Okay, I’m going to kick off with a really old joke, one of the first ones my Dad taught me when I was really young. A guy and his wife are fighting ALL the time, like cats and dogs; she’s a bitch and he’s a sonofabitch. He’s goin' out drinkin’ and the kitchen is closed. No more make-up, he stops using deodorant. House looks like a sty and it’s just getting worse and worse. Sooo… the guy comes up with an idea. He’s gonna kill her and be done with it, only he really doesn’t like the prospect of 50 years in jail. So he gets an idea - that night he decides he’s going to screw his wife… to DEATH. No prison, no problem and the plan is cast. That night, he goes to it - up, down, round and round, from the chandelier, tied to the bed... desperately he keeps trying to do her in but finally he gives up in defeat. Just can’t kill her.
Next morning, he wakes up, smells coffee perking, ham and eggs, French toast. He wanders into the kitchen, which is now immaculate and she’s wearing that little black skirt he bought her way back when, only no undies and no bra. She says, “Hey Babe! Ya hungry?”
Now, I know some naysayers out there who’ll roll their eyes or worse… raise an eyebrow but, in short, my premise is this: SEX is: The Temporary Answer to the Permanent Problem: Not Enough SEX.
Allow me to give you an example: let’s say that you or your wife are getting a little older, wrinklier, beefier (okay, let’s be honest, plain old fat) and you’re down in the dumps. Wait, you’re going to tell me that having SEX will cure the doldrums? Yeah, I am. More than that, it helps cure that other problem (where you don’t really want to see each other nekkid) because Sex burns calories and makes you want to look better. All good stuff!
Let’s say something even more problematic comes along: Your mortgage rate just increased, as did your medical, and one of you just dinged-up the Audi in the parking lot. Don’t tell me that SEX will cure that too? Actually… YES! It cures that, too. I guarantee you that if you have some wild, toe-curling sex, you won’t even care if you’ve got pieces of deer antler hanging off the bumper.
Getting a bit arthritic, suicidal? Life has little or no meaning anymore? Guess what - to my knowledge no one on the planet has ever had mind-blowingly great sex and then gone out and jumped off a bridge. I’m pretty sure of that.
Okay, you just had the worst possible argument on the planet. The big guns were brought out, the nukes launched, and at that point there’s not a whole lot you can do…. except, just maybe, you could go up to your mate and say, “Hey, I’m as hot as a firecracker… you wanna get jiggy?” I give you 70-30 odds you’ll be in the sack, if you make your eyes twinkle when you say it. Really, it works! Don’t ask me why. Basic Earthling magic.
Let’s see… what else? Your kid didn’t get accepted to Harvard or, worse than that, he DID get accepted and you’re saddled with four more years of poverty. The answer? Anyone getting the gist of this article? YEAH… Sex doesn’t solve the problem so much as it makes it disappear for a pretty long time. And by the time you’re getting ready to be depressed again… guess what, it’s time to have MORE SEX!
Now…. again, if you’re queasy on the subject, it’s time to bail-the-hell-out of this screed. It really is. Otherwise, I want no complaining in the comment section... The truth is I’m not talking about slipping into your neatly pressed pajamas and turning down the sheets. I’m talking about bringing the bottle of olive oil to bed with you; I'm talking about gargling and making sure you have LOTS of lube or spit on every one of your fingers, toes, nose, tongue, wiener, hair, did I mention tongue? They should all be ready to wiggle and explore to go where no man has gone… in at least the last day and a half.
Should you bring anyone else to bed with you? Sure… but only inside your head. There’s an old, old song that has the line, “Brother, you can’t go to jail for what you’re thinking,” and it’s true. I’m pretty sure that my wonderful wife, Pamela, sometimes brings Raylan Givens to bed (Justified) and once in a while, Hugh Jackman (Wolverine) and God knows who else. She offered to buy me a white cowboy hat like Raylan’s and if it ever shows up I’ll wear it. As for me? Sometimes I’m making love to Pamela, only she’s back in college, or she’s a camp counsellor, or selling Girl Scout cookies… or a pole dancer, or a ballet dancer (which she was) and she’s still in her tutu...
Oh, okay - at my editor’s prompt that perhaps I needed to fess up that I too bring the occasional fantasy to bed, I anted up Kate Beckinsale in a black rubber jump suit with glowing vampire eyes. And then there’s - ahem... and yet for some strange reason, these gals aren't terribly real to me and that's key; I really prefer women with more character, a couple of lines under the eyes, some wrinkles, the look of intelligence from having suffered. I like smart, maybe even a bit neurotic, and vulnerable. Am I in the minority? I only fantasize about someone who could possibly care for me as well.
But to get back to the meat of my argument... I’m not pretending that Life doesn’t sometimes stink; people can be a profound disappointment; maybe you didn’t go as high in the corporation as you imagined; or never got that best seller; never broke 200K a year…whatever. But consider this - if the guy cutting your grass is going home at night and having 15 times more sex than you are, I'll lay odds he’s at least five times happier.
Yeah, Sex is the answer (at least the temporary answer) to just about EVERYTHING. PS: My wife Pamela edited this and strongly suggested that I insert the word, “boink” to replace the word “fuck” because…well…that’s a pretty nasty word and no one has ever heard it before. Then my Editor decided to use ‘get jiggy’ but y’all know what I mean. My wife also suggested that I add (and I quote) “Sex is the Glue that Keeps a Marriage Together.” Yeah, well whatever trips your trigger....
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Henry Harvey is a writer as well as a metal sculptor, patented inventor, and... ex Air Force fighter pilot. Of seventeen books, two are from Schiffer Publishing about his unusual life in sculpting, while the rest of them are novels, including Playing on the Black Keys, Lord of the Mill, Poontango Diaries, and Saphos Assassin.