“Brand New Mattress Spring” conclusion: Erotica at Home Depot

hardware store
One day while eating lunch with coworkers in my company’s cafeteria, a staff member said she had bumped into a female co-worker and her boyfriend at Home Depot. A male employee at our table chuckled and commented sarcastically that a visit to a home improvement center seemed like an unwise destination for building a romantic relationship or a foundation for lasting intimacy.

Right then and there, during lunch, in front of his colleagues, I chastised the employee, placed him on immediate probation and red-flagged his personnel file. I took this harsh and swift action not because he was ridiculing a fellow employee but, instead, because he possessed poor judgment about home improvement centers and probably had other reckless opinions that could someday harm other men.

Places like Home Depot and Lowe's serve as extremely erotic venues for advancing the intimacy of relationships. In my opinion, it doesn’t even require any real imagination to make this connection. Consider the following items and their sensuous appeal: caulking gun (with a glass of pinot grigio, of course), vinyl-based spackling compound, wing nuts and toggle bolts, leaf blowers, duck tape (It’s spelled “duct” tape? Are you sure? Who would have guessed!), garden hose and anything that oscillates.

Please accept as fact that any place on earth, or in the galaxy, possesses erotic possibilities for husbands. I’ve been turned on at sanitary landfills, carpet stores, bait shops, cutlery outlets and year-round Christmas supply warehouses.

But no place beats home, where every closet, ceiling fan, crawl space, rafter, chimney and nook that's five square feet or larger presents an opportunity for love. And remember, lust is a slave to your imagination. How about in the kitchen, in July, next to the refrigerator with the freezer door open, as a threesome with the seven-foot tall plastic snowman, culminating with a reverse front somersault topped off with a handstand?


(next post: Don't Knock the Knickknacks)

New Mattress Spring, part three: “Code Orange Warnings about Room Selection”

If your home is similar to ours, then you have other places to choose from besides the bedroom for those steaming hot romantic interludes. Severe warnings, though, accompany each of these household spaces. Do not, and I find it necessary to repeat myself, do not get caught up in the throws of passion without hesitating, at least momentarily, to analyze each room and its unique danger:

bedroom photosThe Kitchen. Too many knives and scalding-hot waffle irons. I once knew a guy whose wife, during the climactic conclusion of a quickie near the matching cookie and spice jar set, grabbed a turkey thermometer from the countertop and buried it three and a half inches into her husband’s left ear.

The Bathroom. Seems safe? Wrong. One word. “Toilet.” Eventually, one of you will think about a time it backed up.

The Garage. Don’t even think about it. This is YOUR room. If you make love (to your wife; not to the leaf blower) in your tool castle, then part of that kingdom becomes the emotional property of your spouse. In less than a week, you’ll find scented potpourri near your belt sander and a dried-flower-fancy-ribbon-thing hanging from your weed whacker.

The Spare Bedroom. Just for a change of pace, right? Come on! Haven’t you learned anything yet? Remember who previously slept in there? Relatives, like your parents and in-laws! They might as well just hop on your bare back and ride along because their poltergeists remain in the mattresses for up to 19 months.

The Return Air Ventilation Shaft. I know – technically not a room. But avoid the temptation of this space. While it’s tantalizing to feel the cool air rush past your perspiring bodies as they’re jammed inside the vent, remember that the filters contain tiny, microscopic particles that, if inhaled, could burst a lung. And that could be a turn-off, depending upon your standards, if you have standards.


(next week: Mattress Spring conclusion and Erotica at Home Depot)

Brand New Mattress Spring, part two: “Accessories and Cannonballs”

Okay, let’s start with s-e-x basics.
Pirate parrot

First and foremost, be careful what you import into the bedroom. You’re safe with a lit candle, one rose of any color, a Barry White medley and a glass of white wine (red wine is too risky because it might imply that you’re concerned about heart disease). However, memorize the following list of props and devices that should never be brought into the sleeping chamber, unless accompanied by powerful narcotics: hand-held mirrors, spurs (official equestrian riding crops are acceptable), small undomesticated critters, a foreign-speaking tour bus driver, a Black & Decker infrared stud finder, salsa, a Mattel Jedi Knight light saber (it’s redundant), bullhorn, bungee cord and a life-sized Incredible Hulk doll that you explain she should ravish to give you a break.

Of course, in this mixed-up, confused world of ours, it’s perfectly acceptable for her to bring any of those items into the bedroom.

Here’s another tip. Don’t be afraid to take advantage of unusual, short-term circumstances. For instance, while playing basketball at the YMCA with a group of old guys, one of the geezers poked me in the eye and scratched my cornea. An ophthalmologist shined a bright light into my eye, recommended that I wear a patch over it and mailed me a $375 bill. My neighbor Harold, who kills termites for a living, could have given me the same thorough medical assessment while requiring only a Big Mac super-sized meal for compensation.

Anyway, after I arrived home, my wife stared at me all evening and finally confessed that she liked my pirate impersonation. I asked her seductively, but half kiddingly, if she wanted to be blindfolded and raise my mast. She didn’t flinch! We swapped a few smarmy remarks that incorporated the words “cannonballs” and “treasure chest” and dashed upstairs to our bedroom. All in all, the evening steamed. But at times, I felt a little too much pressure to perform with the parrot digging his claws into my left shoulder and repeating everything I said, including the moans.


(next week: “Mattress Spring” continued with Code Orange Warnings about Room Selection)

Brand New Mattress Spring

“Wilma, I’m home!”

“That’s nice, Fred. How was your day at the quarry?”

“Hot, sweaty and lonely. Let’s send the kids to the neighbors, order takeout and get as wild as two horny pterodactyls,” Fred offered, as he grabbed Wilma’s pert little butt and nibbled on her ear.
dinosaur photos

“Ain’t gonna happen, bronto boy. First, you stink worse than a stegosaurus boiling in a sulfur pit,” Wilma pointed out. “Second, our bed is a slab of granite rock. Third, since Kenny G won’t be born for another one and a half million years, there’s no music to get me in the mood.” 
     
Then she turned deadly serious for the last reason. “Fourth, and please listen very carefully this time so I don’t have to keep repeating myself – YOU DON’T HAVE A PENIS! Have you checked under your saber-tooth tiger skin smock, like I told you to? You haven’t, have you? You got nothing! Your illustrator didn’t draw you any dangly parts! You’re a cartoon!”

A single, natural tear formed in Fred’s right eye. “That’s harsh, Honey.  Couldn’t you just complain about having a headache again?”


The bedroom provides a fun, exciting and entertaining place to romp and play. Writing about it, however, could be dangerous, even deadly. Quite frankly, several male friends advised me to skip this post. But their advice ineffectively disguised their anguish and fear. All husbands worry that some other husband will write about successful and fulfilling bedroom exploits and, in the process, expose their inadequacies. But this angst is misplaced. The odds of your wife reading this blog are 17,569,038 to 1. As I mentioned during an initial post, most women who read this blog’s title will stop and conclude that the author is just another self-absorbed man.

So relax. Even if your wife reads this post, all she’ll discover is that you borrowed sex ideas from another man. And she’ll love you more for reading and investing in your relationship instead of watching ESPN9 or scratching yourself. What’s the worst that could happen? She shares the news with the wife of one of your neighborhood poker buddies. He in turn blurts it out during a hand of Texas Hang Em. The table of guys laughs at your expense. You lose concentration and $276.50 during just that one hand, along with all of your humility and most of your self-worth. But on the flipside, she’ll lock you in the bedroom and ride you like a Harley for a week.

I'll end this first post with a question. How many mattress springs have you obliterated in the past decade? Did you know that Sealy offers a rewards program for every box spring you destroy? So far, I've earned points for a backhoe, two kegs of seasonal amber ale beer, one Black Hawk helicopter and holiday elf-themed satin sheets. You can win great stuff, too. I have confidence in you.


(next post: "Mattress Spring" continued with do’s and don’ts about accessories)