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We Suck

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.

We Suck

Long before Mission: Do It, I conducted an informal survey among my friends asking what the number one point of contention in their marriage was. I fully expected everyone to say housework, since that’s what Mr. Lee and I struggled with that year (and a few of the years following), or money (since that seems to be conventional wisdom). Instead, nearly three quarters of the women I spoke with said it was frequency of sex – he wants more, she doesn’t.

I think Mr. Lee’s sucking job is suckier than mine.

One of those survey respondents was at soccer practice last week sporting a bruise-like mark on her neck.

I thought for a moment it was a disambiguation (look it up), but dismissed it because we’re in our 30s, and this friend isn’t on the sexy revolution. Turns out, she had indeed been tagged. Upon further questioning, she revealed that she and her husband had decided to make-out more in an effort to reignite the home fires. And, as evidenced by her neck, it was working. The reason I share this is because it served as huge validation for the power of this week’s adolescent challenge.

As for our home fires, Mr. Lee joked all week about where I could give him a hickey (I’m not sure it’s even possible in some of those locations). On Friday, however, he gave himself his own disambiguation when he managed to get hit in the eye with a rock while mowing the lawn without protection…for his eyes. He spent the next two days telling me all about the ghost blurs he was seeing around every color and object. It was riveting.

After two weekend visits to the optometrist, his mind was finally at ease Sunday night, and we were both – brace yourself – going to bed at the same time. We laid there for a bit before he suddenly lunged for my neck “True Blood” style, sucking hard on my jugular in a way that made it feel as if he was biting me. Erotic? Not so much. Entertaining? You bet.

I then went in for my opportunity on his neck. We negotiated about the best location, me through direct attempts to suck, and him through attempts to negotiate – he claimed cops shouldn’t have visible hickeys, lame. Finally, we found a happy medium at the base of his neck just under where his collar would start. He giggled the whole time saying it tickled, and I laughed at his schoolgirl vulnerability. We then spent five minutes in the dark taking pictures with my iPhone – recreating ghost blurs with the bright flash – as we tried to see the love bites on our own bodies. Mine was long and narrow like a curling iron burn while his looked like a paint ball bruise.

It was already late, and we’d applied copious amounts of saliva to each other’s bodies, so we went on to finish the act, which was great fun.

Mr. Lee left these on the mantle all week. When I asked if he needed them for work, he said they’re mine now. That doesn’t suck.

This week’s sucky mission meant Mr. Lee went to bed happy last night, and I now have to wear my hair down for a week. Was it worth it? You bet.

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