This winter period can be hard to weather, especially if you have children and other stresses on top of your marriage. Intimacy seems fleeting as we try to get back into our non-holiday routines. It's a new year, new semester, new season . . . and every fracking bill in the universe seems to be due. Stress, stress, stress, and almost none of it from how to hide the huge stacks of cash you're hoarding. Pity.
Red Pill Wifey brings a particularly poignant observation to bear: among other evils, the stress of Janufeb can encourage a man to focus on the mission of keeping his personal trains running on time that he often doesn't have much time even for sex. And when the Red Pill wife who has been getting a steadily-increasing diet of dick and loving it suddenly hits a spot where hubby just isn't initiating, the result can be perplexing, at best.
As she says, "I guess I’m feeling his lack of initiation as a rejection."
That made me think. For dudes, rejection is rejection, because we rarely expect our wives to initiate sex and as Red Pill men we have come to understand that it is our role to initiate the majority of the time. But for women, who are largely reactive in a sexual relationship, lack of initiation on their husband's part is often considered a form of rejection. That's a subtlety that Red Pill dudes need to remember, but often don't. But try to see it from her point of view. You not initiating sex with her is like her going out and spending a car payment on her hair and dress . . . and you not noticing.
It seems hard for a guy to get through his head, that his wife actually wants him to initiate on a regular, if not predictable, basis. Many times we think you'd rather skip it, considering how hard it can be to persuade you. But it's a Red Pill fact that women get horny, and when they are deprived of stimulation, sex, and attention they can get downright cranky. And that's a very, very important factor for a lot of marriages.
The problem is, especially this time of year, a man feels compelled to apply his nose to the grindstone and redouble his efforts, thanks to post-holiday poverty, guilt, new year's resolutions, and the impending tax deadlines. With that kind of beginning-of-the-year stress to focus your attention, as much as we'd like to think about sex all the time as per usual, the fact is that the most responsible among us are often the ones most likely to ignore sex . . . and just put off initiating until things are more "convenient".
I'm particularly vulnerable to this, because my birthday is just a few weeks after the holidays. Usually just before people get paid a paycheck that hasn't already been spent, and long before their tax returns are out. So my birthdays tend to be frugal affairs, usually. This year was no exception. And with as much stress (trying to publish 4 books at a time PLUS a day job, daddy duties, and Girl Scout cookies, now) as I'm bearing, as much as I'd love to be taking Mrs. I to Pound Town by the most convenient route, the fact is I just don't have the mental or emotional energy to initiate properly.
So to work with our circumstances and not against them, Mrs. Ironwood has developed a bit of Girl Game I like to call "Nuking The Site From Orbit", after the famous line from the classic sci-fi horror movie, Aliens ("It's the only way to be sure."). While a good GFE or other exotic move can put pep into hubby's step, those are targeted, surgical strikes on his libido. There are times when the carpet-bombing method of sexual satisfaction are actually more helpful.
The process has evolved over the years - the first one was for my 33rd birthday, so she's had some time to refine her technique. Simply put, on the weekend closest to my birthday, Mrs. I arranges to get the kids out of the house for a weekend, allowing us unlimited and uninhibited use of our home . . . and then she dedicates herself on spending no less than twenty-four hours and no more than forty-eight to getting busy as often as humanly possible.
I mean, you clear your calendar, lock the door, turn off the cellphones and computers, and you just . . . scrump. And then when you're done, you catch your breath, get a drink, maybe do some stretches . . . and then dive right back in. Shower as necessary. Wardrobe changes as desired.
This year was no exception, and we were actually broker than usual. A lobster tail special at the grocery store gave us dinner, but I left the entertainment up to her, and I wasn't disappointed. For my birthday - I'm 45, pretty much "Peak Ian" -- Mrs. Ironwood did her best to exhaust me sexually. Over and over again. In every way that she could think of. Plus some new ones she came up with on the spot. She went to it with drive and determination, and displayed an eagerness and enthusiasm that bordered on the frightening occasionally. But hey, I like to live dangerously.
Mind you, this isn't the sort of thing you can do at the drop of a hat. You need some preparation, planning, and possibly even some training time. You should have at least three outfits you don't mind slipping into and out of repeatedly, and a variety of non-standard sexual venues is highly recommended: couch, kitchen, deck, garage, living room, bathroom, pantry, doghouse, wherever. Get plenty of rest and hide snacks and beverages, lube and toys at strategic spots around the house.
It's always been a big hit with me, especially the year she gave me "30 Days of Joy" (In the spirit of Mrs. Yes at I Will Never Say No, we had sex every day for a full month. It was a sexual adventure that is certainly blogworthy, but deserves its own post). This year was no exception - indeed, while it was generally no-frills, it was lustfully executed in a thoroughly delightful manner.
It wasn't until I read Red Pill Wifey's post about her big January chill that it suddenly occurred to me just why Mrs. Ironwood's dedication to my birthday shagging always seems so intense. I realized that our nookie-filled holiday season, culminating with our wedding anniversary, seems to lead to a two-to-three week period of low-sex . . . not because she's not interested, but because we're both too stressed to put the time and energy we usually do into it. And since I'm the one initiating most of the time, if I slow down it stands to reason that my initiations slow down, too. And looking back at the records, yeah, that seems to be precisely what happens.
What's worse is that my attention to my mission -- and away from her -- drives Mrs. Ironwood up the wall with the hornies. The more aloof I am about sex and our relationship, the more she wants me. The more I'm focused on something that isn't her vagina, the more she feels compelled to distract me.
Of course this is the time of year I'm thinking about mortality and legacies and death and life insurance and other depressing shit, so I'm just not initiating spontaneously the way I usually do.
So by the time my birthday rolls around, toward the middle of the month, we've have usually been in a trough. Because I'm too driven and focused and dedicated to my task to initiate properly, she's too tired, getting out of work while it's dark is always tiring, we're broke, the kids are headed back to school, yadda yadda yadda. There's always a damn good reason why skipping sex and going straight to bed sounds luxurious, especially on a school night. When birthday nookie rolls around, Mrs. Ironwood's frustration about the lack of quality humpage is simmering, and heading to a boil.
In retrospect I should have seen it. January is when she seems to be most experimental with hairstyles and clothing purchases, and in hindsight I can trace that to a sense of insecurity about her appearance brought on by me not humping her leg immediately upon getting home, as per usual. Her darling little hamster rationalizes my inattentiveness as a disinterest in her, sexually, not as a dedication to a bigger cause.
She's tried to get my attention in other ways too, I see now. Conversations about friends (" . . . so do you think she's pretty?"), about our friends' relationships, about the hot dude on Arrow and the mildly disturbing homoerotic discussion about Sam and Dean from Supernatural, all of it utterly escaped my clueless ass . . . until this weekend.
What the Nuke The Site From Orbit move is, for her, is the blanket permission to initiate at will. With the expectation of righteous birthday sex out there, this sudden erotic blank check felt like a real blank check. For a change she could quit worrying about whether or not I wanted her, sex, etc. and just do me like she wanted to. And when she was done, we could do it again a different way, as long as my constitution could stand, and I just had to take it. It was like a Sadie Hawkins dance for her naughty bits, and I was the only boy in the room.
(As it turns out, I'm still fairly virile. Let's just say I took seven showers in a twenty-four hour period. Not bad for an Old Married Guy.)
What I saw as wifely devotion and the desire of a girlfriend to really impress her dude was (in part) actually an erotic shopping spree designed to re-assure her feminine soul that yes, I do indeed plan on spending my declining years shagging her rotten and not chasing 25 year old poon. See it as Reassurance Sex at a very basic level, something every spouse needs from time to time. Add in the wonder and excitement she got from feeling compelled to push her erotic envelope in the process, and the result was spectacular. Downright nuclear. It was an atomically orgasmic experience for both of us, and was well worth the physical toll and the friction burns.
Turns out, we might not have the stamina and energy we did in our twenties, but DAMN, are we more creative. The huge advantage of a long term, monogamous relationship is that familiarity breeds comfort, even if it dulls novelty. When the goal is freestyle marathon sex, being comfortable enough to do that thing you did once and totally blew her mind without making her freak out is golden. Knowing that that other thing you did, the one that should never be spoken of again, isn't even on the agenda -- likewise golden. You know each others' shapes, curves, tickle spots, favorite positions, least favorite positions, lube viscosity, sweet nothings, favorite snacks, smells, strengths, weaknesses, pet peeves, power spots, etc. etc. ad nauseum. When you've been driving that same stretch for twenty years, you know the way enough to slow down and smell the . . . roses.
And the advantage of Nuking The Site From Orbit is the permission to initiate pretty much any kind of wild or tame sex you ladies would like, with the understanding that you both will keep going until one of you just can't, any more, or the kids come home. It's an endurance contest, toward the end, all pretense of romance and tenderness gone as you push your sexual boundaries.
So, how do you initiate the Nuclear Option with your aloof and distracted hubby, if you don't have a convenient birthday to exploit?
First, make sure you pick a calendar day that is free from both appointments and expectations. Maybe even fill the spot by making him promise to do something annoying, that he doesn't really want to do, but feels obligated to do. Then, when he starts fidgeting as the supposed shopping expedition with your mother and sisters approaches, you pounce.
Second, get his attention. You can do this by the simple expedient of stripping completely naked, walking into the room, grabbing his hand, and saying "change of plans" before dragging him away. Or you can be a little more elaborate. If you want to get creative, you can try to slip in something like this:
"Honey? You remember our shopping trip/colonoscopy/bridal show/brunch with my aunt we had today? Would you be terribly upset if it didn't happen? I know you were so looking forward to it. Hey, let me make it up to you my sucking you off for the next hour."
"Babe? I hate to break it to you, but our plans totally washed out. And since the kids are over at Mom's anyway, how about you and me get naked, split a bottle of wine, and spend the rest of the day pulling stray hairs out of our mouths?"
Or, you can take the direct approach:
"Hon, I lied to you and I feel terrible. Here I told you that I wanted to do ______, but what I really want to do is spend an entire day having nasty sex with you in ways that are illegal in this state. That's the goal: as much sex as possible until we can't do it anymore. Really just clean those pipes out, make each other cum until you're spurting sawdust and I'm walking funny, and don't answer the phone or door unless it's an asteroid strike . . . in progress."
Or, there's the other direct approach:
Sit him down, crawl in his lap, kiss him for thirty seconds straight -- even if he's reluctant at first. Put his hand on your boob, grab his crotch, then shake your head sadly.
"This thing is just too fucking hard. I'd better nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure." Smile sweetly. Start undressing him. Proceed to your favorite foreplay.
Sure, it's simple, but not only does his consent give you permission to ride him hard and put him up wet, the additional 'compulsory' element of the marathon can be an exciting novelty in and of itself. Some (hope I emphasized that enough) women feel guilty about their responsive desires, especially the ones who respond powerfully to aggressive behavior or who have strong cultural or religious taboos about such things. They want to feel "forced" into what they're doing to salve their feminine conscience, but feel horrible about it because they feel it encourages bad male behavior and devalues their own sexuality or something like that.
Having a set period in which the Rules of the Game are the thing that is "forcing" you into having nasty, kinky sex with her husband allows them to escape both the guilt over their submissive desires and the stigma of being a woman who initiates. If things get uncomfortable, after all, either party can declare an end to the festivities. Just make certain your dude understands this before you get started.
But the big winner is Mrs. Ironwood. She certainly notices when I'm not initiating, even when she's in a trough herself. It can sometimes be infuriating for a dude to hear "Oh, I'm not interested in sex right now . . . but I'm worried about why you don't want to have sex with me". It's okay to her feminine sensibilities if she doesn't want sex . . . as long as I want it with her. It doesn't matter as much whether or not we actually have sex, but it does matter whether or not I want to have sex.
To have a day where she can dispense with both of our immediate desires and fall back on our customary "institutionalized endurance screwing" for fulfillment might seem impersonal . . . but since it falls fairly close to her ovulation date, her body could care less.