“Sex and golf are the two things you can enjoy even if you’re not good at them.”
I believe those were the wise words uttered by the great philosopher Socrates. Or maybe it was from the movie “Tin Cup.” I can’t remember.
No truer words have been uttered, though, as I for one have a terrible slice and lose my balls constantly when I play.
And my golf game isn’t very good, either.
But golf and sex have something else in common besides the fact they’re enjoyable even when done poorly: You get to do way more of both before you’re married. See, marriage, it seems, has a way of shutting down both your game on the course and your game in the bedroom.
Let me explain:
Prior to marriage, I’d golf a couple times a month as long as the weather was nice. Now I’m lucky to have sex a couple times a month (weather permitting). This is a far cry from life before we were married when it seemed we were knockin’ boots way more frequently. I wouldn’t say we were like rabbits or anything, but we were definitely like muskrats. Assuming, of course, that muskrats have an average amount of sex.
The only problem was that eventually I took Beyonce’s advice, put a ring on it, and then found myself having to put away both my driver and my putter because I wasn’t using them anymore.
And on a side note, I really worked hard on the golf/sex analogy for my penis. I settled on putter but also considered lob wedge, fairway wood, and divot repair tool. I think I chose wisely.
But I digress.
I have no real explanation for why marriage shuts down both, but I know it’s frustrating on my end. I suspect it has something to do with the newness of it all. The other day my wife actually compared me to our exercise bike.
“When I first got it, I rode that thing all the time. Then you just get used to it and you don’t want to ride it anymore so it just sits in the basement and you hang clothes on it.”
This, ladies and gentlemen, is what my sex life has become.
In some ways I compare sex in a marriage to searching for the Loch Ness Monster. Some people say it’s there, some have even taken pictures of it, but no matter how often you dip your pole in that water- you just ain’t finding a Plesiosaurus.
What makes it hard is that men have almost no means by which to fight back. For years I’ve told myself that I’d play hardball and go on a sex strike. I’d wait her out until that time came when she wanted it so bad that she couldn’t take it and then I’d flip the script and tell her I wasn’t in the mood, felt fat, and had a headache.
I’m still waiting her out.
And even if that time did come, I don’t like my chances of sticking to my guns and holding out. If someone offers a starving man some ham, he’s not going to decide to go on a hunger strike to prove a point. He’s gonna eat the f*cking ham.
It’s gotten to the point where I’ll actually go to some pretty extreme measures to get laid. For example, a couple years ago around midnight I was trying to get frisky and my wife said she was too tired and that we’d do it in the morning. I reminded her I had to be to work early and that there would be no time. So she told me to set my alarm for 3 a.m. and that we’d do it then.
I rolled back over and waited the 30 seconds or so it took until she started snoring and then I went around to both of our alarm clocks and set them ahead to 2:58. I set my alarm for 3 a.m. and then acted like I was sleeping. When my alarm went off, she kept her promise. In fact, I feel like it was the single greatest sexual accomplishment in married life history. A sort of Trojan horse of married sex.
The next morning I confessed and told her what I’d done. Needless to say, she shut down operations for awhile after that.
And speaking of shutting it down, one major annoyance of married life is what I like to call “Hypothetical Sex.” This is where, as a husband, you do something wrong and your wife tells you that as a result you’re not going to get laid tonight. When we first got married, this was one of the worst punishments that could be doled out. Imagine for a second you were a kid who wanted nothing more than to get some ice cream and right before you’re ready to get in the van and go get some, someone tells you the jig is up. No ice cream for you. You’re devastated.
The same goes for sex in a marriage. If you think you’re going to get some and then you don’t, you’re crushed. But in these instances, you have to remind yourself that the sex was only hypothetical. There was never going to be any ice cream, so to speak. Hell, you probably weren’t even going to get any orange sherbet.
So on behalf of all men everywhere, I ask you wives out there to stop holding out and start giving in. Like the Loch Ness Monster, it’s pointless to have such a creature hidden when all the world wants to see it.
And speaking of seeing it, the Internet told me that Nessie was last seen in 2011. The person who saw it described it as “a slow moving hump” so I suppose my sex/Loch Ness monster comparison holds true.
Then again, when the monster hasn’t been unleashed in a long time, I can bet you that hump will actually be pretty quick.
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