Chapter 1 – You Ruined My Pens!

Candles – check.

Flowers – check.

Deodorant – shit. Did I remember deodorant?

Raising my arm above my head and taking a whiff, I find I am all good. Nothing left to do but wait for Jenny to get home from her night out with the girls. Ever since our son Billy was born three months ago, Claire and Liz have to force Jenny to leave the house every few weeks so she can go out and have a few drinks with them. I love my wife to death, but getting her to leave our kids for a few hours every once in a while is like pulling my dick.

Okay, not the best analogy since I’ve made dick-pulling into an art form. Think of something really hard (HA! That’s what she said!) to pull and there you have it.

Taffy? Is taffy hard to pull? Dat laffy taffy, shake dat laffy taffy…What a good song!

Jenny had almost canceled tonight’s outing too—which I absolutely could not let happen. I have a surprise planned and for it to work, she needs to be far away from the house for a few hours.

It had taken me an hour of me begging and pleading for her to agree to go and enjoy herself, followed by thirty minutes of her locking herself in our room, crying because she thought I was sick of her and just wanted to get rid of her, which made me wonder for the hundredth time: where the f**k did my fun, outrageous, sexaholic wife go?

Gone are the days of pulling over on the way home from dinner to bang in the back seat of the car. Vanished into thin air are the nights of putting anal ease on my junk to see if I could still feel my orgasm. I couldn’t, by the way. Jenny also couldn’t feel her tongue or her lips for eight hours. Don’t try this at home, kids.

In fact, gone are the days of ha**g s*x at all. I have resorted to jerking off alone in the bathroom after my wife’s asleep. It’s a sad, lonely existence when you have to take your cell phone into the shitter so you don’t wake your wife when you pull up the YouPorn app and crank one out. The worst part is the SpongeBob SquarePants shower curtain in the bathroom. Do you know how difficult it is to keep an erection while SpongeBob is staring at you with his big, googly eyes and you keep hearing the song “Jellyfishin’, Jellyfishin’, Jellyfishin’” in your head?

Okay, it’s not that hard (yeah it is!), but still. It’s the principal of the thing. Every night for the past year I've hunched over the toilet bowl with my cell phone in my hand, furiously yanking my wank and hoping I don’t drop my phone into the water. Which only happened once, thank God. And you’ll be happy to know p**n still keeps playing under the water. It’s a bit fuzzy and the sounds of “Ooooooh, f**k me harder!” sound more like, “Mwaaaa, mwaaa, mwaaaaagurgle!”

When our daughter Veronica was born three years ago, Jenny’s already remarkable libido shot through the roof. It was like a dream come true. We had sex in the morning, for brunch at lunch, at night for a midnight snack, on the baby’s changing table, in a Walmart bathroom, in three neighbors' pools and one neighbor’s hot tub, and one really strange night that involved the jungle gym at the park, a free range chicken, and sparklers.

Jenny had been insatiable, and I actually wondered if my dick would fall off from overuse.

I'll tell ya, though, what a way to go. “Oh man, did you hear about Drew? His dick fell off. Yeah, just separated from his body and plopped to the floor. He just got done having monkey sex with his wife on the roof of their house though, so it’s all good.”

I honestly don’t know what happened to make everything change. Billy had been a planned pregnancy so it’s not like the shock of her getting pregnant again put a bucket of cold water on her vagina. It's like the day the stick turned pink, her lady bits put up a giant “Out of Business” sign.

Do not enter, closed for repairs, zombies will eat your face if you try to touch this vagina.

I've tried everything. I've whispered sweet nothings in her ear like, “My penis misses your vagina,” and “I heard a rumor that your love canal misses my jizz.” Nothing. I know, I can’t believe it either.

I know Billy’s pregnancy was a lot harder on her than Veronica’s. She'd been sick a lot, and Veronica was in the middle of the Rotten-Horrific-Appalling-Terrifying-Twos. No, I’m not joking. Fuck the Terrible Twos. I half expected our sweet little daughter to cut off our heads while we slept at night and feed our bodies to rabid dogs while overdosing on ring pops and Lucky Charms. One minute she was hugging us and telling us she loved us and the next she was running around in circles screaming about sugar and throwing toys at our heads. Jenny was freaked out by Veronica’s behavior and sick all the time from the pregnancy so sex had gone on the back burner. Like, the back burner twenty miles down the road at someone else’s house back burner.

But tonight, I am going to fix it all. I am bringing sexy back, bitches!

I can’t take one more night of playing pull and tug with SpongeBob. Aside from the fact that I’ve watched every single YouPorn video ever made—twice—I’ve also read every story on Erotica dot com, and when I started reading the stories just to see how they ended instead of for the sex scenes, I knew I was in deep shit.

I've spent the last few weeks trying to come up with the perfect plan. Carter had suggested I sit down and talk to Jenny about what’s bothering me but that just seems like something a chick would do. I don’t need to cry and talk about my feelings. I just need to have sex with my wife.

I’m too nervous to do anything but sit on the couch and stare at the door. At nine o’clock, Jenny’s car pulls in and she's unlocking the front door.

“Where are the kids?” she asks as she closes the door behind her and glances around the living room.

“I put them to bed already,” I tell her proudly.

Jenny is always nervous about leaving me home alone with the kids at bedtime. I seriously think she expects to come home to our daughter’s hair dyed green from lime Kool-Aid and our son sucking on a black Sharpie after painting his face with it. That's only happened once but you’d think I burned the house down or sold them on the black market. And really, the fact that a three month old can draw a perfect Hitler 'stache on his upper lip and a Harry Potter lightning bolt on his forehead without a mirror is just f**king awesome.

I don’t miss the smile falter from her face when she realizes the kids are already asleep and she won’t get to do it herself. She rarely, if ever, misses a chance to bathe the kids and read a bedtime story to them.

I remember a time when she never missed a bl*w j*b. Ahhhhh, memories.

“Did you have a good time with the girls?”

She shrugs as she puts her purse and coat on the table in the foyer.

“It was okay. I wasn’t up for drinking so Claire and Liz probably thought I was a board.”

“You mean, they thought you were a bore?” I ask.

“I’m too tired to care,” she says, flopping down onto the couch next to me and resting her head on the back cushions.

Shit! Claire and Liz had one job and one job only - get my wife drunk. I needed her drunk for this to work! They are so fired the next time I see them. Oh well, looks like we’re doing this sober.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Go on upstairs to our room and get comfortable,” I tell her with a wink.

She looks at me funny for a minute and then pulls herself slowly off of the couch and makes her way up the stairs.

I sit on the couch practically bouncing up and down with excitement. I am like a kid on Christmas. I absolutely cannot wait for her to get upstairs and see what I did. Even sober I know she will appreciate this awesome gift. This is going to fix everything. I can feel it. With one awesome purchase from Liz’s sex toy shop, I am going to cure the dry spell in our marriage. I am so f**king awesome I can’t even stand it. She’s going to take one look into the bedroom and announce that I should be nominated for Husband of the Year. I’ll graciously accept the nomination and act like I have no idea just how amazeballs I am.

I’ll probably need a speech and a tux, because you know, I’m kind of a big deal. “I’d like to thank the little people. And by little people, I mean the people out there still not having sex, who aren’t the shiznit like I am.”

I hear Billy let out a cry from his nursery, and I’m not gonna lie, I almost run up the stairs to ask him what the f**k he thinks he's doing. I've given him strict orders that he's not to make a sound after he went to sleep. It's like this kid didn’t understand a word I said.

Billy’s cries stop after a few seconds, and I say a silent prayer of thanks and give myself a reminder to buy him a new toy tomorrow to apologize for almost going into his room and calling him a c**k blocking asshole.

I’m a little concerned that I haven’t heard Jenny let out a happy scream yet, but I figure she just doesn’t want to scare the kids or anything. Perfectly understandable. She’s containing her excitement and waiting for me to come upstairs so she can thank me properly with her mouth on my schwantz. I approve of this message.

After I give Jenny a few more minutes to enjoy the surprise and get situated, I jump up from the couch, and take the stairs two at a time in haste to get to our room.

I run down the hallway with a grin on my face and push open the door to our bedroom with a raging hard-on just thinking about the night to come. I stop dead in my tracks at what I see and am unable to form any words that can describe the horror show happening right this very second.

“Drew, this is the best present ever! I love it!” Jenny whispers. “And the candles?! Oh my gosh, it’s the perfect lighting to do this!”

I stand in the doorway of our room staring at the sight before me, and I want to fall down on my knees and weep. Not in the “Oh my God I’m so happy!” way either. In the “Oh my fuck, what is going on???” way.

After three hours of hard labor while Jenny was out, I had managed to install a sex swing in the corner of our bedroom. A sex swing to end all sex swings. This thing is the shit, and I almost had to crank one out in the middle of installing it. I couldn’t stop picturing Jenny hanging in it, na**d and waiting for me to rail her. I had to go to the hardware store three different times for materials and ended up removing part of the ceiling to reinforce the beams up there. I had to attach two-by-fours and consult five different guys who worked at the hardware store, all who were anxiously awaiting my return so I could give them a play-by-play of the evening.

Now, instead of waltzing back in there like a God to tell them about the hot sex we had suspended from our ceiling, I’m going to have to walk in there with my head down in shame. I’m not going to have an awesome story to tell about the cops being called because of strange jungle noises coming from our room or windows being broken because of swinging too hard. The only story I’m going to have is the one about me falling to my knees and sobbing like a girl.

When I close my eyes to sleep at night, I’m going to have to picture Jenny, fully clothed, holding our three-month-old son in her arms, rocking him back to sleep in our SEX SWING.

“But…that’s my swing,” I whine loudly and try not to stomp my foot.

“Shhhhhhh, I just got him back to sleep,” Jenny whispers while giving me a stern look as she gently sways from side to side and stares lovingly down at Billy – IN MY MOTHER FUCKING SEX SWING!

“Sex…me…the swing…bad….sex…barf.”

Nonsense. That’s what is coming out of my mouth. Pure nonsense.

The gift that's supposed to rejuvenate our sex life has now become a new baby rocker.

Barf.

“Come over here and sit with me on the swing, Drew. There’s plenty of room,” Jenny says softly as she stares down at Billy.

Sit next to my wife on a sex swing and NOT have sex? I do not understand what is happening right now. Is she speaking English?

“No hablo SEX! Billy bad! Me want!” I complain, stomping my foot for real this time.

“Drew! What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Jenny whispers loudly.

MY PENIS IS DYING AND MY EYES ARE BLEEDING! That’s what’s wrong with me, woman!

“You are ruining my present,” she complains.

“You ruined my penis!” I complain back.

“I ruined your pens? What does that even mean? I never touched your pens.”

Oh believe me, I’m well aware of how much you HAVEN’T touched my PENS. This whispering thing obviously isn’t working.

With resignation, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and head into the bathroom while I scroll through the newest Erotica dot com updates.

“Where are you going?” Jenny asks softly as she watches me take my walk of shame across the floor of our bedroom.

“To a backyard barbeque where Misty and her friend Buffy cornered their high school Science teacher in a bathroom and asked him to explain the theory of threesome-tivity,” I mumble sadly.

Chapter 2 – Negative, Ghost Rider

Jenny and I have been married going on…uh, something like four years. Or is it three? Our daughter Veronica is three and Jenny definitely wasn’t knocked up at our wedding. So, three, take away the one, carry the two…eh, three years and some change sounds about right.

Our wedding was the shit! It was the most romantic, perfect day ever. Our friends and a few family members went with us to Vegas, baby! And the best part? You guessed it, we were married by Elvis. Not the real Elvis. Last I heard he was spotted somewhere in Piedmont, North Dakota. This guy was totally a fake, but he was still shitballs good. Jenny surprised me with a shirt to wear during the ceremony. In big, block letters it had the word “Groom” with a giant “X” through it. Underneath it was written: The Bride’s Bitch.