My wife and I try to make intimacy a regular part of our relationship. Personally, I could happily settle into a routine where sex becomes as normal as brushing our teeth, but I also understand that my enthusiasm does not always match her energy level or schedule. Still, we do our best to carve out time for each other.
Early in our relationship, I discovered that she enjoyed a little role play to help set the mood. Unfortunately, my brain does not know how to casually “play along.” The moment she suggested something like a police officer scenario, my mind immediately turned it into a full character study. Was this officer a rookie or a veteran detective? Was he a good cop or the kind suspended three times for excessive force? How exactly did he end up being seduced by a woman who just happened to look suspiciously like my wife? You see the problem. I could never simply be “naughty cop.”
Thankfully, my wife adjusted her expectations and leaned more toward lingerie instead of theatrical storytelling. This arrangement worked out wonderfully for me. While I genuinely think she looks best in a simple tank top and boy shorts, I certainly do not object to her emerging from the bathroom wearing lace and mesh designed to spark the imagination.
For six years, this system worked beautifully. Then came one fateful evening after a night involving entirely too much wine. We stumbled home feeling affectionate and optimistic about where the night was heading. While I got ready for bed, my wife disappeared into the closet for what felt like half an hour. By the time she finally emerged, I was hovering somewhere between romance and unconsciousness.
Now, lingerie is supposed to hint at nudity, teasing the senses just enough to create anticipation. My wife, however, had accidentally transformed the concept into layered winter wear by putting the lingerie on over her high-waisted underwear and support bra.
My sarcastic mouth reacted before my survival instincts could intervene. I pointed out the fashion contradiction, instantly destroying the mood we had spent the evening building. Without saying a word, she turned around, marched back into the closet, and reappeared moments later wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt.
Looking back, this was probably the one moment in my life where role play would have actually helped. I could have straightened my imaginary badge and announced, “Ma’am, you are under arrest for wearing lingerie over practical undergarments.”
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