Wear your finest shirt, even if your wife’s seen it a hundred times and knows it’s a come-on. Better yet, put on your tightest jeans and a black fitted T-shirt. That’ll surprise her.
“What the fuck’s got into you?” she’ll ask.
She’s English, and her vulgarity is sexy to your American ears, poetic even. A turn-on. But not now. This time her question makes you turn red in the face and sweat in clothes that all of a sudden feel way too confining.
Here’s what you must do if you encounter such a situation: You must hold your ground. But don’t try a line. It won’t come out right. And if you’ve rehearsed what to say, it’ll come out worse. If you say, “You up for a good time, baby,” she’ll crack up and nearly wet herself. That’s what she’ll tell you, after she’s caught her breath.
Then she’ll laugh louder when you say, “Hey, at least you’re wet, if you know what I mean.”
That will make her snort from so much laughter.
You must laugh along with her, if you can. At least you’ve broken the mood, even if you know that she knows what you’re after and probably knew before you even started your attempt.
But get ready—you must always be ready—for the shutdown after the hilarity has settled.
“I’m tired,” she’ll say
There it goes. Your hopes recede along with any sense of an erection.
Whatever you do, don’t plead. That will worsen things. Instead, be helpful. “A cup of tea?” Take it to her in bed. But don’t dote. And don’t mope. Those are turnoffs. Read your book, and plan your next attack.
This is what you must do next time: surprise her with your coyness. Play the cool cat who doesn’t need it. It’s called reverse psychology. Yes, it’s an old trick and it’s way overdone. But do it anyway. Take your kids out. You have three under the age of thirteen and it wasn’t Immaculate Conception. So there is hope. She’ll need it. We all need it. Even after a month or more. It will happen. That day will come, and then, all of a sudden, she will look at you longingly, and you’ll think, “At fucking last!” But don’t say that, and don’t gesture your delight with your arms, childishly. Instead, look at her tenderly. She’s been run off her feet raising your kids while you go to the office. “I’m home,” you say, thinking only of dinner and lingering concerns about work.
“I need you,” she says.
But don’t say that.
Say, “Okay,” and ask her what’s on her mind. Or, better yet, give her a hug, a caring one, not a get-down-to-business one with your lips and tongue and a feel of her ass. She’s tired. Take her a cup of tea to bed, and whizz through the evening routine. Put the kids to bed, and ignore the pleas of the youngest. “But we haven’t brushed our teeth?” Tell her it doesn’t matter. “But Mummy says my teeth will fall out.” Say it’s fine just this once. If the protest continues, give in and send all of them off to brush their teeth.
Then rush back to the bedroom and hoot, if you must, but not too loudly. Your wife will hear you and call you a fuckwit.
When you get to the bedroom, walk calmly. Slowly take off your clothes and ease under the sheets, edge up next to her and press your body against hers. It’s party time!
If you find your wife in pajamas and half asleep, don’t say, “And?” You won’t need to ask because you’ll see the answer on her face. You’ll respond with a frown. You shouldn’t, even if it’s impossible not to. She’ll say, “Sorry.” Respond by saying: “It’s alright.” Tell her to get some sleep. She’ll thank you, and, if you’re lucky, she’ll say, “Tomorrow, I promise. Tomorrow, I’ll fuck your brains out.”
Yep, that’s the best line you will ever hear.
After a month, what’s another day? Now she’s committed! Punch the air in delight. You can do that as long as she’s not looking at you. She probably won’t be because she’ll have already rolled over and gone to sleep, and you must do the same. But not on top of her.
She’ll keep her word. Trust her. You must trust her. It’s the secret of marriage. Focus on what’s in store: a taste of heaven. But don’t say that. She’ll say you’re such a knobhead, and that will put her off.
Make sure not to remind her of her vow. Let it happen. It may not. A lot can happen in 24 hours.
But if it does happen, and it does, and she’s into you, and you’re into her after a day of fixation on her ass and breasts, then you must take it slowly and think of her. If it’s all about you, then you may take less than twenty-five seconds, and she’ll wind up staring at your flop and saying, “And what am I meant to do with that?”
Don’t smile and don’t relish in your own release. And don’t try to revive yourself. You’re spent. Don’t look at her and say that she could pretend to be a snake charmer. Because she’ll respond: “Or I could just find another man.” She’s pissed off and her English accent doesn’t sound so poetic anymore. So, roll over and take her complaints about your selfishness in sex and a whole lot of other things.
You must recalculate your methods because those didn’t work. You’ve got another month to try, maybe longer.
You must try something new, and this is what you must do to seduce your wife: sit still and be in her presence. Look at her, be with her, talk, listen and share. Watch a movie. When she laughs heartily, bite your lip so that you don’t backtrack into thinking you’re going to get laid just because she’s looked in your eyes, or laughed at your joke, or touched your arm. Or even your ass. Keep playing Scrabble or checkers. Smile and enjoy the moment, even if it seems corny.
Do this and you may be shocked by what happens: You’ll laugh, I mean, really laugh, and she will too, and the hours will go by, and you’ll think, I love this woman, and you’ll hold hands together on the patio and look out at the garden and talk about your kids, your past, your future, and you’ll make her a spread of cheese and crackers, and you’ll open a bottle of wine.
You’ll talk more, and look at the stars. It won’t be lame. She won’t think it is.
Look at her. You’ll see the woman you fell in love with when you were 28 years old, the woman who bore your first child, the one who died. You both survived, you got on, the two of you together. You found each other again after such a loss, and now you have three children. It wasn’t immaculate. You were together then—and you are now. The busyness of raising children and getting on with your careers, the money-worries—the lot of it came and set in and you forgot about love.
But look at her now. You’re still together. There she is, her pale-blue eyes looking into yours, and there’s a flicker in there. She’s happy and willing. She really is. And you’ve not tried to fabricate this desire, because you didn’t need to. Her weight presses into yours. This is what it was like at the beginning—and again now, when it feels like you’ve got all the time in the world for each other.
Trust me, this will work.
This is what will happen:
You will fuck up and regress to your old ways.
She won’t want it, not for a while.
Then when she is traveling, she’ll want it and she’ll let you know in a text message.
And if you get into a groove, she may start to rate your performance. Don’t try for a ten. You’ll never get one. You’ll get a lot of fives, and the occasional 7.5. Maybe a 7.75, which is pretty damn good. Don’t try to figure out how she rates you, even after she gives you a two, or less. This is because she’ll change the system one day to the next. The only constant is her pleasure. So aim for that and you’ll do just fine.
And when you get it all perfect at 7.75, don’t linger in the kitchen the next morning because when she wakes up and finds you’re not in bed, she’ll score you a zero for not hugging her.
Will this ruin your chances for a morning shag, as she so poetically calls making love?
She’ll say, “I’ll consider it while you bring me a coffee.”
Do so at your fastest pace. You’ll get back to see her sat up in bed reading, and without a word or look at you, she’ll accept the cup of coffee (with hot, frothy milk).
The hug and more?
Get back into bed, shift your body over to hers and give it a try, but don’t be surprised if she looks at you blankly and says, “Too late.”
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