tagReviews & EssaysMarried Sex & Pizza

Married Sex & Pizza


What is it about the beginning of a relationship that makes us so euphoric?

I'm sure there's some biochemical explanation. And a psychological one, too. I remember, soon after meeting my husband, riding next to him in the car on the way home from a date, the window open, the wind in my face, his hand on my leg, and I thought, at the time, I'd never been as happy and didn't know if I ever would be again. That memory lives in me like a heartbeat, even now. Every aspect of that moment has been preserved, because I reminded myself at the time to remember it.

Remember this. Remember this, years from now, when you've been married seven years and things aren't so easy anymore.

And I do. You see, I'd been married before. I knew how fast the bloom falls off the rose. And I knew, too, sometimes you just can't put all the pieces back together, no matter how hard you try. So I never expected to feel that high, euphoric, totally in-love feeling forever. We've been together for ten years and married for seven, now, and life has had plenty of ups and downs in that time period. It's also fallen into its routines, and we've had plenty of time to find each other's faults.

Plenty. And we've found lots of them. We've hurt each other a lot. We've forgiven each other a lot, too. We've held each other open when we wanted to curl inward and close. We've pressed each other's buttons in ways no one else ever could. And I wouldn't trade what we have now for that beginning euphoria if someone offered me a million dollars. I truly wouldn't.

Our love has grown as much as we have. It's matured, as we have. I'm softer, more open, less afraid, and more accepting now in loving him. I think he is with me, too. As much as I remember that incredible, floaty lovesick feeling at the beginning, I don't crave it or think I'm missing anything. I would never give up what I have now for the promise of that feeling (and a whole new set of problems, I might add.)

And when it comes to sex...

A single friend recently asked me, "But... isn't married sex kind of... boring... after a while?" I just blinked at her. "You know, I mean, I like pizza, but if I had to eat pizza every single night I'd get... bored."

First of all... bored with pizza? Perish the thought!

Secondly... no. Married sex isn't boring.

In fact, I wouldn't trade my married sex life for a single one if someone gave me the choice. I can't imagine going through all that... stuff... again. You know, that self-conscious first undressing, learning all the buttons to push - or not. Those particulars vary so much from person to person. When you've been with someone a long time, you get comfortable. Not in a take-for-granted sort of way, but in a relaxed, open way. I can let myself go with him in ways I can't imagine doing with someone else. Because I love him, because I trust him, because we've spent the time, in bed and out.

I don't honestly even miss that first time sexual excitement, because for me, so much of it was nervousness and anxiety. The fear of rejection out there in the single world looms pretty large, real or imaginary. We talk about what it was like at the beginning sometimes, and while it was fun and sweet and exciting... I really have no desire to go back.

Just this morning, he called and told me how much he wanted to roll me over this morning and lick me through my new pink striped panties. New panties are always a cause for sexual celebration in our bedroom, and while I don't usually wear panties to bed, last night I fell asleep before taking them off. So my husband was faced with not only a new situation - me in panties - but new ones at that.

"Too bad you woke up late," I teased.

"Remember the first time I licked you?" It was the first day I met him. How could I forget? "Remember all your half-hearted attempts at protest: 'No... wait... I... ohhhh...'"

"Shut up, you!" I blushed just remembering.

He went on anyway, imitating me, "'Oh god, your tongue, oh please, that's so good...'"

"I remember. I remember!"

He chuckled. "You were so shy and sweet. You made me want to eat you right up."

"But you did."

He lowered his voice. "Are you still wearing those panties?"

"No... I'm not wearing any panties..."

"Oh god..."

"Wanna eat me up?" I teased.

"Does a cat meow?"


No, for us, married sex just doesn't get old.

But I don't get sick of pizza, either.




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