The I Hate to Fuck Book
by Con Chapman
Peg Bracken was the author of "The I Hate to Cook Book," "The I Hate to Houseclean Book," and other send-ups of 1950's household hint collections. The following was not found among her papers when she died.
Some women, it is said, like to fuck.
This book--The I Hate to Fuck Book--is not for them.
This book is for those of us who hate sex, and who have learned that it is one of life's unpleasant experiences--like paying taxes, or renewing a driver's license--that does not become less painful through repetition.
This book is for the woman who wants to put out just enough to keep her man's mind off other women:
Men's Magazines--A housewife's best friend! Keep your bathroom stocked with an ample supply of moisturizing lotion and men's magazines, and I don't mean the huntin' 'n fishin' kind. When your husband starts to look at you like a wall-eyed pike, tell him to go screw-himself!
Really--just as much fun. For the human.
Quik 'n Easy Vixen Steak: If you want to get sex over with, pretend you like it and go at it like a bitch mink in heat. The male orgasm is basically the equivalent of a sneeze, and he won't be able to stop once you get going. Cooking time: 30 seconds.
"Sure we had sex last night--don't you remember?"
Get him drunk: Worried about what will follow the annual Scotch-Mixed Doubles Dinner Dance at your country club? Pump your man full of Manhattans and Rob Roys and he'll fall asleep before you know it. In the morning, tell him "That was the best sex of my life!", and you won't have to copulate for another month.
Va-va-voom!
Don't dress for ingress! Clothes make the man, according to Mark Twain, but your nightgown can unmake your man as well. Choose a flannel night gown with a lace ruff and a high collar and you'll have about as much feminine sex appeal as Samuel Langhorne Clemens himself.
Rabid marmots: "I wuv you too!"
Spice down your love life! Role-playing can be used to spice sex up, but some spices, such as cardamom, are used for just one recipe, then put back on the Lazy Susan and forgotten. Try this one: "Let's pretend I'm a rabid marmot and you're a big, strong fish and game warden trying to remove my head and send it off to the state Department of Infectious Diseases for testing." It has been known to work wonders on even the most amorous males.
If you must have sex, get something out of it! Keeping your man's expectations low means he has to pay through the nose if he wants to "score". "I can't really get in the mood for sex in the continental United States or Canada," you say. "How about a getaway weekend, and I don't mean Alaska."
Available in Kindle format on amazon.com as part of the collection "The I Hate to F--k Book and Other Perversions," regularly 99 cents but FREE beginning Saturday.
Buy two--one for the bedroom, one for the bath!
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Con, I faved the original story first. I see that my action appears on the newsfeed on page 1; however, the score on the story stayed at 14. Then I faved the reprise of the story. Ditto. The score did not rise. Meanwhile, my living room filled with the smell of gym socks, though the socks I have on are brand clean. Perhaps my feet are the trouble. Usually, that is not true. I used to be able to reach them to my nose to test that. These days, however, I must mostly guess at a distance of several inches, so not an exact test. I mention this due to the time there was ZERO chance it might be my feet or any sock. I searched the house for half an hour. The house was clean and so was the laundry. Olfactory hallucination, I thought. The socks stinking happened again (or not) in reading (revisiting) your story, and I said it aloud (again) as stocks sinking.
Fifties nostalgia as I think of it, yet carefully presented as contemporary to our times. True, the man in the story is not offering to make love with his wife, even by offering a sign of affection, perhaps a buss to the neck without defined expectation. He does conflate it with tax preparation. Tax preparation is something I do mind. It will take me days including difficult calls to itemize $2,000 in last year's freelance earnings, going by Social Security rules as well as by I.R.S. standards, not a favorite task at all and quite likely required, though the amount will still fall below the minimum reporting requirement. I'll file to assure the rental rebate, though. Back to sex, then, if that is allowed to the unmarried. Sometimes that allowance isn't clear.
Fictionaut has scores? I didn't know that. Who's ahead?
gonna fav it for the sheer hell of it
ha
loving it---