Bed Presidents
Mr. Tungsten and I were at the pub the other night and in a fair way to being impaired -- okay, we were already impaired -- when he asked me, point-blank:
"If you had to pick one first lady, living or dead, to have sex with, who would it be? Politics aside. Death is not an option."
I didn't have to think too long. "Michelle."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. She's pretty."
"But she's got these muscley man-arms. She looks like she could kick Obama's ass."
"She's pretty in the face. Very feminine. Who would you pick?"
"Probably Michelle."
"Ha! See?"
"I wonder if she does kick Obama's ass in the bedroom."
"Maybe you'd want her to kick your ass."
"Maybe. Or at least threaten. Okay, what about presidents, same question."
I still didn't have to think all that long. "Obama."
"Really?!" This time he seemed really surprised. "Why?"
"He seems like he would pay attention. Not like Jack Kennedy -- he'd be all about his own ego."
Mr. Tungsten does a good New England bray and he aired it out for the occasion. "Ri-i-i-i-de me Marylin!"
My laugh was delighted. "Exactly!"
"You sure you wouldn't want someone like Clinton?"
"Ewww!" I leaned back, aghast. "God no, how could you think that?"
My husband shrugged. "I don't know. You don't think he'd be ready for anything?"
"Well, maybe, but just . . . ew. I don't know. He'd be all . . . sloppy."
"That's right. He'd be down for anything. Dirty, nasty, you name it."
"Still, no. What about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, same question. Politics aside."
He thought about it for awhile. I could see the gears turning. At last he asserted it. "Clinton. Or Eisenhower."
It was lucky there was no beer in my mouth. "Eisenhower?!"
"Yeah. If I wanted to make love, I'd pick Eisenhower. He could be gentle and romantic with Kay Sommersby while kicking Nazi ass and then come home and still make it work with Mamie. But if I just wanted some dirty, nasty sex, then Clinton."
All laughs aside, the post-pub sex was profound. Pub nights are usually memorable because our inhibitions are low. Despite years of matrimony and vows of kinkitude we each still have so many hangups. Both of us also over-think what the other person would or woudn't like, and a lot of time it makes us go in circles. Thus, if we can use a little beer to get out of our heads, so much the better.
I didn't realize this, but apparently it was very novel and exciting for me to emerge from the bathroom in only my underwear or to just drape myself across his lap and present my rear end. The rest was organic. The spanking already got me down into subspace and then he dropped me further with a hypnotic trigger word. It was wild! We hadn't done any hypno-play in so long, yet I went straight down. Well, maybe not straight down (wink, wink) but so immediately that it was a surprise. You may think that it's not possible to be in thrall and surprised at the same time but I am here to deny this.
He felt good being able to drop me like that and his climax was unusually intense. We lay there, panting, soused, and blissful. Then we noticed an epic lady-fail that necessitated hopping out of bed and paying immediate attention to the linens. Like most long-married souls we'd taken precautions, but given the intensity of our union they'd been insufficient. Yet we both agreed the romp been well worth it, especially since he was the one to gallantly take the bedclothes outside in the chill December air. My love capped it with Caesarean aplomb:
"I can spank her, I can fuck her, and I can do the damn laundry!"