Open letter to the guys

(Disclaimer: If there are errors in this post or something looks crazy, I apologize. I don't know what's going on, but I can't seem to keep blogger up long enough to accomplish anything. So my apologies.)

This week or last, I forget which, another author with whom I'm friends on the BOF posted something for the guys. It was his take on what they should do when she's in "the mood." No, he didn't mean the good kind of mood - he was talking about the PMS, smoking and churning, vagina-with-teeth (as he called it) mood. He outlined all of the dainty, pretty, loving things a guy can do for his lady when that time of the hormones comes around.

My comment was that if the guys waited until she was courting the hounds of hell with her dagger-like stares, it was too late. They should be doing those dainty, pretty, loving things all the time.

But there's another factor to consider. In a previous post, I talked about why women don't want to have sex. I felt it necessary to revisit that with an open letter to the guys. Have your favorite guy read this, even if it's your teenage son. Because some day, my dear, he'll have a significant other, and relationships between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law are difficult enough without yours thinking you've raised a Neanderthal (no slights to Neanderthals intended, but it is what it is). So here goes.

Dear sweetheart,

There are some things I really think I need to talk to you about, but since you can't tear yourself away from the monster truck pull, I thought I'd just write them down and share them. You're always wondering why pretty much anytime you say "go" in the bedroom I say "no," so I want to share some of my concerns with you.

First, those feet. I will gladly buy you a foot file, callous remover, set of giant-sized toenail clippers, but please, do something with those things. I really expect you to perch on the edge of the dresser, drum your fingers together, and mutter something about "my precious" every time I see them. Your toenails are clacking on the floor when you walk, and it's looking like I need some Kevlar legging to wear to bed to keep my legs from being slashed to a bloody mess. So, I beg you, since I'd like to keep my lunch down, bend down and take a look-see at what you might be able to work out down there.

And speaking of "down there," your hoo-hah is starting to look like a button on a fur coat. We have scissors, clippers, razors, all of that stuff. Could you maybe see if you could tame the wild west down south, please? You keep asking me what it would take to get me to wrap my lips around that bad boy, but it would be like sucking on a shetland sweater. You wouldn't want to do that, so why would I?

Since we're talking about taking a look-see, if you can't see the forest for the pork-rind or butter-flavored-popcorn-fueled trees or reach your feet to take care of the claws there, consider cutting back on the hot wings, ice cream, and nachos, and taking a little trip to the gym four or five nights a week. It's really hard to get excited about the prospect of having sex with Jabba the Hutt. And before you say something that's going to ensure your celibacy for all eternity, let me remind you that my body has born you beautiful children and it'll NEVER be what it was before. But I do try to take care of myself, for my own health and your visual pleasure, and it would be nice if you'd do the same.

Also, know that fragrance is important to women. We wear perfume. We buy body wash because we like the way it smells. We light scented candles all over the house. Here are some fragrances we DO NOT like:

Dirty socks;

Stinky gym clothes;

Mud;

Gasoline, oil, and/or diesel fuel;

Smoke (and the garbage-burning kind is the absolute worst);

Cheap aftershave (especially some of those body sprays the kids use - yuck);

Last but not least, body odors - lack of deodorant, lack of soap, lack of engagement of the exhaust fan in the bathroom, and then there are the airborne ones you gift me with after you've had two bowls of chili with beans and three beers. Because, baby, no one's lovemaking experience has EVER been enhanced by a fart. Not one single time. And yes, I have done that accidentally a time or two, but NEVER on purpose, and I've CERTAINLY never bragged about it, neither then nor later.

If you'd like to really alienate me, be sure to tell me how much I remind you of your mother. That'll go a long way to making me feel loved and special. It's bad enough that I have to treat you like a child because you act like one, but knowing that you think of me as a mom is just, well, gross, and also not very sexy. At all.

Make sure we never have an evening to ourselves. If it's not with the kids, it's with your buddies or your parents or at the parts store. Then come home and ask for a quickie before you have to roll over and catch some shut-eye for work the next day. Because nothing says love like coming in second, or third, or fourth, or even lower, with you. One date a week at somewhere other than Buffalo Wild Wings won't kill you.

Give me a vacuum cleaner, pots and pans, or tools for my birthday, Christmas, and our anniversary. That's absolutely what I wanted. Never mind the perfume I like, that sweater I've been looking at in the window downtown (of course, you didn't notice), the designer-knockoff bag I saw at the bargain store, or even a calendar with cute kittens and puppies on it. Nothing says love like a crescent wrench. Oh, and consistently forget those important dates anyway. It seems they mean nothing to you, so they mean nothing to me, right? That's sure to warm me up (but not necessarily in a good way).

Last but not least, make rude comments about me, and make them sound like jokes. There's nothing like hurt feelings to get a girl in the mood. Your, "Oh, honey, I was just joking!" works every time, like telling the jury to disregard the witness's last statement. Then when we're alone, give me a chewing out for embarrassing YOU in front of our family/friends/grocery clerk/stranger on an airplane because, after all, I didn't have to get all offended - it WAS just a joke.

In closing, let me just say that I love you - well, I want to love you anyway. You make it so easy for me, too. I'd love to take you to bed - then pull out a garrote and choke you in your sleep. But really, dear, I'm not asking for a lot. I'm just asking that you treat me as one civilized human being would treat another if they expected that person to love them, trust them, and give their body to them on a regular basis to do with as they please. If this is too much, please let me know and I'll make other arrangements.

And believe me, I can.

Love,

Your significant other

And P.S., ladies: If any of the things I mentioned above can be said about YOU, get busy. You've got no excuse. Bitching only works when you actually have something to bitch about.

Don't forget to go checkout my friend Ken's blog. Today's post is a fun one!

My Reads: My Fairy Godfathers by Krystabella

I have no idea how I found this book. I can't remember what I was looking for. I'm thinking maybe I was looking for a book by someone else and I ran across the author's name. Regardless, I found it, bought it, and started reading it. And I got the biggest surprise of my life. It turned out that My Fairy Godfathers was nothing like I thought it would be.

So, first off, let me say that Krystabella's covers aren't my favorites in the world. I find them kind of, I don't know, odd maybe? Or just strange. And diffuse. Just different. But I never judge a book by its cover, or possibly only occasionally, so I decided to read the thing just to see what it was.

As I read, I wasn't particularly impressed by the writing style. It's plenty good enough, and the choice of language was good, but it lacked a bit in the grammar and punctuation area, and it switched tenses too often. I decided I could live with that, though, because none of that detracted from the story itself.

That's where things get interesting. According to Krystabella, this is a true story written about Greg Wyler (not the man's real name), who came out to his wife and left her and his kids for the gay lifestyle. And when he left, he really, really left. It was profound. Oh, he still loved his wife, still stayed in touch, actually continued to live there, but when he decided he was gay, he never went back. Never.

And this is what I love about this book. The descriptions say it's a true story. I know Krystabella writes fiction also, but if this isn't real, it's damn close. It's written in such a style that I felt I was going along for the adventure with Greg, seeing what he was seeing, feeling what he was feeling, doing what he was doing. It was amazing, actually, to hear from a man who had lived the hetero lifestyle and knew it wasn't for him. Totally and utterly amazing. I enjoyed discovering how he fumbled around until he found three men, the Glorious Eagle Brothers, who could properly introduce him to the lifestyle. That's when he discovered he was absolutely, positively a bottom, someone who wanted to receive, not give. He dove into it like an Olympic diver on a high board into a pool and never looked back.

I was very interested in the fact that, once he came out, his wife pushed him to be authentic. She actually went out to a club and had a one night stand to encourage him to take the first step toward a new relationship. He tinkered with being an erotica writer of gay literature, was taught how to dress appropriately, and even at one point experienced puppy play. It was quite a trip for Greg, but he took it all in stride.

I enjoyed this book immensely, and that was a real surprise to me. I think the thing that I appreciated the most about it was the fact that it dealt primarily with a married father of three coming out and becoming the gay man he was always destined to be. In the not-so-distant past, I was a member of a religious sect that believed gay could be "cured." Their efforts to tell gays and lesbians that there was something inherently wrong with them and try to change them was repugnant to me - still is. This book pointed out what I already knew, that people have the right to be who they are, and they can still have productive lives, regardless their sexual orientation. Krystabella still worked to maintain the anonymity of Greg's wife and family, and that was admirable. The second book in this series is a collection of four short stories about gay men leaving their heterosexual lives and embracing their sexuality. I haven't read it yet, but one of these days when I have time (yeah, right), I'm going to.

If you've ever wondered about the gay lifestyle and how a man who sees himself as straight transitions into it, this book will help you in your understanding. If you don't have Kindle Unlimited, it's a whole $1.29, and it's worth every penny and more.