2003-03-31

If anyone had ever told me that i would fall asleep during sex I never would have believed them... but I did have a quick snooze in the middle of rumpy pumpy last Friday night.

Sure I'd been boozing on for most of the evening and had salsa'd until my footsies declared war on my calf muscles, but it was still a shock to drift off while the boyf was grinding away up top. He thought I was just enjoying it, closing my eyes to savour the moment. I didn't disabuse him of the notion.

It speaks volumes about how busy I am, but also the current romantic state of affairs. I am going through a major unsexy phase, and even forcing myself to watch Brendan Fraser films in order to feel an iota of arousal ain't working. The boyf is decidedly unsexy (why do fellas think that not showering for three days and sporting rough and tumble stubble is an attractive option?) and I have had to use the old mental bank of sex images to perk up what would otherwise be rather lackluster bedroom sessions.

Maybe its because he's a bread-and-butter kind of guy, missionary, occasionally from behind, the odd headie and wham bam, time to watch the late news. Never used to be, but the arthritis is sure slowing him down somewhat. And to be sure I could add some razzle dazzle and suggest a few things, or buy some fancy knickers, or wear feathers, but I am a bit tired of being the inventive one when it comes to horizontal mambo. Rather go play in the shower with the buzzy joy toy by myself. Get your own sandpit, buster.

Watching the dancers at the Tango Bar last night was somewhat inspirational, and also made me a little nostalgic for those times when a look was enough to drive me nuts. When a slow hand down the back contrasted with an icy g'n't would rock my world. I sat there with a group of giggling, gossipping Italians, and yearned for a man with shiny shoes and a black shirt to come and drag me across the floor in a show of lust and defiance. I even mused on Aussie Gomez, and wondered where he was, who was his Morticia now.

Working in the sex shop may have been a drag (ha! literally sometimes) but there were some memorable vignettes that made for good re-telling around the beer halls of this fair city. Now I'm reduced to knowing what the latest is in bridal fashion (ugh) and which designer has just released a faaaaaaabulous new collection. A word to the wise - never work in the fashion industry, it kills your sex life.

bitch - moan