Bedroom Misadventures: Episode 6

My hormones have been really wonky.  They get that way sometimes.  There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s just that my body likes to screw with my mind.  I’m also a week late, but am 99% sure that I’m not pregnant.  My own system hates me that much.  I’ve been checked, and I remember the doctor shrugged, smiled, and said, “It’s just the way you are.”  OK, actually he said, “It’s just part of what makes you adorable,” because I was an extremely new mom at the time and he was trying to be fatherly and calm me down.  I remember him as a friendly, older gentleman that actually gave two craps when you talked to him, but not in the creepy way.  But I digress.  Anyway, when I’ve had about as much hormone-induced panic as I can take, my body mysteriously rights itself.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

My libido has been very bizarre because of it.  Sometimes it’s kicked into overdrive; sometimes it’s nonexistent.  Over the weekend was one of those crazy hormone induced (and probably partly literature and toy shopping induced) overactive sex drive times.  It lead to a long, wild, passionate happening.  Happening?  Yeah, it was kind of unique (to us, anyway), so I’m going to go with “happening.”  I came out the other side of the evening relaxed, peaceful.

And bruised.

Parts of me (exterior parts, thanks) were a little sore and stiff when I went to bed.  When I woke up, I found I had bruises on my wrists.  Bruises that are almost unnoticeable, since my skin is very tan due to lots of outdoor time recently, but still there.  To a scrupulous and nosy eye, they look suspicious.  Would they turn darker?  Become more noticeable?

“What’s the big deal,” you might think.  “Who’s going to notice?”

Well, probably the people at my kids’ school, for starters.  I have meetings there this week, and I’ll be sitting in very close proximity to other moms who notice everything.  And I’m taking notes for the meetings, so my wrists will be front and center.  Would they notice?  What would I say if they did?  I could say, “I walked into a doorknob/doorway/wall/chair/counter.”  It’s plausible.  I do that all the time.  Walk into things, I mean.  But it would be lying.  But what choice do I have?

You know what I’d like to say?  “We got a little wild and had one of the most intense love making sessions we’ve ever had.  I can’t wait to fall into bed with the man I love and do it again.”  That would the be truth.  But you can’t freaking say that.  Because kids are all born in cabbage patches or brought by storks and sex is just a word people say on TV.  I don’t like that.


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