I’m afraid baby-making sex is going the way of the buffalo.
We’re surrendering to the reality that our reproductive organs, left to their
own devices, aren’t going to produce a fetus for us. If we conceive, we’ll do
it from separate rooms in the fertility clinic.
That said, I thought I’d write one more baby-making-sex
post, for old time’s sake. And, though it was unsuccessful, we had the best
baby-making sex of our lives last month.
It all began when Philip made fun of a pair of cotton underwear
I was wearing. He was just being playful, but his teasing made me take stock of
my collection: a pile of sensible cotton panties — a few A pairs, mostly Bs,
and then the Cs I keep around for that time of the month. When it came to
“sexy” panties, I had exactly four pairs, one of which had been a bridal-shower gift. I’ve been married
for seven years, so do the math.
Then I turned to my bras, all five of them, stretched out,
pilly and even more ill-fitting after months of use than they were when I originally
purchased them. Not a single one qualified as sexy.
This was a sad state of affairs. Philip has said many times
he’s not really into lingerie, and I can’t stand thongs. But it wouldn’t kill
me to have a few bras and panties that have a shred of pizzazz.
So, off to Victoria’s Secret I trotted, with the intention
of spending as much as it took to procure a handful of slinky underthings. I
began canvassing the store, looking for sexy bras that didn’t have padding. I
never in my life have owned a padded bra — I had never even tried on one. The idea
seemed silly and false to me. But I wasn’t having any luck — all the cute bras were
stuffed to the gills.
A sales associate asked if I needed help, and I explained my
dilemma. She suggested I try one particular style that had gel. “It conforms
to your body and doesn’t make you look bigger,” she assured me.
So into the dressing room I went, push-up bra in hand. I
tried that sucker on, and people, I looked HOT. You know how you always want to
murder the models in Victoria’s Secret ads because they’re so slim but yet so
incredibly buxom? Well, they can take credit for their skinniness (though
Photoshop helps, I’m sure), but the boob thing is ALL BRA. It was a revelation.
No wonder women buy these things. They make your boobs 20 times bigger and
squish the twins together in true porn-star fashion.
So, I bought it. Along with the matching panties. Plus
another bra-and-panty set. All in all it was $150, a sum of money I knew
would make Philip choke on his Coke Zero. “But,” I chirped to the
sales associate, “this is what he gets for making fun of my underwear.”
When it was time to have our scheduled sex (literally it was
on the calendar, doctor’s orders), I was ready. “Wait till you see this bra I
bought,” I told Philip as I headed for the bathroom to change. “You’re not
going to believe this.”
And then … we proceeded to have the best baby-making sex of
our lives. Philip affirmed his membership in the fraternity of red-blooded
heterosexual males who enjoy push-up bras, and I felt super-confident.
I’m thankful that baby-making sex went out on a good note.
It usually wasn’t so pleasant. It often was forced, awkward and stressful. I
often was confused about exactly when to have it, and we often felt so much
pressure that we could barely perform. But now that baby-making sex is a thing
of the past, now that we gave it one last college try and surprisingly had a
blast doing so, I can think back on it with a bit of nostalgia.
Thank you, push-up bra. You won’t be the last one I ever
buy. From now on, I plan to try harder to keep a few sexy undergarments in the
rotation, not for baby-making sex, just for sex. It’s sad to think that most likely, we’ll
never make a baby the old-fashioned way, but it’s also a relief that sex can go back
to what it always was — just a way to be intimate and enjoy one another.