Once again, Brigit Delaney’s Erotic Journal Challenge lends another fun question to my blog with this week’s prompt:
Imagine you found a magic lantern (or other container), and inside lived a genie who only granted sexual wishes. If that genie gave you 3 wishes, what would you wish for? And why?
Wish Number One: A Week Alone with My Husband
I’ve known my husband for more than half of my life. I met him when I was 19 but I wasn’t quite ready to settle down at the time (the late 90s were a busy time for me). This gave us an opportunity to be friends for a year before we officially got together. It was another five years before we got married and nothing was ever the same.
And by ‘nothing’, I mean the volume level in my house after giving birth to two of the loudest children on the planet.
We love our babies and we know that they are growing up so fast. Seasoned couples tell us, “You’ll have plenty of time alone once the kids go off to college.” So I have to wait another decade for my youngest to leave the nest before having quality naked time in my house again? YIKES.
Having a week alone with my husband in another country or even at home (I’m not picky and am extremely lazy) would be a welcome treat. Anyone wanna watch my kids for seven days while we enjoy some long-overdue naked house time?
Wish Number Two: Nightly Backrubs from Winston Duke
My unconditional love for my husband notwithstanding, this man can have me any day and way he wants:
Like, is he not perfect?
(SPOILER: He is.)
That said, all I want Genie to do for me in this second request is to arrange for Winston to rub me down every day after work. Those big hands doing what they do across my aching back is all the sexual contact I ever need from this man lest I destroy my marriage (although I’m certain the daily massages would cause domestic strife nonetheless, but minor details, daaaahling!)
Wish Number Three: A Subscription Service I Don’t Have To Pay For
I know this exists already so this would be a fairly easy wish for Genie to grant. Every month, a quaint nondescript box would arrive at my doorstep. Nestled inside would be a piece of latex-bound machinery guaranteed to send me to the fucking moon. Yes please!