bend you over the bed.”
“Correct.” Carey smiles, tugs my hand, and leads me down the hall.
EXCERPT FROM New Life, Old Love
Chapter Nine: Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby
Imagine the scene: Melly hands me the outline for this book to look over. As with most things in our life, she’s done the initial legwork and so I know it’s solid. I do a quick scan and give her an immediate “Yep, looks good,” and she hovers for only a second before letting that sassy smile spread over her face.
“Great,” she says. “Glad to hear it.”
Two months later, I’m handed the outline again. Nothing’s changed. Same exact outline. Except this time, I actually take the time to look at it. And this time, I notice that she’s outlined for me to write, among other things, the chapter on s-e-x.
Do I take it as a compliment? Hell yeah. Nothing better than knowing your wife trusts you to handle the important stuff. But is it also intimidating? Another hell yeah. It’s one thing to talk about sex in the confines of our marriage—we’ve been together so long that there are things we know about each other’s bodies that we probably don’t even know about our own. But it’s another thing to get on the computer and try to tell millions of people how and when they should be talking about sex in a relationship.
Look. The first thing I realized with Melly was that if we weren’t prepared to talk about it openly, then we probably shouldn’t be doing it. I realized that because we started together early, before we really had a language for any of that stuff. Before we knew what to do and what we even really liked. We were idiots, shuffling blindly through sexual exploration.
I guess it’s sheer luck that we were able to figure it out together, but that—like any aspect of a good marriage—took a lot of attention, effort, and talking. Lord, in those early days we talked all night about what we wanted, who we were, and what turned us on.
If you think this chapter is going to be a salacious tell-all about my sex life with the beautiful Melissa Tripp, you’ll be disappointed. Go pick up a different book—maybe one with a sexy cowboy on the cover. Another important piece of taking care of a sexual relationship in marriage is to keep it private. My daddy always said, “The only way to keep a secret is to not tell anyone,” so this is me not telling you a single detail about my wife and how damn sexy she is when she wears her hair down, puts on a pair of jeans and boots, and goes outside to ride her beautiful Arabian, Shadow.
Well, I guess that tidbit got away from me, but here’s the other thing: a healthy sexual relationship happens when you find your partner sexy at one day, at one year, at ten years, and when you’re both old as time and slow as honey in the winter. Those things you think are sexy at first might change over time. People aren’t as acrobatic at forty as they are at twenty. These are the facts of life.
But when you’re near someone and feel like your knees turned to jelly, and when you can look them square in the eye and tell them exactly what it is you want them to do, well, that’s just the start of something beautiful.
In the handful of steps from the elevator to James’s room, my confidence evaporates. It’s been years since I’ve undressed in front of a man. What was I thinking? I’m not even sure who this brazen person is. It’s a wonder James didn’t gently guide me to my own room and instruct me to sleep it off.
Debbie would probably tell me that burst of madness in the elevator was born of frustration and anger—some need to be in control of my life because it feels like I never have any control at all. I’ve given ten years to Melissa Tripp. My young years! Ten years of hard work and ideas, hoping one day I might be acknowledged for even a fraction of it.
That is obviously not going to happen.
I rarely let myself think this way. Thoughts like these would make the day-to-day too hard, and any suggestion that I’m more than just an assistant would make Melly’s head explode. It’s not even that I want credit, exactly, but maybe I just need to know that she knows? Does she?