Mr. Happy Gets Married

The other dayI introduced you to Mr. Happy and his “Stop! Don’t use that pole anywhere near her no-no hole” sex advice.

But Mr. Happy’s “secrets of sexual intimacy” don’t end there.  It looks like a night of explosive, make-Mr.-Happy-blow-like-Mr.-Mount-Vesuvius sex starts with the wifey.

“Ladies, learn how to wrap yourself, to wrap the room in a seductive allure tailor-made to your husband.” [Observation #1: Tailor-made to my husband?? That would mean something involving snow. And ski poles. There’s no way this can end well.]

But Mr. Happy’s wife seems to be an eager beaver (oh yes I did), so let’s see what gets him going.

Meet Mrs. Headlights (I am so not kidding).

“There’s this thing we men talk about called ‘headlights.’” [Observation #2: Ummm……I think pre-pubescent boys sneaking a peak at the lingerie section of the J.C. Penny’s catalog—or Popular Mechanics—talk about ‘headlights.’ Mr. Happy: Puberty called and suggests you give it another go.]

I wonder why headlights are so important? I mean, in the bedroom, not on the highway.  I’m sure Mr. Happy has an explanation. Let’s find out.

“When you’re a young boy watching the women’s Olympic diving competition, you might get together with your buddies and mention one swimmer’s ‘amazing headlights.’” [Observation #3: ‘Nuff said.]

I couldn’t understand the significance of this little how-to-make-Mr.-Happy-really-really-happy-with-your-headlights tidbit, but reading on I learned this: Apparently, a guy’s explosive volcanic eruptions are at your fingertips tonguetips nippletips, gals.

“What am I talking about? Nipples. When a man can see a woman’s nipples through the fabric she is wearing…we get weak in the knees at the right presentation.”

<things your mamma never taught you>


“I don’t know anything more alluring than a satiny top being pushed from underneath by your wife’s two nipples.” [Observation #4: Wait, what? What does Mr. Happy want with your wife’s nipples?]

Apparently, here’s all it takes to make Mr. Happy blow his top tip:

“Now, here’s how you build on your presentation, girls. Let’s say your husband hears the shower running at 10:30 PM. Just the sound of the water makes him frisky.” [Observation #5: Silly Viagra makers. All it really takes is a leaky faucet, not an erection-in-a-bottle.]

<you can’t make this stuff up, people>

“When his wife walks out sporting a new nightie that conveniently displays those headlights, he’s suddenly a little boy. [Observation #6: There's something seriously, seriously wrong with this statement!]

“A lot of men would jog five miles just to see that in their own bedroom. [Observation #7: See Observation #3]. That scenario alone could bring a good number of American men straight to orgasm!” [Observation #8:Gone in 60 Secondsmuch?]

Look, I’m all for great sex advice. No matter what studies you look at, sex problems are always pretty close to the top of the list when it comes to divorce because great sex is really important to a couple’s overall relationship satisfaction and happiness.

But folks, sex advice that reduces a woman to a sexual object—using her [nipples] as an instrument (object) towards your own sexual pleasure—almost always results in regarding her as a commodity and ignores her uniqueness as an individual.

Now, there’s no problem with a guy being attracted to a particular area (or every area, for that matter) of his gal’s body. There’s nothing wrong with her being attracted to any/every part of his body.

But when a books uses four pages—count ‘em, four pages—to talk about how excited Mr. Happy gets when he sees Mrs. Nipples Headlights…well….I have to wonder how Mrs. N-H benefits?

Stop by in a few days and we’ll talk about women’s sexual desire, arousal, and response…and why Mr. Happy needs to learn what makes Mrs. Headlights’ eyes roll back in her head.


Photo Credits: “Turn on your headlights” (Nikita Kashner, flickr.com); “Roof” (Thom Watson, flickr.com)

Come On Get "Happy," and Other Stoooopid Sex Advice

I read about sex. I read about sex a lot. I write about sex. A lot. So much so, sometimes I feel as though I need condoms on my fingers as I type out another chapter.

When you’re a professor and author of intimate relationships and sexuality, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. Reading and writing about sex cums comes with the territory.

Some of the stuff out there is pretty good…it’s accurate enough so that no one gets hurt in the process of trying the “advice.” And it’s at least somewhat based in reality. (Let’s face it—doing a striptease and a lap dance for the hubs every night may be what Reality TV is all about, but anyone who’s been married for more than 10 minutes knows that this isn’t what Reality Reality is all about. This definitely falls in the “are you freakin’ kidding me” column).

After sitting here all morning trying to write a sex advice column and answer college students’ questions about sex, I came to arrived at the conclusion that there’s a lot stuff out there that is just downright, well, ridiculous.

Ludicrous. Absurd. Outlandish. Bizarre. Nonsensical. (I know, I know. How do I really feel?)


Take for example, Cosmopolitan’s advice to try the Kama Sutra spinning position where she does a 360-degree propeller spin around him while he keeps “Mr. Happy” inside of her while she lifts her legs and swings them over his head. All while sober. And on purpose.

Or how about this little gold nugget of wisdom about anal sex?

“The vagina was designed to receive the penis; it was custom-made to engage in intercourse. [Observation #1: There’s a big difference between intercourse and rumpy-pumpy sex.] The anus, quite frankly, was not.” [Observation #2: And Mr. Author knows this how???]

Continuing on… “Anal sex will hurt. [Observation #3: See Observation #2.] Yes, some women stretch out that area to gradually accommodate a husband, but there are other issues.” [Observation #4: Any adult who refers to a part of his wife’s body as “that area” has his own ish-shuuus.]

And we’re walkin’…..

“A woman’s rectal area can easily tear, resulting in painful and embarrassing maladies—and how will she explain this to her doctor?” [Observation #5: Oh, I don’t know, maybe she can try something like this: “Mr. Doctor, Mr. Happy went all Mr. Ape-Sh!t Gorilla Crazy on me.” Dood, if she tears, it’s YOUR fault.]

Mr. Author concludes with this unbiased, professional advice…

“Anal sex is kinky, and I believe it’s wrong!” [Observation #6: Mr. Author, throughout your book you repeatedly refer to your man-parts…errr, excuse me….your thrusting-device-that’s-designed-to-fit-snugly-into-her-receiving-vagina-device….

….you repeatedly refer to your apparent weapon of mass destruction (see Observation #5) as “Mr. Happy”—I’m not so sure you know the meaning of “kinky.”]

Mr. Happy

Oh. Em. Gee.

Cosmo sells millions of magazines. The no-butt-sex author has probably sold tens of thousands of books.

But that doesn’t mean that what they sell is accurate. It doesn’t mean that what they sell isn’t actually doing more harm than good (Cosmo—telling a gal to take a sharp comb to the shaft of his penis or shaking his twins like a maraca? Seriously? Let’s just think for a minute how that might end….).

I think some of the sex stuff out there today is hysterically funny. But a lot of it is just downright dangerous to relationships.

Is it tough for you to sort through relationship and sex advice—to know what’s “good” advice and what isn’t?


Photo Credit: cesarastudillo (flicr.com); Kama Sutra

Lingerie and the Head Hunter

A few years ago, a friend was excited to tell us that he and his wife started educating young couples in their church about sex and sexuality. The front-porch conversation went something like this….

Friend: Yeah, I gotta tell ya, [my wife] and I are pretty popular in church since we started this program for young couples. Guys come up to me in church and give me that you-lucky-dog look. <chuckle, chuckle, wink, wink>

Me: Oh yeah? What program are you teaching?

Friend: There’s a new book out for Christian wives about being more sexual for their husbands. You know, like how to entice them and turn them on.

My husband: You need a book for that?

Me: What’s the [insert air quotes] program?

Friend: It’s really, really cool. Basically, these authors tell women that they should never, ever go to bed in a T-shirt, or anything that’s not sexy. Women should put on make up and do their hair every night.

Me: Every night?

Friend: Yeah, for sure. And she should never, ever go to bed until her husband does. She’s supposed to wait for him to come to bed, and then she’s supposed to undress in front of him, you know, do a strip show for him, and then get into her sexy lingerie. And then do her little sexy show for him. And then get into bed and give him a BJ. And then, you know, have a great time.

Me & Hubby (in near unison): EVery night?

Friend: <peacockish with feathers fanned out> See why I’m so popular in church now?

Me: Where did these ideas come from?

Friend: Don’t you remember the story of the missionaries and they were both chased into the jungle by the tribal people and they caught him and killed him, and she hid in the jungle and survived the attack?

Me: Yeah, but what does this have to do with stripper poles in the bedroom?

Friend: These were her original ideas.

Me (trying to picture a stripper pole in a hut in the jungle): So let me get this straight. Was she running through the jungle in her lingerie? Cuz that would be crazy stuff right there. Was the jungle-running-escaping-from-head-hunters before or after her nightly strip tease?

My Husband: For his sake, I hope before, so he could stand up straight and make a run for it.

Me: Given the outcome…I’m guessing no on that one.

Come back tomorrow for the rest of the story!

Kelly J

Boobless and….Well…..Still Boobless

This is a lengthy one, so grab your pumpkin spice latte and settle in.

There are a lot of studies out there that have looked at how stress and severe illnesses like breast cancer affect marriages or intimate relationships.

The news isn’t good. Of course, there are many factors that contribute to whether a marriage or an intimate relationship succeeds or fails in times like this (well, or even in times not like this), but a number of the studies show that the divorce rate during or after a serious illness is over 70 percent. Folks, that’s nearly 3 out of 4 marriages that tank after a health crisis.

If you know anything about me, you know that I hate divorce.

Hate it.

I hate what it does to men and women. I hate what it does to kids. I hate what it does to society. I didn’t have divorced parents—but I have taught over 31,000 students and have spoken to college students across this country, and I know what they struggle with. And when I write the books, I read hundreds and hundreds of research articles about divorce. There’s no way to pretty it up. And I refuse to be politically correct about it.

<You’re probably wondering why I’m bringing this up now instead of talking about breast cancer.>

Here’s my point. If marriage really is about through-good-times-and-bad-and-in-sickness-and-in-health-and-when-life-is-stormy-and-when-it’s-quiet—WHY oh WHY do 70 percent of marriages fail in the bad times?

Because this is what happens when we reduce love to something that we do, instead of experiencing it as a part of who we are.

Are you starting to get me, where I’m coming from?

If you do love, you react certain ways when things happen. When you are love, nothing changes. You’re unmovable. You’re steadfast. Rock. Solid.

When I got my diagnosis, I literally couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t gasp in, I couldn’t breathe out. Everything came to a screeching halt. And that’s because no one in my family had ever survived it. I was petrified, and I had good reason to be.

But I had one thing that a lot of women don’t have: A husband who loved me right where I was.

Not the superficial bring-me-a-cup-of-coffee-or-rub-my-back-when-I-don’t-ask-for-it kind of love. But a kind of love that accepted and embraced my weaknesses.

Rock.

Solid.

Love.

One day Dave helped me into the bathroom (okay, you gotta admit that’s a different kind of love altogether). He made a phone call, a phone call he didn’t expect me to overhear. He called my doctor.

I didn’t listen to the entire conversation. But I did hear him say—broken, sobbing uncontrollably, begging—“Please. Please. I just want my wife back. Just promise me you can give me my wife back. I can’t keep watching her go through this. Please.”

<This is the point where, if I were talking to you in person, I would almost be am pleading with you to understand what I’m trying to say. And I would be am crying.>

I didn’t even need to hear his words. All I needed to hear was the emotion behind his words to know that he. loved. me. with a kind of love that always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. The kind of love that never fails.

Don’t you see? That’s what this entire blog experience is all about. To teach you, to show you, what I know about love…from a research viewpoint…from a personal experience viewpoint…from reality. To somehow get the message out that love is more than a dare.

And to understand that love is more than a promise.

I want you to experience the kind of love that withstands [the early death of a parent or the death of a child or mental illness or a job loss or bad in-laws or money troubles or rebellious teens or cancer or arguing or a horrible job] anything the world throws at it. The no matter what kind of love.

And over the next few weeks I hope to show you how to get this kind of love—so when you do bring your partner a cup of coffee, it’s out of that rock solid love place in your heart.

A couple of days ago, I said that my breast cancer experiences were as much about love as they were anything else.

I mean let’s be real. When all was said and done, nothing changed the fact that I was boobless and, well…..still boobless.

But even though my body didn’t make it through the experiences unscathed, my marriage did. Our love did.

And that’s a victory in and of itself.

Boobless But Bolder

I am not quiet. At all. By any stretch of the imagination. You can always hear me coming. You always know I was there.

I used to try to be quieter. I used to try to be more demure, more reserved. I used to try to take life more seriously. I used to try to not laugh as often or as loud. I used to try to not laugh at things others didn’t necessarily see as funny.

I tried to conform to others’ standards of what it meant to be a “lady” and what it meant to be “beautiful.” Really—I did try.

And then I got sick.

I’m not going to get all Pollyanna on you right now, because I’m going to debunk the urban legend that breast cancer is the best thing that can ever happen to a woman. Personally, I thought it sucked.

Why I Didn’t Wear Lipstick to My Mastectomies

(And Other Valuable Lessons I Was Supposed to Learn but Didn’t)

  • I didn’t learn to laugh at my situation, at myself—The surgeons only cut off my boobs, they didn’t cut out my sense of humor. (And if you knew me, you’d know that my thighs are a far bigger problem than being boobless).
  • I didn’t learn to turn things upside down, to stand things on end—I had been getting in trouble for this for at least 30 years.
  • I didn’t learn determination—I’m Irish. We’re stubborn. (And as any true Irishman knows, the Irish don’t want anyone to wish them well…they want everyone to wish their enemies ill!).
  • I didn’t learn about the unpredictability of life—I had four sons in six years. And I knew what caused it. But it still happened.
  • I didn’t learn to bend the rules of life to get things done—I think I invented it’s-better-to-ask-for-forgiveness-than-permission in 1977.
  • I didn’t learn to become more opinionated and to voice my concerns—Ummm……heellloooo…..
  • I didn’t have to learn that it’s okay to cry—Name any Little House on the Prairie episode and I’ll tell you at what point Pa cried (and when I cried with him).

Now, hopefully readers don’t think that I’m some callous, soulless jerk, and that I’m belittling or making fun of women who have written about their experiences with breast cancer.

Each of my breast cancer predecessor sisters did teach me a lesson—but just in different ways than maybe they intended to.

God was trying to show me through their experiences and through mine that He created me the way I am for a reason.

“And who knows that you have come to [this] position for

such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)

For such a time as this. If I hadn’t been bold and loud and a laugher and a defyer of the norm, I’m not so sure I would have come out on the other side of breast cancer as whole as I did.

You see, I don’t think that God smote me with the double mastectomy smack down to get my attention, to somehow make me more reflective and quieter (as a well-meaning woman told me).

I think He wanted me to find my voice, the voice that He gave me.

So here I am today—boobless but bolder.

For such a time as this.

What things about yourself do you need to embrace? To recognize as a strength and not a weakness?

Photo Credit: arbyreed (flickr.com)