My sex life is certainly NOT like the movies, . . . I just wish it was ~ Lucky Lopez

Blog #2: Lucky Lopez’s Lesson #1:

Day 56:  No Sex

Lesson #1:  Never spend too much money on lingerie that may never be removed, noticed, or acknowledged by your beau.

So here I am – back to the (sex) drawing board.

It has been a week since I last sat here, spewing like a cheesy telenovela star about my in-the-bedroom misfortunes – convinced that I could somehow turn my sexually unmotivated “Paul Giamatti” into an eager college frat boy in bed . . .

Oh how I love to dream . . .

It has been approximately 2 months since we last had sex.

As I continue to endure this cruelly induced sexual chastity, I am haunted by depressing visions of me as the “lone (sex) rangerette” – riding on my virginal white horse coupled with my virginal white gown – - – never to be seen again naked, in bed.

In my desperate effort to encourage my sexually repressed beau to spend a little less time watching CNN in the evenings, and a little more time under the sheets – I have learned one dear lesson my friends – and the lesson is this:

Luck Lopez’s Lesson #1:
Never spend too much money on lingerie that may never be removed, noticed, or acknowledged by your beau.

It sort of went like this . . .

I hadn’t shopped for lingerie in a while . . .  at least not since the unexpected boob growth spurt I experienced my first year of college – allowing me to finally abandon the embarrassing requirement to wear intimate apparel advertised with the words “push-up” or “magic” on the tag.

That was of course decades ago – before the malicious curse of gravity decided to grace me with its’ presence.

I must say I am not at all amused by the cruel fact that I now have no choice but to rely on items of intimate apparel advertised with the words “push-up” or “magic” on the tag . . .

However, now I digress -

Back to the quest for the perfect sex-inducing lingerie:

I decided to start at a basic clothing department store – as I didn’t think I could pull off anything too naughty – like a Frederick’s of Hollywood bustier, or a pair of Victoria Secret fishnet thigh highs.

I recognized that any attempt like that from me would merely make me look like a wannabe hooker on Halloween.

So I tried on several things that painfully reminded me why the current top three Victoria’s Secret models are under the age of twenty-five:

There are some things that just shouldn’t be exposed after the age of 30, in my humble opinion.

So I opted for a classy, black, lacy number:

A splash of girly, mixed with a splash of sexy – think: “The Graduate” meets “Pretty Woman” (minus the luxury of a body-double).

It was a little pricey, but I justified the expense by assuring myself that the purchase of a “black lacy number” would most definitely guarantee mind blowing, earth shattering, after-glow-inducing sex.

I rushed home to ensure I had time to perform all the necessary “girly” maintenance prior to my boyfriend’s scheduled arrival from his long Saturday workday.

As a final touch, I doused my skin with cinnamon flavored body lotion, (rumored to be an aphrodisiac-like scent for men) and then carefully put on my new sex-inducing attire.

Then, like a cat in the night – I pounced on the bed and draped my now extremely sticky, cinnamon enriched body onto my mock mahogany bed, and waited . . .

and waited . . .

and waited . . .

Of course I failed to consider the possibility that these types of scenarios never quite transpire like a scene from “Sex in the City”:

Where the perfectly tanned & toned seductress waits for her beau patiently on her authentic mahogany bed.  He enters only moments later, decorated with a sexy five o’clock shadow . . .

While attempting to loosen his Full Windsor tie, he is interrupted by the insatiable sight of his sexy minx – - He darts to her, undresses her rapidly – and then an incredibly sexy love scene ensues as if taken directly out of a steamy/borderline trashy Nora Roberts novel.

Well, this may absolutely surprise you (I’m sure) – but this incredibly “realistic” scenario is not what happened . . .

No, my friends.

Of course, as luck would have it – after a long wait in my sex “giddy-up” – I was paid an unfortunate and untimely visit by mother nature – inciting the incredibly inconvenient need to empty my small female bladder.

I insisted on repeatedly telling “nature” to hold it’s damn horses – - but for some reason, it didn’t listen.

So I dashed to the bathroom in haste, attempting to make a mega-express pee stop.

I quickly removed my black lacy number, hoping I would complete the answer to nature’s call before the clock struck twelve – turning me back into a sexless “pumpkin.”

As luck would have it – in the middle of my last “drop” – I hear the front door open and close – catching that last drop in mid flight . . .

“I’m home” – I hear, from my un-expectant, sexually repressed beau.

“I’m in the bathroom honey,” . . . I respond, while quickly suiting back up into my sex gear.

I hear him moving about in the bedroom, engaging in the daily ritual of swapping his business suit and tie for a much more comfortable white Hanes t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants . . .

I take a huge breath, creep the door open slowly (like a curtain drawing open on Broadway) and strategically drape myself over the doorframe like Ann Bancroft in “Hot, Hot, Hot”:

I figured if I was going to make an entrance – it should be grand.

“Huhhhh–eye” . . . I pronounce, in a soft breathy tone – that for some reason sounded much better in my head than it did in execution.

He turns and looks at me with a non-descript and puzzling gaze . . .

(insert long pause)

“You look nice,” he says . . . – (insert momentary hope) - “Where are you going?” . . .

“Where am I going?” – “Where am I going?!?!?!?!?!” . . . (I think to myself).   “Ummm, nowhere?” I sputter . . . my ego deflating to the size of roasted peanut while I realize that sexfinity is definitely not my current destination.

“Oh, okay . . .  You hungry?” he asks nonchalantly – obviously unscathed by my sexual prowess and seductive strategy.

“Ummmm yeah, I guess” . . . I say – cupping my half covered boobs – realizing I was “underdressed” for the particular occasion he had in mind . . .

“Good  . . I’m in the mood for sushi” he utters casually, while exiting the bedroom like Donald Trump on his way to a board meeting . . .

Here a disturbing image invades my mind of me sprawled out – half naked on the bed – and (while pointing at me with a bad comb over) he says: “you’re fired.”

-Snapping back to reality -

“Uhhhh . . . Okay . . .”  I sputter as I spin myself back into the bathroom, trailed by a palpable cloud of embarrassment . . .

I stand in the bathroom for a moment to recuperate – catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror -

While still cupping my half covered boobs – I find myself “perslexed” – wondering what part of this failed strategy caused me to be awarded another night of no sex . . .

Using my stubborn method of self preservation – I begin to consider a multitude of possibilities, none of which (of course) had anything to do with me . . .

Was the black lacy number not suggestive enough?

Did he mistake my seductive efforts for a meager attempt to imitate “Lindsey Lohan” primed for a long night of club-hopping, instead of a desperate 30-something, prepped for a long night of mind-blowing sex?

Did I error too much on the side of caution by choosing to go the “classy” route, instead of the naughty (porn star) route?

Why didn’t I just ask him when I had the chance?:   “Dude – I am standing here half-naked, looking not half-bad (if I do say so myself) – smelling like cinnamon, and you want to have sushi?!?!”

I know what you are thinking . . . okay . . . maybe I don’t know what you’re thinking.  But all failed sex attempts aside – he really is a great guy.

He boxes up his leftovers at restaurants to give to homeless people, he makes my coffee every morning exactly how I like it, and he actually puts the toilet seat down.

Okay, so my 1st plan bombed miserably, I admit it.

However, as pitiful as it may sound – I am determined to reverse this seeming prescription for sex suicide.

I may have a few more tricks up my sleeve, my friends . . .

Frederick’s of Hollywood . . . here we come.

I’ll keep you posted.

- Lucky

Copyright 2010 Converge Entertainment, LLC

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One Response to Blog #2: Lucky Lopez’s Lesson #1:

  1. Mazzy's Dog says:

    With all due respect (and I seriously mean that), maybe he’s gay.

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