SEX & THE ICEBOX. Because when you can no longer bare the frost-bite. Do what the voice of silence tells you to do. Winterize. While your ICEBOX THAWS… the following is not a paid service announcement; it’s just good advice on how to defrost the situation.
There’s nothing I like better than a snow-ball’s chance in hell story. In fact, who doesn’t. But this frost advisory came by carrier pigeon. And by then the bedroom had iced over into a number three frost warning. So, I snatched snow-shoes from under our bed. And I fled. All while barely missing an iceberg. And narrowly escaping the coming vortex.
Because waiting for that icebox to melt might take ANOTHER ICE AGE!
The fact is, months prior to the frost, my little ice box seemed to savor each romantic encounter. Like bathing together. And enjoying the warm bubbly tub like any sensible couple. Playing, “Who’s the boss now” and “Here comes Sammy Salmon.” Perhaps I forgot to check for any cracks in the levy. Because there were a few flaws beginning to permeate our oasis.
the SEX was great. like an all you can eat buffet.
Perhaps best described as example #1.
But the smell of our bed sheets: intoxicating! Rousing our passions with the inebriating scent of CANADA HOUSE. Dribbling from the bottle purposely on numerous occasions.
And during that time, I THOUGHT we found our sense of “WE-NESS.” But the paralyzing reality…I was dead wrong. Because the last tryst halted those pleasantries…And now a looming odor assaulted our love nest… DOWNY of all things!
But what happened next was far worse. OUR BELOVED SHOWER! Our second nesting hole. It stood before me looking like a place where people performed satanic rituals. And I shrieked as I peered into the dark hollow that once held the sounds of our laughter. Because now the only thing stroking my arm, would be a jet of icy water. I thought, “No more shimmer and shine for this kid.”
So, I properly named the hollow, “SKIP.” As I stood naked preparing for one of many chilly dips in the tunnel of despair.
I would’ve enjoyed sun bathing more!
But I grew fond of the cold crypt. Because I never got high expectations of noogie in that cold shower. And, “You’ll never find your hot-dog either,” echoed the voice of my betrothed.
And as the cold temperate water sent shivers up and down my spine…over and over…THEY WERE RIGHT.
I never did find my hot-dog again…
BUT I ENDURED IT. And I bellowed pleasant oohing and awing sounds that I hoped would confuse the ICEBOX’S sensors. I also imagined somebody clothed in a cheap bulky snowsuit trying hard to get in and join me too. But it didn’t help.
Repeatedly over the months that followed I shook and stammered frozen to near death. This happened each time I left the lonely crypt. And each time drying my body with a skimpy t-shirt that simply read, “SOUPANDSEX.com.”
I shrugged because bad never felt worse. And when your half way through a cold shower, keep on going. Because…THE LAW OF MENTAL MEDICINE SUGGESTS: SEX, WHAT’S THAT? And it will assist nature in restoring normal conditions to the body.
Everything except the hot-dog that is.
And then while things were working themselves out, I remained frozen like that. My mind thanking me again and again. As I began liking my frigid encounters. There is, indeed, no life without sex, from the lowest unicellular organism up to man. But don’t think I walked the lonely path alone.
Because when my partner said, “Hey, I’m not feeling it…Go take a cold shower.” I DID! And I showed them a thing or two about frost bite. As I suddenly shattered into the color purple under the cold jets. I began noticing something spectacular about myself…Why I was beginning to resemble a fine glass of French Bordeaux…
Later, I remembered it differently.
Like when moral clarity was easier to maintain in concept than in execution. Or when somebody said, “Opportunity” and all I could think of was an icy cold shower. And a very classy LOUIS VUITTON that matched my purple legs.
Eventually, this made things very complicated. Because what I selected to notice was also influencing who I was becoming. And that induced many a self-fulfilling prophecy like: lack of feeling in my limbs, mortal-shock, and numbness to several body parts.
Why I no longer let a comment like, “I don’t think so, FROST BITE” to bother me either. Perhaps because I finally got to use my professional ice ax to chop endlessly at my permeated body that was held in a steady state of zero-degree composure.
YES, I was blizzard proof alright. And I wore it like a pair of arctic-overalls. Which also happens to be an eco-friendly bug repellent in summer.
And at this point sex was becoming an acquired skill. Since reaching the heights of bliss only happened by accident. And that glacier of mine wasn’t melting anytime soon. So, I would rejoice—with a COLD SHOWER. Since my new concept of meaning became, “WHAT HOT WATER HEATER?”
Also each cold spray of water felt as if I was sucking down a large lime Slurpee for the first time! And then in my brain-frozen mind I conquered up happy puppies and kitties doing NUDE YOGA! And all these things began weighing heavy on my mind. Proof that the terrible set of hang-ups weren’t mine after all!
Meanwhile, I also learned that cold is curable.After thumbing through the Farmer’s Almanac looking for advice on personal relationships.
Because sex now required the use of a large bag of ice melt. As well as getting use to formidably cooler conditions in and out of the sack. WHY, it will take a mid-night freeze for me to show more interest in sex from now on!
I exclaimed.
So, now what happens when I’m getting that wintry chill? NOTHING OF COURSE! Since despite its excitement, passion is not the primary building block of our enduring relationship!
So, I’ve gathered after all the signs of frost-bite on my torso.
But for now, it’s accepting chilly and frosty as a natural approach to commitment. And our investment in each other. While also learning that life often remains interesting when it comes to uncertain temps. Which have divided us like summer and winter.
And while there’s nothing unique about getting the “DO-NOT-RESUSCITATE” look after a debate with the frozen passion fruit. I do have a better tip to debate next time chilly comes callin…turn off the hot-water heater and hang THE DON’T DISTURB SIGN on “SKIP.”
Then quickly organize a spot for the ice cream and frozen peas just in case THE ICEBOX wants to thaw! Because I’m at the point of, “just how do I share my enthusiasm of frosty sexual frustrations with others?” So, they too can embrace the emotionless arctic polar blast that will eventually blow through the bed-chamber leaving multiple layers of ice-melt between them.
Perhaps I could present the information to others as a sort of private language.Where special words and nonverbal codes could be used as signals flares when things become wintry…
We once had a private romantic language. When our initial euphoric names wedged out our Christian ones. “Hot-tang” and “Love-bunny,” to name a few. Unfortunately, those names never made it out of the avalanche. However, a new name stuck, “BLUE ASH.”
YES, our private language changed like global warming. Even the private dialect that once increased our sense of “we-ness” and our “paired identity” now gave us frost-bite in some very awful places. At first glance there still stood hope for enhanced intimacy. However, as the cold winds of time blew in. So too did the skeletal remains of a once lush pasture.
BUT I’M GOOD.
Because I’m learning to understand the rules. I’m listening to the new version of our private language well. I’m dressing in garb that can withstand 60 below. And I can still wink with 1 inch of frost on my lashes. In fact, I routinely say to the other, “Meet ya for nude wrestling at 6.” Knowing full well those suave words are only a measure of climate control and nothing more.
And that all my discoveries did not answer the tougher questions.
Like, “Why am I sticking my head in the freezer so often!” And “Will anybody think these are reveling secretes of the most mysterious behaviors on earth?” Or will they instead shove me in a cold shower in order to break my silence! Surly at this point, no face will ever show me pity or sympathy again.
Even if my shared discoveries are for the GREATER GOOD OF HUMANKIND!
Because now as conditions deteriorate, I don’t shiver as much when I think about the arbitrary meaning of: shrink-to-fit, Frigidaire, ambient temps, or Santa’s Red Suit.
And my connection with them all.
But as one good brain freeze to another once said, “I guess I am finally feeling the dimensions of my relationship.” And the words, “Cool off will ya” or “Just cool out!” Don’t seem to have the same amount of frost attached, as they once did.
Yes, relationships can be fun, exciting, and educational all at the same time. And a snow-ball’s chance in hell characterizes new meaning for me now! In fact, I happen to enjoy living like an Icelander in Palm-Springs. Because an old fantasy can always be replaced by a new one. And there is nothing better than a snow-ball’s chance in hell story either.
And this is where the fork in the road meets: FURTHER AND FURTHER AWAY FROM CONCRETE REALITY.
OR… “Harder and harder to make the effort” and “Goading them into it” just seems so exhausting! Perhaps they are no longer inflated terms for getting at the truth more quickly. And I’m trying to restore the joie de vivre! Mainly by turning that cool cucumber of mine into something WARM… And although I can’t guarantee orgasm. I can say it goes a long way toward getting some tenderness.
At this point, I’m not sure what GOD’S will is…
So, regardless of the “ICEBOXES” position there will be progressive interactions between us. And although it’s hard to know how I might react under the spray of an icy cold shower. I’ll at least have the luxury of knowing that we’ll always be two different people. In two different freezer bins. With different functions for initiating sex.
To be straight, I’ll be the one standing in the kitchen with the power freeze ON…Secretly anticipating a frosty fling with slightly different possibilities. Ultimately connected by the allure of cold fingers attached to sticky ice cubes, fresh from the ICEBOX…