next time.  Sometimes my brain and mouth don’t connect.

On we went late into the evening. At some point, I managed to pull a muscle in my lower back pulling a box off the bed, so by the time we flopped into bed it took a herculean effort to even turn over.  Crikey.  This wasn’t going as planned.

Then I remembered that the mission this week was just to give a hickey.  I can do that.  As I am closing in on 40, I think the hickey’s on the neck need to be left to those nubile young things in their teens and twenties.  I couldn’t leave a blinding bruise on the Duke – he would be mortified. So in my inert state, I grabbed his arm and started gnawing on it.  He looked at me utterly perplexed.

“What ARE you doing?” he muttered.

“Giving you a hickey.” I replied matter-of-fact

“Why?”

By this point he was shaking his head at me.  I started laughing, realized that my gnawing was more reminiscent of our dogs chewing on a bone than a hot, passionate prelude to sex.  Clearly, I need to go to hickey school.  It has been so long since I gave one I have forgotten its fine art.  Obviously it is not like riding a bicycle.  So I released his arm which he thankfully took back and two minutes later I was out for the count and dreaming of Downton Abbey. I wonder if they give hickeys at Downton?

 

 

 

 

 

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