Sex and the married woman

Sex. It's everywhere we look. Music videos, movies, television, novels, the internet. Everywhere. So why aren't women having more of it? I don't mean the quick "get it over with so I can get back to the laundry" kind of sex either.
I'm talking about down and dirty, make you forget how to breathe, sweaty, passionate, mind-numbing sex. You remember that, don't you?
I know, I know. You're too busy, too tired, the kids are home, the dog needs to be walked, you worked all day, your thighs are fat. Whatever. Too bad, get over it, get laid.
Don't be shocked. Married moms can fuck too. And we should. Often. Actually, as often as possible.
A fantastic sex life, in my humble and horny opinion, is the key to a strong and healthy marriage.
Sex isn't something we have to do, sex is something we should want to do. It creates an intimacy, an open line of communication, a connection to another human. It opens the door to our inner confidence. Few things make a woman feel as sexy as fantastic sex. And a woman who feels sexy feels strong, confident, valid and desired. Who doesn't want to feel desired?
When we're young and single, still dating and looking for our Mr. Husband man, we're all about sex, whether we want to admit it or not. We held the power in our dating relationships. We went out of our way to look good, to be sexy, to attract men. And it worked. We got the ring. For awhile we keep up the game, we have crazy honeymoon sex, we fuck in the kitchen. We laugh, we love, we roll around in bed and eat chocolate covered strawberries naked in the bathtub.
And then it happens. We make babies. We tuck away our sexual desires, we give our breasts over to our children, we smother our vaginas in Khaki pants and run to soccer games and school plays. Mothers aren't supposed to be sexy, are they?
We allow the frustrations of our lives to shut down the core of our sexuality. No longer is Mr. Husband the center of our universe. We somehow allow him to become the guy we need when a pipe is clogged, or the trash needs to be taken out, but no longer is he the guy who makes our thighs tingle or our cunts throb. Now he is just one more person we're responsible for taking care of. Husbands, children, friends, family...we take care of all of them and in the process stop taking care of ourselves.
Knock it off. It isn't good for you, isn't good for your heart, your passions, your needs. or you soul.
Underneath the khaki pants and polo shirts is still a woman. A woman who deserves desire and fire, pleasure and satisfaction. And that Mr. Husband man, he misses her. He misses the woman he married, the woman who kissed with her eyes open, fucked with the lights on, and craved his touch.
I like to read craigslist. Specifically, I like to read casual encounters. The ads make me laugh usually, but last night as I was reading, it just made me sad. It seemed like every ad was from a married man in search of a little spark, a little passion, a fling. And each one said the same thing. "I love my wife, but I'm in a sexless marriage."
What. The. Fuck.
I've been married for 15 years. In those 15 years my husband has made me crazy, he's made me cry, he's made me yell, he's made me want to punch him in the face on occasion. More importantly, for 15 years he has made me cum. We fight, we fuck, we forgive.
I'm a mother. I'm a wife. I'm a woman. Not necessarily in that order.
In order to be a good wife, to be a good mother, I need to be a good woman. I need to have passion, I need to feel wanted, adored, cherished. I need to know that I'm satisfied, that my husband is satisfied. I need to know that at the end of a fantastically shitty day I can close my bedroom door, shut out my children, my friends, my job, my disappointments and frustrations and just be free.
Sex is beautiful, it's healthy, it's necessary. Sex isn't a chore, it's a release. It's a reminder that we're alive, that we're loved, that we can feel, breathe, taste, touch, laugh and live.