Family Ties
Published 12:00 am Monday, November 8, 1999
MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / November 8, 1999
First Viagra, now a cream for women to artificially jump start their desire. It figures; Viagra helps a man do what he wants, whereas thecream tries to help a woman want to do.
Geez, I’d hate to be a man. All the women I know think the term “wifelyduty” means going to lunch with friends and shopping. This fact becomesmore fixed in my mind every time I leave a gathering of women.
The other day a few of us were together at my house working on a project for school, and the subject of this cream was introduced. Two of thewomen saw it on television, where Christina Ferrare, the glamorpuss whose life so mirrors our own, was lamenting her lack of sexual desire.
This makes me feel doubly sorry for her husband, having rescued her from that whole DeLorean thing.
Anyway, one of the women in our group was troubled because her level of desire didn’t nearly match her spouse’s. During the course of this gatheringthis particular woman had to pick up her husband at the hospital.
When she returned she explained that as she dropped him off at home she gave him a hug and kiss to show her concern about his health. This mildshow of affection was all the eroticism he needed, and soon she had to push him away, excusing herself by reminding him that she had to get back to our project. “It’s never a good time,” he complained. She was stunned.”What about the prostate procedure you just had?” she asked, incredulously. “Any old excuse,” he whined pitifully.The rest of us were amazed at the man’s persistence. We all agreed hiswife needed the cream, in addition to a daily food additive of saltpeter for him. Unfortunately, she was a little shy about asking her doctor for it.The cream, that is.
Another of the women spoke up. “I just went to the doctor, but he’d be alittle surprised if I asked about the cream, since we spent the whole time discussing the fact that I wish he could sew me up forever. But I’ll say Ihave a friend who actually wants to want it.”This woman explained that she doesn’t want it, doesn’t want to want it, and doesn’t want her husband to want it. She’s jealous of her sisters,whose mates gratefully accept any carnal crumb they are offered. One hasbeen celibate for six years; the other follows the quarterly plan d’amour.
The sister on the quarterly plan is a hornball’s dream. She wishes her mancould be satisfied with those quickies, but he insists on taking up too much of her time.
Her sister would be perfect for my husband, I said, whose relentless work schedule allows him time for only an occasional wet dream. Once thisSexual Corpse called right as my husband was propositioning me, and she chuckled, “Well, go ahead, then, and I’ll call you back in two minutes.” I told the group that I must have been angry to make him that amorous. “Myhusband considers anger an aphrodisiac,” I continued.
Everyone in the room suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked at me as if I had just advanced an idea as profound as the theory of relativity.
Romeo’s wife spoke up. “I’ve told my husband, foreplay for me is watchingyou sweep the patio.” I immediately pictured her Romeo going around thehouse mopping floors, doing dishes, making beds and dusting while panting; not from the work, but from the thoughts of his payoff; his dainty little apron hiding an advanced state of arousal. “Now I know why yourhouse is so spotless,” I giggled.
This whole idea intrigued The Sexual Corpse, who mentioned a similar problem. She added, “Just today I asked him to try to stay off my list fortwenty-four hours.”As I was listening to all this, I began to feel sorry for the cream makers.
Sales are probably not what they expected. But I feel sorrier for men.After all these years, they still don’t get it.
Gee, maybe that theory really is true. . .men are thinking with the wrongbody part.
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