Sweet dreams are made of these
Eight years ago and change, I was at a party hosted by my housemate when my eyes fell upon a slim young man with dark curls and exotic eyes. Never being one to shrink from my desires, I introduced myself and proceeded to monopolise his time for the rest of the night. A week later, he dropped in to our house to retrieve some CDs he'd 'forgotten' to take with him. A few nights in loud clubs with copious quantities of kiss-enabling-beer, the subsequent ritual combining of furniture and cooking implements, and the rest is history.
Some three and a half years later, realising that we seemed compatible in such important matters as interior decorating tastes, holiday preferences and the keeping of pets, we formalised the arrangement in the time-honoured fashion (cake, expensive clothes, a senile celebrant, you know the drill).
So this weekend, our connubial bliss intact, we thought it was probably finally time to bite the bullet, take the plunge, and mix our metaphors. We needed to find out if we were compatible in bed.
Obviously, this was a big step for us. After all, having tied ourselves together in the bonds of matrimony (a phrase which sounds rather kinkier than I think it was originally intended to be), the ramifications would be serious if we weren't. This was nothing to be taken lightly.
So we did our research: was latex the best option, or a natural fibre? We read the manuals: most people preferred it to be hard, they said, but there were a lot of advantages to a softer, gentler approach. And we decided to use an expert to explain to us how it was done.
First, this gently-spoken young woman instructed me to lie on a bed and relax. Take deep breaths, she said. Then she repeated the process with the husband. In between the deep breaths, she peppered us with questions about our bedroom routines. Were we hot together, she asked, or cool? Did we move around a lot, did we have a favourite position or mix things up, did we make noise? We answered to the best of our abilities, blushing a little, and she nodded seriously and fed the results into a computer.
A few clicks and whirs later, and a print-out emerged. We waited with bated breath for the verdict. Were we doomed to spend our lives together, incompatible in the area that mattered the most? Was there something we could do about it, some sort of middle ground?
She beamed. What do you know, she said. You're perfectly compatible, that's really rare, congratulations!
And we are. But we're also down a couple of thousand dollars for the new mattress.
Some three and a half years later, realising that we seemed compatible in such important matters as interior decorating tastes, holiday preferences and the keeping of pets, we formalised the arrangement in the time-honoured fashion (cake, expensive clothes, a senile celebrant, you know the drill).
So this weekend, our connubial bliss intact, we thought it was probably finally time to bite the bullet, take the plunge, and mix our metaphors. We needed to find out if we were compatible in bed.
Obviously, this was a big step for us. After all, having tied ourselves together in the bonds of matrimony (a phrase which sounds rather kinkier than I think it was originally intended to be), the ramifications would be serious if we weren't. This was nothing to be taken lightly.
So we did our research: was latex the best option, or a natural fibre? We read the manuals: most people preferred it to be hard, they said, but there were a lot of advantages to a softer, gentler approach. And we decided to use an expert to explain to us how it was done.
First, this gently-spoken young woman instructed me to lie on a bed and relax. Take deep breaths, she said. Then she repeated the process with the husband. In between the deep breaths, she peppered us with questions about our bedroom routines. Were we hot together, she asked, or cool? Did we move around a lot, did we have a favourite position or mix things up, did we make noise? We answered to the best of our abilities, blushing a little, and she nodded seriously and fed the results into a computer.
A few clicks and whirs later, and a print-out emerged. We waited with bated breath for the verdict. Were we doomed to spend our lives together, incompatible in the area that mattered the most? Was there something we could do about it, some sort of middle ground?
She beamed. What do you know, she said. You're perfectly compatible, that's really rare, congratulations!
And we are. But we're also down a couple of thousand dollars for the new mattress.
posted by tanya at 10:02 am
2 Comments:
Have you been playing with something here? Your rss feed just exploded and reposted your last two months.
Not me, Sarah, but Blogger just moved to a new version (synched with Google), and updated the entire blog when I tried to post something new. I imagine that did it.
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