Quick! The kid isn’t home – let’s DO this!!!

Rissa was going to be gone for three whole nights.  David and I begin
sharing the the waggling eyebrow looks, the suggestive head tilts,
the…

“YOU GUYS!  I CAN TOTALLY SEE YOU DOING THAT!!!!“

“What?  Doing what?!?”

Rissa rolls her eyes.  But then gives us the I’m watching you look.

Surreptitiously now, I am trying to communicate with David all the places we will have sex during our childless days:  All the
kitchen counters, the living room sofa, ottoman, possibly the
Laz-y-Boy, the family room sofa, the bed in our room, the blanket box in
our room, against the wall in our room, the bathroom floor…

David whispers in my ear, “You can be as loud as you want.”  I blush.  Rissa dramatically points to her eyes and then us.

Noisy sex – the thing you can’t have when there’s another person in your
home.  Though you may experience an earth-shattering orgasm that makes
you want to scream, possibly yodel, joyously into the abyss – you
just don’t.  When Rissa was little it was because the last thing I
wanted was for our toddler to come into our room and holler, “DADDY YOU’RE SQUISHING MUMMY!!!” 
Now that she’s a teenager, and remembering myself as a teenager,  I
basically don’t want her to vomit when she thinks of what could be
instigating the sounds from our bedroom.

We are going to have three nights.  And by nights, I really mean three
late afternoons, evenings and nights of sex.  I’m hyrdating, stretching,
epiladying.. I am ready… Let’s DO this!!!  David comes home from work.  His laptop bag is flung from his shoulder, he struts into the kitchen…

I’m on the sofa in the family room.  My entire body is disappointment, I
have a hot water bottle across my abdomen.  “Batten down the
hatches…thar she blows…”

“No.  Really?”  He sits on the arm of the sofa.   He’s thinking now, I
can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.  “Yeah… Yeah… we
should have known this.  You’ve been craving chocolate and pretty
frisky…”

My shoulders slump.  “But we have three days!!!  We were going to have sex everywhere!!!”  I swallow my ibuprofen.

He sits beside me and drops a light kiss on my lips.  He smooths the
hair off my face.  “I guess,” he whispers, kissing me again, but not so
lightly this time.  “I guess we’re just going to have to get creative.”
His eyes meet mine and the bottom drops out of my stomach.

“Creative?” I gasp.  (After almost 19 years of sex with this man, he still makes me gasp.)

“VERY creative.”  He cracks his knuckles, waggling his eyebrows.

I snort.  He kisses me again.

“Dinner now or later?” he asks.

“Later.”