Sound-Track Sex

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The night of the purchase, I realized that I hadn’t had the foresight at the store to find “magical love making” music to play.  So I scoured the house, looking for just the right thing.  We have a lot of music to choose from, but still, I found nothing.  However, I remembered that earlier in the week, I had put aside a CD my son was going to throw out:  Celtic Magic.  Well, I thought, that might just work, if for no other reason than for the title.

“I found something, honey!”  I whispered (the kids were home), “We can hit the sack now!”  We both eagerly got into bed, I pushed play and away we went.  Well.  Celtic music, no matter how magical, just didn’t lend itself well, for us, to the task(s) at hand.  I mean, it was nice, but it did not meet expectations.  (However, it’s not a bad idea to have music, any music, playing if you have sex while the teenagers are still awake)

I knew what kind of music I wanted.  Romantic sound-track kind of stuff.  Music where I can feel like the heroine of some tragic beautiful love story.  And I found it:  the sound track from The Secret Garden.

So we tried it out.  Ohh, it was tender, and beautiful.  The music truly worked its magic…it provoked in me a sense of overwhelming love for Steve…it almost brought me to tears.  Ohhh, how beautiful our love is and how I love to love this man….  When the music ended and we snuggled, I cooed “Ohhh, honey, that was wonderful.”

“Yes,” he said, “It was great.”  Pause. Pause.  “The only thing was, well, for me there were just too many songs in a minor key.”

You know the sound a record makes when you scratch the needle over it?  That played in my head, along with……..”What?!  You have GOT to be kidding!?”  I kind of froze.  I mean, if he wasn’t transported by the music, well, I can accept that.  But why wasn’t he transported by the other magical goings-on?  How in the hell could he have been analyzing the music while he…..

I said, a little defensively/snippishly, “You are welcome to pick out some music too, you know.  I guess that until then, we’ll have to play what I’ve picked out.”  Pout. (Just a little though, because I am learning NOT to take this kind of thing personally.)

He squeezed me and said he looked forward to all of it: my (melancholy minor, “You are not my melancholy baby” he says and I have to laugh) music and/or his choice of music.  That stopped me.  Inwardly, I kind of cringed.  It hit me that he just might follow through and pick out some music.  You see, he really likes jazz – the hard core stuff, not so much the soft jazz.  I do too, but in small doses, and not to make love to.

So now, if he does brings his jazz to bed, I guess I’ll be in the same position he was in last night (figuratively, folks).  Will I nicely say that honey it was terrific but that there was too much…uh… let’s say…. be-bopping going on for me to really catch a good rhythm, or will I keep my mouth shut?  Mmmmmm.  Just like him, I suspect (ok, I know), if the music isn’t just right, I’ll tell him.

I must say, though, it’s a very exciting proposition…trying to find music we both dig making love to.  In fact, I hope we make a lot of mistakes.  It just means that much more experimenting.

I suggest you all start your own “magical music” experiments….

This concludes another view from my married life.

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