At the peak of our sex life, Matthew and I had sex on average eight times a week. That’s on average. Sometimes it was more. A lot more. Eventually it slowed to five or six times a week. With babies in the mix, I was often not in the mood, but I still did the deed. (See the Blog Married Sex). Plus, none of my friends were fucking their husbands this much; some couldn’t remember the last time they did have sex with their husbands. But Matthew worked hard, and I enjoyed a lot of freedoms in my life. So I figured it was the least I could do, and I continued to put out at that rate.
Sex That Doesn’t End
Once in a while, the sex would go on and on. And on. Matthew prided himself in being able to “hold off” an orgasm for a long time as he worked to please me. I appreciated this, really I did. But honestly, after seven minutes, I wanted out. I know I wasn’t the most sensitive lover when I would say to him, “Are you almost done?” or “I’m getting tired” or “Can we just stop?” That killed his ego in addition to his hard on. The goal was not to hurt his feelings, so we came to an agreement: I’d use a code word next time. It would be a gentler way to say, “Let’s call this.”
The Code Word
I picked an innocuous word that I would never say during sex: picnic. That would be his que that I was no longer enjoying myself and was ready to be done, read my book, watch tv, go to bed, etc. Several weeks later, I had my first chance to use the code word. That night, I was simply tired after a long day at work, making dinner, and playing with the girls in the evening. When it became clear this episode of whoopie could go on, and on, I leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Picnic.” Nothing changed. I waited a few more minutes, and tried again. Still, nothing. I said it one last time, and it was like I was mute. So finally I said, “OMG already. I’m done.” And so was he. So much for the safe word.