Tuesday, 17 January 2006
Each week, journalist and TV lovely Mariella answers your questions about sex.
This week: My wife doesn't understand my needs.
'Terry' from Doncaster writes:
My wife and I have been married for 6 years. For the first two or three years, we were at it like rabbits, continuously shagging each other senseless in a bone-wearying orgy of passionate, earth-shuddering sex. Outdoors, indoors, in the bedroom, halfway up the stairs - you name it, if it could support one of our rumps, I'd slip her a length on top of it. Over the last few years, however, we seem to have slackened off the pace a little, to the point where we now only bonk with one another 7 or 8 times a week - and then I have to get her to dress up in a frilly French maid's outfit, suspenders and stilettos and watch her dolloping golden strup all over her collagen-enhanced lips in order for me to be able to get one up. My wife and I have talked long and hard about this as the sexual frustration is starting to do my head in and I can't concentrate on putting up the conservatory we ordered from a catalogue the other week and the wife is, understandably, going spare. We think there's only one solution: would you be up for a threesome? We would supply the frilly French maid's outfit if you could see your way to bringing a tin of the gooey stuff.
Your wife and you have obviously put a lot of thought into this and it's heartening for a sexpert like myself to come across a couple who take the physical intimacies of their relationship as seriously as you both evidently do. My husband, on the other hand, is often cold, aloof and distant whenever I broach the subject of a quick knee-trembler inthe back of the limo on the way to the latest film premiere. I've even tried to drag him along to the green room when I'm doing my review of the papers on that dull old Andrew Marr programme on Sundays so we could shock the assembled politicians, vicars and Katie Melua by having a quickie on the hospitality sofa before we go on air, but he'd rather muck about with photoshop or check his fantasy football scores. I've even had my knockers pierced and hung a chain from them and capered in front of him in a see through veil, but I still get the jib off him. So, I 'd be delighted to join you both for a furious menage of syrup-driven sexual role-playing. Shall I bring my feather duster?
Next week: 'Roger' from Berwick-on-Tweed asks Mariella: "do you tek it up the Gary on a first date?"
Love on ya,
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