I think my husband is using my coochie as a sleep aid.


Greg is getting ready to leave for Oslo, Norway in a few days so in preparation for his departure, he’s modified his internal clock for the six hour time difference. He goes to the gym early, he goes to kickboxing early, he rises for work earlier than humanly dignified.


This wouldn’t be a problem if he’d go to bed at a reasonable hour. But no, he gets caught up with the kids or the guys and can’t fall asleep. He tosses and turns. I nudge him in the side telling him to knock it off because I’m trying to write. But now I’ve woken the beast and he wants to dance.


This is where I come in. Apparently, I’m Nytol and I help Greg get his z’s.


So, I’m lying there looking up at my crown molding while homeboy goes to town, thinking to myself, a little to the left and why am I doing this?


I mean other than the fact that he’s flamin’ in bed. Why do I do this for him? Why do I put my laptop aside and give myself to him when most women would’ve sent their husband packing.


Some of you may say suck it up, it’s no big deal…it’ll only take a minute and it’ll be over.


Yeah right! Greg Ames has stamina. Snack-size lovin’ goes against some sacred alpha-male principle of his. He’s going the distance. He’s not going for speed. He has a pretty healthy appetite but this is ridiculous folks! I need to work.

Anyway, as I’m checking out my new toenail polish from over his shoulders it all made sense. Why I keep doing this for him. It’s because after he “comes to fruition” he lies on my chest and I know he’s satisfied. It’s because only I can do this, no one else will ever be able to give him what I do because it’s my body to give…and for these few solitary moments, we aren’t mommy and daddy, ma’am or sir. Rather, I am his and he is mine.


And I'd willingly do it all again just for those few fleeting moments alone with him.