One of my closest friends was telling me the other day about a bedroom episode she had with her husband.  Apparently, Kurt's libido had taken a nosedive.  Maybe work stress or the anti-depressants he'd been taking since the sudden death of his youthful boss.  Who knows why men lose interest in sex, although I must say I've only heard about these men.  I've never known any of them personally.  The cause of Kurt's malaise was uncertain but weeks had passed and Joanne was feeling the neglect.  She decided to take Buzz Aldrin to bed with them that night.  If Kurt wasn't in the mood to engage in a little marital bliss, it was time for him to meet the other man.  Outside chance that Kurt might be lured into a little threesome.  At the very least, he would have a clear idea of where things were with his wife. Smart lady. Lo and behold, Kurt found Buzz so surprising and arousing that he rose to the occasion with gusto.

Dear God, I love this woman.  Her moxie and shameless honesty never fail to shock and delight me.  My deepest innards are far too Catholic-damaged for me to pull a stunt like that with my mate, as intimately comfortable and relaxed as I would like to believe that I feel with him.  But there she was, warming up to have a great time with Buzz right in front of her husband's wide eyes.  I want you to meet someone, honey. 

Joanne is my SLL, shorthand for Spirit Lesbian Lover.  No, we aren't lesbians and we aren't lovers.  But someday in another lifetime, we plan to be ecstatically happily married.  She says we already have the perfect relationship because we know how to love each other freely and unconditionally, without the slightest hint of pressure or expectation.  Actually, Joanne has a lesbian sister and the two of them carry on at least a half-dozen brief phone chats every day.  They live in different states but they can tell you what  the other one ate for breakfast.  One of Karen's calls came in while I was visiting Joanne, who told her sister, "Maggy's here now and we're having so much fun.  If we had the right parts and pheromones to match, we'd be naked and rolling all over the floor by now."

When our marriage lifetime rolls around, it's a no-brainer that I'll be the hubby:  Joanne is ultra feminine and in many ways, I'm a guy with boobs.  Truly hate shopping, for one thing.  "This fits.  Give me three of them in different colors."  (Accessorize?  For what?)  Hate cooking but love eating.  No patience for gossip, drama, passive-aggressive tendencies or subtleties.  Genuinely appreciate male candor and directness.  Would rather be pushing myself to keep up with the boys in sports or outdoor activities than dumb down my pace for some whining female companion.  I know, I know, these are all sexist stereotypes but trust me when I say my masculine side is ridiculously dominant.

My SLL is just the opposite:  Majored in home economics in college. Taught cooking classes.  Authored books on healthy eating and microwave cooking.  She even traveled the nation as the Pillsbury spokesperson on television and radio shows.  Her master bedroom has at least three deep shelves covered with perfume bottles.  She not only bothers to wear jewelry each day but plays with and tries on her favorite pieces for pure joy.  The attic, garage, and storage unit are bulging over with seasonal, theme, and festive decorations.  Kurt revels in the beauty and creature comforts of their home, but the man can squeeze the buffalo off a nickel and had to learn the tough way to give his wife's kite plenty of string.  They were shopping together shortly after they got married and she reached for a fluted vase.  He countered with, "Do you really think you need that?"  Her firm, instant response delivered straight into his eyes was, "Yes, I certainly do need this."  "In fact," she said as she reached toward the shelf, "I need two of them!"  Joanne is the hostess who buys gifts for each guest at her dazzling table and carves the watermelon into a whale's shape for the salad bowl.  I'm all about paper plates and burned buns.  More than any woman in my life, Joanne has given me Lady Lessons.  Her sensitive eye for the beauty in nature, life, people, and relationships never ceases to water my withered feminine flower.

And so it was with Buzz Aldrin.  Joanne was floored that I was "pushing 60" and never once purchased a man of my own, particularly when she's been married forever and I've crawled across interminable stretches of the Celibacy Desert.  Still, I had no inkling that I might be the only one on the planet who missed that cue when I related the Buzz scenario to my dental hygienist the next week.  Jolie expects nothing less than outrageous stories when I'm in her chair and I considered this one a humdinger.  After composing herself to the point where she could speak again, Jolie hollered for the front-office staff to come over and listen to an encore performance.  Oddly, the male dentists had yet to arrive and the waiting room was entirely empty. Just us girls.  That's when I found out about Rocket, so named because he takes Patsy to the moon.  And Bob, Mary's battery operated boyfriend.  No hesitation, no embarrassment.  I know that's not what Gloria had in mind for Women's Lib but it felt wildly freeing to watch these ladies light up and share.

The very next day I wandered into a Fascinations shop, the kind of place my mind always associated with perversion and porn.  What did I know anyway?  I must say the shop is aptly named.  These pleasure enhancers come in more sizes, colors and textures and have more scintillating names and options for bells and whistles than I could ever have imagined.  An entire wall of them from floor to ceiling, and of course that was only one small section in a sprawling store crammed full of bobbles and toys.  Each one of the three employees working the floor eventually wandered up to me in the hour-plus I was transfixed in dumbfounded amazement, picking up an occasional package to read the fine print.  I said the same thing to them all: "No thanks, I don't need any help.  I'm just being fascinated."  By the way, my favorite was the Tantric Tongue, which I picked up for my SLL.  I could already hear the microburst of her laughter at the moment she unwrapped the package.  Now that's what I call accessorizing.

Copyright © Margaret Michaels 2008 All rights reserved
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