“Cover Up Your Stupid Face!” My Husband Cried Out, Mid-Coitus
My husband told me to “cover up your stupid face!” during sex recently. This was not a BDSM thing. This was truly a stupid face thing. I’m not mad. I’m not hurt. I am in a safe place. He was right. It was a stupid face.
Sometimes I start laughing uncontrollably, and it’s a real problem that I can’t stop. We’ve all been there. Intense emotions occasionally manifest in laughter, and it can be inappropriate. At a funeral, for example, or during a work presentation…or while riding the bone rollercoaster.
So, I had a laughing fit, and was utterly unable to stop. He’s some sort of sex magician, and was able to keep his…wand up? (Magician’s have wands, right? Or is that only wizards?). He was able to keep going. He said forlornly at one point, “Every time you laugh, I die inside a little bit,” which was physiologically accurate, and also a sad reflection on the way my idiocy carves away at his soul.
I have this immature reflex of getting chatty and making dumb jokes when sexy time commences. I think all the seriousness of sex freaks me out, and my default setting is puns and manic giggling. Clearly, my husband, “Tobb,” is the luckiest man alive. (Names have been changed to protect the poor bastards). He has been mating with me for a really long time, so he knows these little hump road bumps are not about him, and he doesn’t take them personally. He once asked me in a very caring, loving sort of way, “Why are you so sexually awkward?” I took it as a compliment.
During this particular episode, we kept pausing and re-grouping. I’d calm down for a second, and then something would happen and I would start all over again. At one point I pulled a pillow over my head, which helped to at least mute the laughter for a moment, until I popped up with tears streaming down my face.
I really did want to have sex. “Tobb” kept suggesting that we stop when I couldn’t pull myself together, but I was determined to take advantage of the few minutes we had alone at home without the kids. We were both going to have a satisfying experience, or we would die trying. Finally, at his wit’s end, watching me bite my lip to hold back the cry-tears, in the LEAST sexy version of biting one’s lip, he hollered, “Cover up your stupid face!”
Well, that was rude.
Stupid is not a word we typically use, especially mid-coitus. We tell our kids, ages four and six, to express their frustration with words that are less hurtful. If “Tobb” had followed the house rules, he SHOULD have said something like, “Darling, your insipid giggling during penetration is bumming me out, could you please replace the pillow over your intelligent head?” I’ll give him a pass this time, though, because he was basically tasked with knocking the boots with the cartoon Joker from Batman.
I should probably be embarrassed by the whole thing, but I’m not. We both laughed about it for days after. We’ve fought hard to get to this level of safety and security with one another, an unshakable love notwithstanding our many, many idiosyncrasies. The fact that we enjoy each other, and share ridiculous moments like this fifteen years into marriage feels like a huge accomplishment. We have been through job changes and long-distance moves, infertility, pregnancy loss and the births of our children, and we are even running a small business together. It’s no small feat that we’re still trying to have sex upon each other at all, albeit awkwardly. I don’t have to don a mask or a character, I am free to be the uncertain, ridiculous me around him, and he around me. It is very liberating.
Actually, a character might be fun. I think I’ll buy a mask to keep under my bed for the next time this happens and I need to “cover up my stupid face.”
That should help.