Sex Nazi

Sex Nazi

I have a confession. Since having 2 babies in 2 years, I have become a sex Nazi. Yes, I am a rigid ruler in our love palace, littering our marital rolls in the hay with abrasive commands and demands.

“Skip the fancy stuff, Mister. I got laundry.”

“Cut to the chase, Bud. Baby’s crying.”

“OK, Romeo. Your time window is T minus 10 minutes and counting.”

The clock glares at us ticking down those precious bedroom moments. I, of course, contribute to the romantic mood with my tyrannical tirades.

“Can ya put the pedal to the metal? I’d like to wrap this up before Oprah.”

“Let’s skip to the good stuff, Tarzan. I got a sink full of dishes and no time to waste.”

 "None of that, big boy. No time. Maybe later."

I admit it. I rule the bedroom with an iron fist, steadfast to the strict schedule and adherent to our time constraint, one ear listening for the stirrings of our offspring.

“The kids are stirring. Our time window is shrinking. Better deliver the goods pronto, cowboy.”

Luckily, I am married to a team player. He has taken one for the team on several occasions, and does not mind playing with a handicap. He is quite the trooper, always looking for ways to fill our sometimes desolate sexual landscape. Despite the stiff parameters, he always manages to deliver a grand performance, worthy of a standing ovation, lengthy accolades, and a “My hubby is better than yours” show down any day!!

Afterall, despite my bossy shortcomings, I did manage to wrangle me a Bedroom Superstar!