I like to consider myself a trisexual – as in, I “try” to have sex with my wife. It doesn’t always work out, especially when she doesn’t give in. And even when she does, I’m always questioning my every move – which is part of the reason I close my own eyes when making love to my wife; I don’t want to view how terribly I’m performing. Closing my eyes allows me to imagine myself as a suave Sean Connery, ever so smoothly seducing my wife… But in reality, I’m more like an Adam Sandler or MacGruber, awkwardly thrusting what I falsely believe is my glorious shaft.
In the same week my wife admitted to having a celebrity crush on Donnie Wahlberg, I became a bit jealous, anxious, and noticed that when we’re kissing her eyes are closed, too.
Because my eyes are usually closed, it never occurred to me that so were hers. It just so happened that on this Wednesday night as we were having sex, I let out a fart. I opened my eyes to see if she noticed, but she was none the wiser. Her eyes were still closed.
I know it can get really boring in bed with me, so I made sure she wasn’t asleep by poking her cheek (with my forefinger, you sicko… no, not that forefinger).
My wife exclaimed, “Why did you poke me?”
“Sorry, baby,” I said. “Just making sure you didn’t fall asleep on me.”
My wife gave me a playful slap, closed her eyes, and I continued failing to bring her to orgasm for another 30 seconds. I started to think, what is my wife imagining while her eyes are closed? Is she thinking of a better sexual experience? Shouldn’t she be looking at me? Is Donnie on her mind?…
At the conclusion of our timely four-minute sex, I laid back and waited for the right moment to say it.
Ten seconds later, “Is it Donnie Wahlberg?” I asked.
“What?! What are you talking about?” she said confused.
“When you close your eyes, who are you thinking about?”
“I knew it!” I said. “You’re thinking about Donnie Wahlberg!”
“No I’m not!” she yelled, half shocked, half amused. “I’m not thinking about anybody but you!”
She gave me another playful slap on the cheek. This time it was a bit harder.
“Then why did you stutter when I asked you?” I pressed on (‘pressed on’ with the questioning, not the thrusting. Remember, I already finished. The sex is over).
“Because I wasn’t expecting such a ridiculous question.”
Given the lack of evidence, I can’t charge my wife with imagining Donnie Wahlberg during sex. If this session were in court, she would be found ‘not guilty.’ But let’s not forget that ‘not guilty’ doesn’t mean innocent.
Does my wife think about Donnie while having sex with me? Maybe I will never truly know. But there is absolutely no way my sexual skill-set can cause her to moan so much; I am a terrible lover. Therefore, she must be lying – she must be thinking about Donnie…
There is only one way to combat this. To make things even…
From now on, every time I have sex with my wife I’m going to think about Michael Moore. This will make it impossible for me to reach an orgasm, which will extend my sexual stamina, and force my wife to bear with me for that much longer. Ha! Sucks to be my wife!
|Imagine Michael Moore to extend your sexual stamina|