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.
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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….
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This concludes another view from my married life.