"Drop 'em, babe!"

I have two words for married twosomes: Oral sex.

By Carol Ormandy
Nov. 16, 1999
Salon Magazine

I've just returned from a wedding shower, where we talked about what really makes a marriage work. I was the old sage, since my marriage has survived the proverbial seven-year itch, so the bride-to-be asked me my secrets.

I gave my usual advice for newlyweds, simple advice: Oral sex. (I usually use the more familiar term, blow jobs, unless I'm sipping tea and eating sandwiches with no crusts.) Asked to elaborate, I don't discuss technique; I speak of whys, not hows.

If my husband is napping, but I want him to go somewhere with me, it always works. If he's just getting in after a bad day at work and I'm getting ready to go out with a friend, it's "Drop 'em, babe, I've got a 7 o'clock movie to catch." We both enjoy the rest of the evening and he even gives me money to buy popcorn.

Some friends think I fail to please my husband by not preparing his favorite foods, even using recipes from his mother. Each describes the appreciative, loving look on her man's face when he comes home to a table laid out with these special dinners. Well, I've never taken photos, but I can't imagine their husbands looking any happier than mine. How many men actually moan over a rib roast? I'm a good cook, but my husband has never gripped the table and shouted, "God, yes!" about one of my casseroles. And my method not only pleases my man, but often gets dinner cooked for me afterwards.

Whoever said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach was either a gourmet cook or married to a missionary. Even Martha Stewart would recognize the advantages of my entertaining skills:

1) Saves time shopping and cooking.

2) No flowers or candles to buy.

3) No cuts or burned fingers. (And, I don't have to worry about dishpan hands.)

One of my girlfriends actually requested that I refrain from mentioning my theory to her husband. Another was upset that I seem to be using sex for barter. True, but so is giving a foot rub, or trading an afternoon watching football for a chick movie in the evening. What's the difference?

And some appreciate my advice. My favorite postscript came on a note from a friend thanking me for her shower gift; her fiancé added his thanks for my words of wisdom at the shower.

Instead of thanking me, these men should thank Mark, my ingenious boyfriend at 16. I told him I couldn't have sex because my mom had warned me about getting pregnant. He had a simple solution. We had such a satisfying relationship that when I wanted to really lose my virginity, he was the obvious choice. Under his photo in our yearbook it says: "Why is this guy always smiling?"

I can be quite romantic when the mood strikes, but I have a busy life; my husband works long hours and I tend to be an expedient person. Sure, it's no substitute for honesty and hugging. I know that. This is only one of the things that makes my marriage work. And this technique works when I'm broke or dieting or it's that time of the month.

If nothing else, my oral advice makes for a lively discussion at a wedding shower and helps explain why my gift to the bride-to-be is a pair of those gardening knee pads instead of a blender.

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