My husband and I have really good sex together. He knows what I like, I know what he likes. We take turns. We take care of each other. We have sex often, but not too often. We’re really good at knowing when the other one isn’t into it or if they just need a little gentle teasing or overt seduction to bring on the mood. We’ve each mastered the art of pleasuring the other, and on those rare instances that we fall short, we don’t make it into some big issue. We just nail it the next time (pardon the pun).
But here’s the problem: After 15 years of marriage and five years of dating, we’re having the exact SAME great sex every time. There are zero surprises, save for the occasional dog barking his face off to announce the arrival of our neighbor’s car in the next-door driveway (thanks for that, Spike) or the presence of a brand new pair of the exact same boxers my husband has been ordering from Amazon for three years. (Look at that blue! It’s amazing how colors can fade in the wash.)
Sex in the bedroom is getting boring. And it’s not because we’re doing anything wrong.
Three months ago, we traveled — without our three high school and college-age kids — to Chicago for my cousin’s daughter’s wedding. We went a day early, treating ourselves to a bit of teenager-free decompression and a night out in the Windy City. After dinner (and a bottle of pinot noir), we went back to the hotel and proceeded to have the most outstanding sex in recent memory. It felt like 15 years ago. Climaxes were reached. Minds were blown. Cardio limits were tested, and climaxes were reached a second time.
It was amazing, and the only thing that had changed was the location. We were in a hotel room (no teenagers, no dog), enjoying ourselves without the presence of our well-worn bed. We had discovered the value of on- (or off-) location sex.
The next weekend, we took an overnight trip to a bed and breakfast about an hour from our home. Again, unbelievable, out-of-this-world, “WTF just happened” copulation occurred. It seemed the art of fornication in a foreign space was making the difference between great sex and awe-inspiring intimacy.
We decided to test our theory even more. Given the fact that we don’t have an open-ended travel budget, we searched close to home for some out-of-the-bedroom locations. The first was the bathroom. Not the softest surfaces to lean against, but you guys,
IT HAS A MIRROR. Why did no one tell me how hot it is to watch yourself have sex? You can even position yourself so that you’re watching your front and not your back, or the other way around, depending on what side of your bod makes you prouder of your age!
Next was a location close to home. The car. This oldie but goodie has been a fave of mine since college. But somehow, over the years, an apparent degree of limberness has escaped me … and my husband, and neither one of us had a particularly good time crammed into the back seat of my four-door sedan. Let that be a lesson to you, ladies. Don’t sell the minivan just because your kids have aged out of the carpool.
So back on vacation we went, and no, we didn’t have sex in the airplane bathroom, because
EWWWWWWW. But we did find ourselves one starry night, on the balcony outside our hotel room, overlooking the beach and admiring a sky full of stars. So while I’ve heard that the experience of having sex on the beach is the holy grail of intercourse, my fear of sand flies kept us comfortably suspended three floors up, lying on chaise lounge chairs draped in beach towels. It was just as good as any sandy hookup in my mind, with the sound of the crashing waves, the smell of the salt air, and the twinkling stars and moon illuminating the sea. Out of all our journeys to find the best lovemaking locations, that balcony overlooking the ocean was by far the best destination.
If we keep this up, eventually our old, worn-out bed may start to feel exotic and new!
Meredith Miotke
