When I was seven, a little girl at day care enlightened me about the birds and the bees (or as it should be known: the snake and the hidey hole). When the truth about where babies come from was revealed to my delicate self I thought, "Ew, gross! Who would want to do that?"
In junior high I saw a picture (courtesy of Playgirl) of the nude male form and I thought, "Ew, gross! I don't want one of those anywhere near me! It looks like an ant eater!"
In high school I was fat and unwanted so there was no dating much less anything more physical. Late night HBO provided a bit of soft core porn (Porky's, Body Double) and I started to think, "Hmm, maybe sex isn't so bad."
In my early twenties I bloomed and finally "did it" (that's another story for another time). After the non-event of misplacing my virginity I thought, "Really, really? That's what all the fuss is about?"
Post-first time I didn't exactly rocket into the world of wild sex. More like I stumbled around bad to mediocre sex with bad to boring boys. Actual intercourse I was pretty stingy with, but what's a blow job between friends? After a little Goldschlager I'd think, "The kissing is awesome, the rest seems to make the boys happy...so what the hay!"
Somewhere in my mid to late twenties I settled into romance and good sex. I remember thinking, "So this is what all the fuss is about?"
As the thirties encroached upon me both physically and spiritually, I began to covet "my time"; my time to sleep, my time to read a good book, my time to watch Sex and the City without anyone pestering me for sex in my city. Again I became stingy with the actual intercourse, but what's a blow job between a husband and wife?
Once enticed or guilted into my wifely duties I found myself thinking, "The kissing parts still pretty good, but I could live without the other, but it seems to make Husband so happy...what the hay."
By the time the first baby came into our lives, sex had become a non-essential I could live without. Sadly, Husband felt it was still a precious commodity. When approached by the dingus I would think, "Ugh, just skip the kissing and get to the boom boom. To quote a friend, 'ten pumps and your done'."
But, thanks to a little soft core porn on skin-o-max, a hint of my previous sex drive returned and I began thinking, "hmm, maybe a little pillow talk isn't such a bad idea."
Then came the second baby. Now when feeling the late night poke in the back with Mr. Happy Stick and hit up with the come on line, "Well, hello there...", I think "Enough already! I don't want one of those things anywhere near me! Gross! Why would anyone want to do that!? Back that ant eater up!"
Sometimes I wish I'd never learned about the snake and the hidey hole because once you let it in, it keeps coming back for more.
Let's hope the forties really do bring a super-hot libido only matched by eighteen year old males. I have my doubts.