Trojan Wife

I’m having lunch the other day, trying to mind my own business. I say trying, because when I hear people talking about something interesting a little too loudly, I can’t help but listen. Especially if that something is sex. So here’s this attractive 40-something woman talking to her friend, who has asked her to a birthday party she is throwing over the weekend. And she says: “Saturday night? I can’t. Saturday, I’m a Trojan wife.”

My ears perk right up, because not only am I fascinated that this woman and her husband use condoms as a form of birth control, but also because they obviously have an itinerary planned for their intimate moments. She is quite open about this with her friends, which kind of surprises me, because her collar is buttoned up to her chin with white pearly buttons. But I know a little something about people with conservative appearances. They’re often the wild ones.    
“Can’t you put it off just this once?” her friend asks her.
    
“I really can’t,” the woman says. “It only happens a few times a season, and he gets so excited. He starts anticipating it in the middle of the week, and by Saturday, he’s in a frenzy.”

Geez, I think, why don’t they just do it more often? Then I can’t believe my ears when the friend says, “Why don’t you videotape it?”

“It’s not the same when you videotape,” she says. “You know that.”

And if that wasn’t racy enough, her friend says: “I know. You can do it at our house."

"He really likes it at home," the woman explains. “He’s got this whole set up, the food and his special chair.”

I’ve heard about people like this. People with special chairs. People who do things with food. I’ve seen 9 1/2 Weeks. I still can’t look at a strawberry without blushing.

Now I'm fascinated with this woman. I want to join the conversation to ask some questions, but it will be obvious I’m eavesdropping. Then I think that she probably won’t care. I figure she probably wants people to hear about her exploits with her husband.  

Then her friend suggests they stop by the party afterwards.
    
She laughs. “If he’s not too tired. You know, he exhausts himself. I’ve never heard anyone scream so much. He can go on for hours, cursing one minute, declaring his love the next. Sometimes, I’m worried he’s going to break something. I just laugh. I like to watch him. He becomes an animal. Then he passes out.”

Just like a man, I think. I decide I can’t listen to another word of this. It’s all so casual, so public. It’s as if these people are talking about, say, SC football… Oh wait a minute. I get it now. And I’m blushing like a strawberry.