There. I said it. But, before you grab the pitchforks and scythes to come tear me to bits, let me explain.
I am thirty-one years old. To me, sex with the woman I love is the most important activity in the world. Even more important than breathing. If you heard a news report that a plane my wife and I were on was crashing to the earth in a ball of flames, you could bet a whole pile of paychecks on what we were "doing" as it fell from the sky. No way am I going to waste my last dying breaths on being scared.
Years ago, I worked for an old friend of mine as a power lineman. On my crew was a young man, about my age, who wasn't married and couldn't last in a relationship longer than a few dates. He would always lament the fact that, in southwest Minnesota, the only girls available to date were ones that were already married, or who had kids. By "date", he meant, the ability to jump in the sack with him.
One day, he came to work looking a little ragged. Every few minutes or so, he would look over his shoulder. His eyes would flit back and forth throughout the day. Finally, at lunch, I asked him what his issue was. Apparently, the night before, he had been caught by the husband of a married "girlfriend" he was copulating with. The gentleman ran him off his property and threatened him with bodily harm. For the next few days, my co-worker was very careful who he went out with. Then, when the trouble blew over, he went back to his winning ways.
A few months later, the daughter of my boss, who was in her 50's was having a warm conversation with my wife and I in the company office. We began talking about my co-worker when she told this little story:
"Last night, my husband and I were in bed together. He snuggled up close and grabbed my hand and began rubbing it. For the next hour, he did nothing but massage my hand until we both fell asleep."
Then, she went on about how she didn't understand how my co-worker only saw sex as a means for love. Love in a relationship was so much more.
For years, I have thought of that story and held it in high esteem. I still do. But I have finally decided that I, as a young whippersnapper of a married man, do not understand it at all. I know it is true because the various functions of a human being wax and wane as we get older, but my understanding of the beauty of it is merely theoretical.
Now, I do many things for my wife and she for me that have nothing to do with sex. But if I could not look forward to the frosting on the cake of life, I wouldn't find much value in those myriad other things.
All of this leads up to a simple premise. I am convinced that, when I hit the age of 50 years old, the value of sex in marriage will be severely diminished and, in its place will be the hour-long hand massage. At that point in my life, I will look confidently on a twenty-something, young fool, and say, "marriage without an hour long hand massage is meaningless."
And that idea scares me to death.
I am thirty-one years old. To me, sex with the woman I love is the most important activity in the world. Even more important than breathing. If you heard a news report that a plane my wife and I were on was crashing to the earth in a ball of flames, you could bet a whole pile of paychecks on what we were "doing" as it fell from the sky. No way am I going to waste my last dying breaths on being scared.
Years ago, I worked for an old friend of mine as a power lineman. On my crew was a young man, about my age, who wasn't married and couldn't last in a relationship longer than a few dates. He would always lament the fact that, in southwest Minnesota, the only girls available to date were ones that were already married, or who had kids. By "date", he meant, the ability to jump in the sack with him.
One day, he came to work looking a little ragged. Every few minutes or so, he would look over his shoulder. His eyes would flit back and forth throughout the day. Finally, at lunch, I asked him what his issue was. Apparently, the night before, he had been caught by the husband of a married "girlfriend" he was copulating with. The gentleman ran him off his property and threatened him with bodily harm. For the next few days, my co-worker was very careful who he went out with. Then, when the trouble blew over, he went back to his winning ways.
A few months later, the daughter of my boss, who was in her 50's was having a warm conversation with my wife and I in the company office. We began talking about my co-worker when she told this little story:
"Last night, my husband and I were in bed together. He snuggled up close and grabbed my hand and began rubbing it. For the next hour, he did nothing but massage my hand until we both fell asleep."
Then, she went on about how she didn't understand how my co-worker only saw sex as a means for love. Love in a relationship was so much more.
For years, I have thought of that story and held it in high esteem. I still do. But I have finally decided that I, as a young whippersnapper of a married man, do not understand it at all. I know it is true because the various functions of a human being wax and wane as we get older, but my understanding of the beauty of it is merely theoretical.
Now, I do many things for my wife and she for me that have nothing to do with sex. But if I could not look forward to the frosting on the cake of life, I wouldn't find much value in those myriad other things.
All of this leads up to a simple premise. I am convinced that, when I hit the age of 50 years old, the value of sex in marriage will be severely diminished and, in its place will be the hour-long hand massage. At that point in my life, I will look confidently on a twenty-something, young fool, and say, "marriage without an hour long hand massage is meaningless."
And that idea scares me to death.
