Tag Archives: sex in marriage

The Struggle to Stay Sexy In Marriage

Created with Nokia Smart Cam

By Freddy and Eddy

No matter how young or old, fit or fat, stressed out or carefree, a couple’s sex life will inevitably suffer a downturn. The arrival of kids, changes in jobs and work hours, unexpected crisis, or just plain lack of chemistry can conspire to turn the bedroom into the bored-room and leave us struggling to climb back into some semblance of passion – and that’s for strong relationships. Many couples we know simply give up and either divorce or resign themselves to finding other ways to connect that don’t require the effort of sex. Continue reading

Trust – In Sex It Really IS Everything

Want the best sex with your partner? Work on underlying trust to pave the way to mind-blowing intimacy.


For truly mind-blowing sex, nothing beats trust to get there.

Chemistry and physical attraction aside, what’s the most important factor in keeping your sex life exciting over the long term? For us it’s been long term trust, which has been built upon unflinching honesty over many years – especially when it comes to intimacy. Trust translates into open communication, allowing us to explore sexual subjects (and acts), their consequences, and delve into desires that might be taboo without emotional damage. It’s not always pretty, but building a trusting relationship early on has rewarded us with not only a stable, happy marriage over many years, but a treasure trove of sensual experiences as well.

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As We Get Older – Our Sex Stays Young

2013-07-12 13.03.01

Us partying at the Lightning In A Bottle festival, 2013.

By Ian and Alicia Denchasy
Aka Freddy and Eddy

We are never shy about mentioning our long tenure; indeed, our motto should read, “Still going strong since the age of the dinosaurs.” As such, we’ve certainly had our share of adventures since our 1988 formation as life partners and, being that this website is focused on sexuality, we’ll posit that while we’ve enjoyed an abundance of intimate experiences over our first quarter century, we ain’t, as the saying goes, “what we used ta’ be.”

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How Important Is Sex to A Relationship?


Do we as a society over emphasize the importance of sex to the detriment of our relationships?

By Freddy and Eddy

According to the latest government statistics, the top five reasons for divorce are as follows:

1. Infidelity
2. Communication breakdown
3. Physical, psychological, or emotional abuse
4. Financial stress
5. Sexual incompatibility

As you can see, two of the top five involve sex, with infidelity finally jumping ahead of financial stress after many years of holding the top trouble spot. Sex, it seems, occupies an immensely important role in the success of couples, despite the fact that, according to the Kinsey Institute, the average number of times per week that sexual intercourse takes place is less than twice and that figure drops as couples age (as an aside, married couples tend to have more sex than single individuals who date). Is it possible we simply put too much importance on having a hot sex life when in fact a merely tepid one will be just as rewarding?

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Cheating – It’s Never, EVER, Justified

You may think you’re justified, but no matter how you rationalize your decision to stray, you are firmly in the wrong.

By Ian Denchasy
Aka Freddy

Have you ever found a wallet with money inside? If so, what did you do? Did you attempt to return it, using the wallet’s contents to lead you to the owner, or maybe hand it in the the nearest police station in the hope the owner would eventually retrieve his property? And if you took any of these type of actions, did you leave the money inside?

How you handle situations such as this gives great insight into your moral character. There are some who would simply remove the cash and throw the wallet in the nearest trash can. Others might take the cash, then follow up by using any credit cards inside to make purchases. I’ve had friends who have returned wallets intact, then blatantly asked for monetary compensation as a reward or simply removed a portion or all of the money and said that’s how they found it. Obviously, there are dozens of possible outcomes and each solution will ultimately be determined by the individual’s overall moral compass. The answer seems so clear – make every attempt to reunite the wallet with its owner and leave it exactly as you found it – yet so many people will not take this action. Maybe the person who finds it is broke, jobless, and/or homeless and needs the money desperately to survive; perhaps there’s only a small amount of money inside and one can rationalize that the owner won’t miss it. What would you do?

I like to use this example when making points regarding cheating as it illustrates the point of character. Conducting a sexual dalliance outside your committed relationship, like finding a wallet, has many different permutations and is a measure of your character within that framework.

Having been in a successful marriage for almost 25 years (as of this writing), we’ve now been together long enough to have observed several relationships fail for a variety of reasons. As most research studies continue to prove, the top two reasons for breakups are financial hardship and infidelity – in that order – and our own observations cruelly bear witness to these conclusions. In fact, if we had to go by our own, unscientific accounting of breakups we’ve witnessed, adultery definitely tops money in the divorce hierarchy. Cheating, whether it stems from wholly understandable problems or fatal character flaws on the part of the perpetrators, rarely leaves anything but a swath of destruction in its wake. Trust is destroyed, families are torn apart, friendships and community ties are affected; it hardly seems worth it, no matter how rational the reasoning for straying seems. Are we truly so cowardly as to be unable to confront our partners, be honest in our desires to seek love outside what currently exists, then craft a solution that doesn’t involve lying?

The answer is complicated, obviously, and most relationship problems are less blatant than they are festering. Issues (especially sexual) that seemed trivial in the early going amplify over time if not properly addressed and as the initial excitement wanes, reality sets in and the hard work begins. Day to day life as a couple can be fantastic, of course, but even in our own marriage there comes times when voices raise, stands are taken, and things get thrown through the air. With regard to affairs, most actually have very little to do with the act of sex as much as a lack of attention and intimacy (among many reasons). Our romanticized version of love and fairytale visions of eternal happiness don’t help, as any course corrections that impede the love ideal can be more than many can handle. So much so that there are individuals incapable of sustaining healthy couplings beyond the adrenaline-fueled initial relationship stages and, like junkies needing a fix, must move from partner to partner. Whatever the rationale, excuse, or impetus, however, the decision to cheat is one that we simply cannot accept – in any case – and one you shouldn’t, either.

To clarify, the definition of cheating should be understood as any action sexual in nature that is willfully undertaken with the intent to deceive your partner and/or without your partner’s knowledge that exceeds agreed upon boundaries. We allow for forgetfulness to an extent; one can’t be held too much in contempt for simply forgetting to mention a lunch date that has no consequences, but, when you clearly feel a sexual spark with someone who isn’t your partner and then act on that impulse you are in violation your commitment and now clearly in cheater’s territory. At that moment of willful decision, you have crossed the line. Even in cases where you have explicit permission to see another person, if your intentions exceed those outlined to your partner, you are lying and cheating. If you go to a massage parlor and receive a “happy ending,” for example, without mutual agreement that such an outcome is acceptable, congratulations, you have cheated.

Obviously, the first step in avoiding cheating is to define exactly what it is – together. As I mentioned previously, if you willfully engage in sexual behavior without your partner’s knowledge or consent, you are breaking his or her sexual trust and cheating, regardless. This is not to be confused with the sexual/physical act itself, standards of which can be negotiated between each party as to where it falls in the acceptability scale. In our marriage, we’ve had detailed conversations over the years about what individual acts constitute adultery/cheating and revisited those standards from time to time. From the aforementioned massage parlor scenario to being alcohol impaired at a bachelor or bachelorette party, we’ve attempted to dissect the most common scenarios for straying and come to agreement on whether or not they exceed our threshold for breaking trust and being willful deception. Polyamorous couples, who allow for multiple sexual partners into their relationships can still cheat. We have our own allowable acts (a happy ending massage does not exceed our sexual boundaries while a blowjob is forbidden), but knowledge beforehand of any outside intentions, and subsequent agreement, is required.

The foundation for any partnership, be it marital or otherwise, is deeply rooted in trust. This may seem obvious, of course, but it goes beyond the cliches and therapy slogans of daytime talk shows. If you really want your relationship to succeed, there can be no untruths – period. Having sexual adventures outside your relationship without the blessing and knowledge of your significant other is cheating, pure and simple, and never justified.

Product Review: iVibe Pocket Rocket

Synopsis: Our first sex toy ever is still going strong. A must have for all couples toy chests.

Our Review: How does one introduce themselves to the world of adult toys? In our case, after being married 10 years and welcoming our first child, the answer came via a seemingly trivial joke many years prior. At the time, in the early 1990’s, we were a young couple barely together a year. Happily, we were living a beach style existence in Venice, CA that saw us as care-free as life permitted within the boundaries of the law. Among our friends, however, we were ‘that’ couple, meaning the first pair in our social group to commit to living together and sticking with a long term relationship. As such, we were both the stable household among a constantly changing dating scene; an apartment where a meal could be had, advice dispensed, and laughs shared.

One fateful X-mas, we hosted our usual large gathering to celebrate, exchanged gifts, and expected to open the requisite gag gift thoughtfully picked out by our close friends. And tearing away the wrapping didn’t disappoint; there, inside, was a package containing a sex toy! Now, call us curmudgeons, but up until that point we’d enjoyed a really robust sex life and had never considered using such a thing. It was a small vibrator, called a Pocket Rocket, and we both blushed and quickly shoved it back into the box to never see the light of day (or the dark of our bedroom) again.

Our little sex toy joke gift would remain in hiding in the back of a drawer for almost 10 years before the birth of our son reduced our sex life to shambles and we were looking for any excuse to regain our collective mojo. Shyly, we took the toy out, added the AA battery, and gave it a twist. It vibrated to life and we began exploring. As the Pocket Rocket made its way to its intended target, i.e. Alicia’s clitoris, her body began its journey into orgasm, her shuddering violently once the single speed, rather intense vibrations hit their target. In fact, after witnessing the results, we concluded that after ten years of being together, she had indeed experienced her VERY FIRST CLITORAL ORGASM. You read that correctly.

Rather than shrink from the obvious blow to my ego, we decided to experiment further and embrace the realm of orgasms – simultaneously as much as possible – until our Pocket Rocket finally died from overuse a few months later. This loss led us to our first foray into an adult store and we eventually began this website once this Pandora’s box was opened fully. Since that fateful gift received its first use, we’ve gone through hundreds of other products; however, when the mood strikes just right, we continue to pull out a Pocket Rocket to relive that nostalgic first experience.

In terms of practical description, the Pocket Rocket is a small, very discreet and powerful single-speed vibrator approximately the size of a tiny flashlight or large lipstick, depending on your point of reference. But whoa – does it ever deliver! Not only is it good for going solo, but it’s small enough to hit the right spots while riding your honey without getting in the way.  It’s not too terribly noisy and ours came with three different head attachments, suitable for penetration and more clit stimulation. This sex aid is powerful, lovely, and built to last.

Note: We are STILL using the same pocket rocket we bought over 13 years ago.

Interested in purchasing a Pocket Rocket? Click here or on the links above.

Wisdom: 33 Years of Loving My Wife’s Body, by Hugh O’Neill

Alicia cleaning bathroom floor small

Is this when Alicia is at her most beautiful?

You’re hot for him, he’s hot for you, but how will he feel three gravity-heavy decades from now? Hotter still! says this husband.

She had just emerged from the shower wearing her trademark terrycloth ensemble – one towel wrapped, if barely, around her torso, another turbaned on her head. Sacked out on the bed, I pretended to watch the Mets game, but my attention was, as always, galvanized by her body. With the play-by-play burbling, I peeked at my partner of 33 years as she bent and stretched, rubbing herself dry in the half light. I dug the come-hither of her curves, the plain beauty of this body that had been the engine of my longing from about the time I had first learned to yearn.

As I lay there, struggling to restrain myself – she’d had a long day – I considered the changed her body had gone through over our years together. In defiance of conventional wisdom, the tick-tock of time and the stress of two pregnancies have only enhanced her. Parts that were merely pert are now graceful and inviting. Though she isn’t happy with what she calls “gravitational effects,” she has, if you ask me, only gotten better with age.

And so I decided to tell her. I waited as she dressed for bed, shimmying into black panties, snapping on some pajama pants and finally slipping on a T-shirt that lingered over her head – showcasing her breasts just a beat longer than she would have if she’d had no audience. When her face popped into view, she took a sort of bow – blowing me a kiss – and scooted toward me on the bed. Maybe she hadn’t had such a long day.

“Your body is more beautiful today than the day I met you,” I said, as she cuddled with purpose next to me.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” she barked, bolting upright and, in a flash, out of the mood. “You are comparing my body now with my body then? Why?”

I suddenly realized that I’d stumbled down a rabbit hole, into the land where women assume that when it comes to beauty, younger is always better. More precisely, women assume that men think younger is better. It’s the ground zero of female insecurity, where too many women spend too much time. From where I sit, it looks like one scary place.

That night, we had a long discussion – well, my wife did most of the discussing – that bounced all over the place. She wouldn’t even entertain the possibility that what I had said could be true. Could a middle aged woman be beautiful? Of course, but it was scientifically impossible, she cliamed, for a woman of her age to be sexier than when she was 20 years prior. She could live with what happened to her figure, she said, but she’d be damned if she’d be pitied. When I said something deeply brilliant about how beauty “doesn’t even exist until it’s perceived,” she threw a slipper at me.

It was hard to blame her for not understanding. After all, what could she know about the form she inhabited? She was too close to it to see it clearly. Does the dancer see the dance? I, on the other hand, was the world’s leading expert on her body. I’d had a front row seat for its whole story.

Slinky, stong, and mysterious.

The first time I saw her, she was 18 years old and wearing a miniskirt that the Sisters of the Divine Compassion, from whose high school care I’d just graduated, whould have called an “occasion of sin.” It was made of buckskin, more a wide belt that a skirt really, and it barely covered her assets. My first goal that had nothing to do with baseball was to touch that skirt. No, to grab it. OK, to toss it inot the corner. At first, her body was purely and aspiration to me; it taught me how to dream.

Dateline: Arches National Park, Utah. It was the first trip for two Eastern sea boarders to the vastness of the American west. Throughout a morning hiking up trails, the seat of her shorts was my north star. I ignored the epic vistas, enjoying her geography instead, wondering if a high noon quickie in a national park was a crime and whether I cared. But by the afternoon, lust morphed into an engineer’s admiration. The backs of her legs, her hamstrings, and calves, by then rusted with red-rock dust, seemed less luscious than they did powerful. It was the first time I appreciated her plain physical strength, a strength on which I would depend for years to come, to lug groceries, to lift children, to stay up all night in the emergency room with a croup-stricken four year old so she wouldn’t miss the pediatrician when he made his rounds. I’ve felt grateful for her body. It has lightened my load.

By our wedding day, after a decade together, her style had evolved from Joni Mitchell to Katharine Hepburn, and our marriage was our own Philadelphia story. I remember two things about her body from that celebration; how her dress, blue with a black pattern and a kicky thirties cut, whispered, silky and promising around her southern hemisphere as she turned to kiss and talk with the members of our tribe; and the energy of her face. As we danced, she beamed at everybody she loved, working her most critical muscles – the ones that help her smile.

When my wife was pregnant, she was sick to her stomach virtually every day. And though my hands-on access to her body was limited by the fact that she was usually about to the throw up, she shared herself in a quiet new way, bu sitting on my lap. Before then, she hadn’t been much for cuddling, but when she was carrying the kids, she would nestle into me. I enjoyed the fullness of her shape as her breasts and belly swelled. During the actual ordeal of childbirth, I was a stand-up-by-her-head husband, avoiding to the best of my ability glimpses of actual blood and gore. I got the message nonetheless and understood the toughness at the heart of motherhood. Since then, her body, which had been a playground pre-kids, has seemed intriguing, as though it had a superhero secret to go with all the obvious bells and whistles. I knew what her body had been through and loved it the way a man loves a comrade who has taken a bullet on his behalf.

Last summer, my wife sunbathed while I went for a run down a New Jersey beach. Staying fit was my cover, but as I ran, huffing and puffing, I drank in women of every shape, every color, every age, and every taste in bathing suits. I actually thanked God for his work. When I got close to our spot on the beach, I saw a woman emerging from the surf. She tipped her had back, slicking her hair smooth with her hands, revealing her armpits and tilting her breasts upward into the setting sun, and I felt obliged to slow down to admire this stranger. It was only when she started to jog through the shallows that I recognized my wife’s unmistakable gait. I loved her body then as an object, the way a man loves anything beautiful.

It’s about character, not collagen.

Women are often critical of male lust. They resent that it’s undiscriminating, that a well-married guy can appreciate the new secretary in the office or even the third dancer from the left in the latest music video, that lust may have nothing too do with love. But when it comes to aging, that’s not bad news. We’re not subtle. We don’t even notice most of the incremental changes in you to which you’re so finely attuned. And the shape-shifting we do notice rarely throws us off our sexual game. You may think you’re less appealing because you’ve gained weight or a few wrinkles, but we don’t think that. We want you – in all shapes and sizes. Wanting is what we do best.

Sometimes I find myself giving my wife an appraising once-over, as though I’m examining a used car. She has sustained a couple of dings over the years: two small burn marks on her leg, plus a slightly bent pinkie thanks to an icy path her husband should have done a better job of clearing. And I know that as time goes by, I will have to love her body in a brand-new way. As her bones get more brittle and her balance a little less sure, I will have an ever growing obligation to watch over her body, to love it the way a curator cherishes a work of art.

I reflected on this all as she ripped into me that night for my failed attempt at flattery, and finally got fed up with listening to her. I felt as though somebody had to stand up for the body that had stood by me through it all. I gestured for silence and claimed the floor.

“My dear wife,” I began. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do think you’re beautiful because of everything I know about you. Maybe it’s because when I look at you naked, I see your courage, not just your caboose. Maybe you’re actually an old hag and you just look beautiful to me because of the 10 million laughs we’ve shared. Maybe it’s because your body carried my dazzling DNA forward into the world. Maybe it’s just because I’m addicted to your scent, your lips, your hips. but guess what: I don’t care. We don’t have to agree. I’m entitled to think what I think. If you want to swallow the cultural propaganda that judges women by the collagen in their skin and not the content of their character, feel free. go right ahead. But I’ve got no interest in it. Zero. Zip. Nada.”

Normally, my “Zero. Zip. Nada” line is gasoline on any fire. But not this time. She just sat there, and the room got deeply quiet.

“If you want every time you look in the mirror to be a damage assessment, that’s your choice,” I said. “But I just don’t see what you see. If you ask me, life is too damn short, and I’ve got no time to be mourning, especially when a celebration is in order. My God, look at you.” The catch in my voice surprised even me.

She got up from the chair and crossed toward me, reaching down and slowly pulling her T-shirt back over head, dropping it to the floor. I marveled at the evolution of her body, its ascent over the years from naive to womanish, from brand-new to burnished by everything she knew, enriched by her ability to pay attention, to inhabit the moment with a lucky man. When she put her arms around me and kissed me, she felt like all a fella could handle, completely at home in the body in which we’d both been blessed.