One More Sex Story

Remember all those non-sex sex stories I told you?

I remembered one more. Wanna hear it?

This one actually has some sex in it! It's integral to the plot! It will also be elided out because the parts surrounding the actual act are funnier!

Intrigued? Read on!

If you recall my last set of not-sex sex stories, you might remember that my sex drive went into turbo-charged mode once activated. I figured this would happen, and even warned my then-boyfriend, now-husband. I repeatedly warned him. I was blithely waved off with an extra-special eupeptic, with a side of clueless ignorance. See, his mother was a blithering idiot, and he'd learned early on to ignore warnings from anyone in a feminine role to his masculine sexuality. Of course he could keep up! He was in his beginning 20's, he was randy, he was ready for anything!

Yeah. Keep that firmly in mind, okay?

Back to the blithering idiot. My mother-in-law... there is no nice way to put this, I've tried. The woman was just barely passing in social niceties, but pretended that she was better than anyone else. If you've seen Keeping Up Appearances, she would have been a perfect substitute for Hyacinth Bucket (Pronounced Bou-quet). All the charm of a growling cat, all the hurted fewwings of a slighted Matron of the Highest Order, and all the smarts of a muddy owl that has face-planted in front of a large audience.

Pride in all the wrong things. Screamer when she didn't get her way, or even get her way immediately. Microaggressor of the nitpickiest rank (very, very rank), would police your meals and insisted on always cooking. Thought she could tell a story; got it all wrong. Could not be corrected on said story. Would take over conversations and make them all about her. Refused to go places with you, on your dime, just so one could get out of that boring musty tiny house with those dratted uncomfortable chairs, only to be shot down. Until, of course, you went with somebody else, then she was all about the FOMO of an experience taken without her! You must take her to the thing now, nowwie nowwie now!

Ugh. Small wonder hubs would panic when we prepped to go visit them (and of course had to stay in their house, or she would be Terribly Insulted), and sabotaged all my plans to get us there on time. Quite the mess.

We got better, but it took many patient years for hubs to develop that lovely shiny spine he's got now.

This happened during the embryonic shiny spine years, ESS for short.

The stress was high. The stress was palpable. The stress could have wrung itself out of the air, filled a ten-gallon jug, and slapped us all upside the head with it.

Mother-in-law was on a screaming rampage because things weren't going her way, and she was looking for someone to scream at. We were walking on eggshells, and anything that could be misconstrued or taken out of context was, and we were “punished” accordingly. If no opportunity for screaming was available, she would make one up.

Why yes, she was a miserable excuse for a human being. And I brought out the worst in her, because I wasn't as cowed by her as the rest of her family. And once I figured out that she was just full of hot air and liked screaming for the sake of making herself feel better at the expense of everyone else's emotional well-being, well, game on.

How do I deal with stress?

Sex, of course.

Lots of it.

Once I convinced hubs that getting ready early meant off to the bedroom for horizontal refreshment to relax before the drive, our prep got a bit easier. Unfortunately, hubs also has the memory capacity of a baby newt when the stress levels rise, so having to remind him yearly that this would help was a challenge. We went through a lot of foam bats early in our marriage. Great stress reliever, don't hurt when you thwack each other, but cheap quality materials.

So, let's just say the pre-visit refreshment had the staying power of a quark laughing at a Planck length.

And with MILzilla in full-throated overload decibel meter with histrionic harmonics, I knew I had to do something before I also lost my temper, and believe me that I would say things they never wanted to know.

But hubs was too jittery to relax long enough to contemplate banana-like objects.

And MILzilla, in full control-freak mode, decides in her Infinite Wisdom, that she will make pancakes for breakfast!

Nice, right?

This is, in fact, a Very Bad Sign. When MIL wants to make pancakes, it's all about controlling the tiniest specks of each and every person's life in her sphere of influence. Not only what we will all eat, but how many, exactly how much syrup, exactly how much orange juice no refills, what do you mean you want to use our precious bottle of real syrup I got the fake stuff for everyone else and you will like it, one pat of butter for the whole stack, and don't ask for blueberries they're mine, and I will burn yours and you'd better eat them anyway and tell me what a wonderful cook I am!

Did I mention we didn't eat breakfast?

At all?

Ever?

So, no thanks, we'll sleep in.

Apparently that was the wrong answer.

We told that witch at least ten times that we didn't want breakfast, didn't need breakfast, were not planning on eating breakfast, and thanks all the same, we'll see you at ten o'clock AM when we finally drag ourselves out of bed. Hubs wants to sleep in, I'm used to second shift anyway, this would throw our schedules off in so many ways, if we get hungry before lunch we can just have cereal.

Every single time, you could just watch her brain reset till we gave the proper answer. click Breakfast will be at eight thirty click breakfast will be at eight thirty click breakfast will be at eight thirty...

See you at ten or after, MIL.

Then we went to bed.

On the mattress that we moved from the sofa bed to the floor, because day-um that sofa bed was the most freaking uncomfortable bed in existence. She got it new to replace the old bed that was rather comfortable. Figures.

But, unfortunately, schedules have their ways if inserting their own needs onto us organics.

I remember waking up at some ungodly hour needing to pee. I would have gotten up to do such a thing, but my hubs was up and moving before I could get the covers off me. Weasel.

So I waited in full bladder silence, waiting for the return of the facilitated hubster, so I could go.

And I waited.

And waited.

While I waited, I stared at the door knob. And the little push-button lock on it.

And I got a premonition.

She wouldn't... would she?

I knew the answer to that.

Hmmm.

Hubs finally returns, whispering, “Mom stopped me to ask what kind of pancakes I wanted!” I scuttled out to facilitate as fast as possible, not knowing that MIL was lying in wait to ask me the same question. Ignoring her didn't work, she just kept tapping on the bathroom door and asking, and I was telling her through the door that I didn't want any. She also tried to waylay me afterwards, but I brushed past her and into our borrowed bedroom.

And I locked the door behind me.

To this day, I wonder if that was the right decision.

Hubs and I were shaking our heads at the flipping audacity of that woman.

But hey... We're awake, we have time...

Hubs knows that look. Hubs was tired of the howling harridan that had inhabited his mother like an alien life form.

So, we decide to warm up that cuddly space between the sheets the best way we know how.

When I say we were in the middle of things, I ain't kidding. We were enjoying ourselves immensely when there was a infernal pounding at the freaking door!

“Breakfast is ready!!!”

Hubs answered. He has a voice that easily travels through those flimsy doors. “We told you we don't want any!”

More pounding. I swear I saw the door shake! “I said, BREAKFAST IS READY!”

“We heard you! We still don't want any!”

And here's the kicker: that nasty witch then rattled the door knob, trying to get in!

We both yelled, “DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!”

Oh, she heard us. She just didn't like the answer, and kept repeating the prompt till you gave her the “correct” answer. We didn't play her sorry games, so too freaking bad.

She stomped away, snarling loud enough for us to hear her a room away, “The door is locked! Why is the door locked? This is my house! They should be out here having breakfast! Now we have to wait to eat till they come out here and join us like a Godly family should!” (Yes, she talked that way.)

We were both laughing so hard it killed the mood.

Eventually, hubs sighed and got up as if to do her bidding, and I grabbed him. “No way, no how! We were in the middle of things, and we're going to finish before we go out there! Now, where were we?”

It took a while, but let us say Experience-us Interruptus came to a satisfactory conclusion.

Then we got up, got dressed, brushed our teeth, and joined them at the breakfast table.

She'd cleaned up the pancakes and dishes like she was denying us a key to Heaven.

Hubs shrugged, and pulled out the bowls and spoons. It's not like he doesn't know where they're kept.

And we had cereal.

If looks could kill, you'd better believe that hubs and I would have both been fried to oblivion five times over.

Father-in-law? Blissfully unaware of all the drama, as he'd learned to tune her out years and years ago. He might have had an inkling of what was going on; he was once young, and they had two kids after all. He chatted with us about nothing in particular as we ate our cereal, with me commenting on working up an appetite. Hubs almost choked on a cornflake at that one.

MILzilla didn't have friends, she had People Beneath Her that she liked to commiserate with. She never cottoned onto the fact that these people just laughed at her antics, because most of the drama she was moaning about she'd brought on herself. Some would laugh at her, some would roll their eyes and walk away, but there were a few that would tell her straight up what an idiot she was being, and why. Since MILzilla was extra quiet for the next few visits, I'm assuming someone, finally, bluntly told her what young people in love do behind closed doors in the morning when rudely accosted by people taking unwanted breakfast orders for tasteless substandard pancakes.

But I will wonder till my dying day, if I should have just let the door unlocked.

Because you better believe, she would have come barging in. She was that kind of person.

I would have had such a delightful freakout on her, screaming at her audacity, telling her exactly in which particular conveyance she should make a ride to that very hot place. Because no one, NO ONE, gets in between the two of us in our marriage.

Would she have passed out in shock, or could I have given her a heart attack and saved us some years of miserable experiences? Either way, I would have shoved her legs out the door, closed and locked it, hopped right back into bed, and finished what we started.

But the world will never know, dangit.

She and her idiotic antics are not missed, but at least you can dine on this delicious tale of spicy revenge, and believe me, it tastes better than her pancakes!