So I’m sitting with my friend having coffee, a couple of green teas and muffins between us, her adorable baby snoozing in my arms when the conversation swiftly moves from playground antics to marital sex. And not just marital sex but the question of exactly how many times a week is enough to keep a man satisfied. The question drifts out as easily as her opinion on lattes, promptly followed by – ‘If you don’t give it to him often enough, it’s inevitable he will stray.’ She caught me right there. That was enough to get this chat in full swing when she continued – ‘not emotionally, he’s devoted to me emotionally, but sexually he’s going to wander.’
Stop the bus, we’re getting off!
I am not one to worry too much about how much is too much and how little is a sexual drought but I had to ask. Who isn’t going to ask after a statement like that? Okay, I said. So, how often a week do you guys do it? A firey stare met mine, with a flicker of a smile - we haven’t had sex in nearly six months, she said. To which there was no disguising my gasp for air. I had been expecting, a couple of months, max. After all, little babino is only two months old. At a push, maybe three, but six. Six was a shocker. What I adore about this girl is her frankness, she wasn’t at all affronted by my shock, nor embarrassed, instead she laughed and said – I know, crazy isn’t it. He’s bound to be shagging about, right?
This is the grey area, this is where the debate lies. Just how often is enough?
My personal opinion is it varies. It varies on circumstance, like babies for example. It varies on health, a bout of the jippy tummies isn’t get anyone’s underwear off fast except to be greeted by a toilet bowl. But if there’s a spark there, a real spark, I’d say it never dips below three and could hit ten.
Okay, I said, sooooooo……silence as she picks at her muffin, her eyes watching me intently - why don’t you spark it up a bit? This was met with a giggling laugh and - I couldn’t be bothered. Really. I couldn’t be assed with it; I just wondered how long you thought he’d last.
Is this even a real question, do we really need to consider sex on such a real level? And the answer is yes. Yes, after five years married with two kids in tow, how often you either want to put out or feel you aught to put out, most probably raises its nasty little head at some point and you’re not just up against yourself, you’re against every other wife out there. Every tale ever spun. Every myth ever whispered. You’re not just thinking of what your own marriage needs, you’re thinking of the image he has of you then and who you are now. That bouncy little sex kitten you must still exist somewhere beneath the shopping lists and school uniforms, the meetings with the head teacher and dental appointments you almost always miss. The piles of Ann Summers underwear you used to sport are buried beneath the comfy pants that seemed to filter in after birth and never quite made it out. These are the demons you’re facing and what makes things worse, is the men in his work seem to be married to nymphomaniacs, women who cook and clean and do doggy, all at the same time. Goddesses of the modern universe. They come in on Mondays with tales of tantric sex and play dates in the park. And here’s the really funny bit, she says, applying a fresh coat of red lipstick, her dark hair hanging in tendrils, the like that have me thinking of boudoir sex, let alone men - is he believes it. He really thinks that Dave, no filter, over weight, balding Dave, is getting laid more often than he is. Office talk. No doubt he salvages something from the memory bank and joins in. This is man sporting on the most basic level. Then she starts to laugh, baby clipped into the car seat ready to be sped away in the soft top to the school pick up – he’s out there lying about the steamy weekend he’s just had and the fool believes the others. An almost embarrassed tut seeps out, as though she’s shamed by his ignorance – fucking men, she smiles, thank God for porn. And with that, she leaves.