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"I&amp;#039;ve learned in marriage that feelings are fickle. Some days they view my husband like a knight on a white horse. Other days they view him like a troll on a donkey. This makes Rex an ass. And based on my emotions that day, it&amp;#039;s likely the only ass I want him to ride. This all said, barring periods of unresolved arguments (or specifically my period) I strongly believe sex is the key to peace. To give a sports analogy, it means sometimes giving one up for the team. As much as I&amp;#039;d like to act like the princess who married that dude on the white horse, the truth is that it&amp;#039;s not all about me twenty four seven. (That&amp;#039;s my kids&amp;#039; agenda. I&amp;#039;m more like the scullery maid these days, or the coach driver, and that&amp;#039;s just fine with me.) Lest any of you think I&amp;#039;m sulking my way into the bedroom every evening, I do enjoy the connection between Rex and I. It&amp;#039;s just different than the foreplay of yesteryear. Rather than hormonally running to the bedroom to land on my back, I peacefully stroll into my boudoir to get my back scratched. Nothing erases the pains of the day \u2013 from carpools to cooking \u2013 like a long stroke down my spine. And since nothing erase&amp;#039;s Rex&amp;#039;s woes like a long stroke, we&amp;#039;ve found the personal ticket to each other&amp;#039;s pleasure parade. It&amp;#039;s something we can even do at the same time because, well, we&amp;#039;re boring married folk, and this works for us. Here&amp;#039;s the only rub \u2013 pun intended: Now a back scratch always signals something else. Last week, for example, I was stressed - just DONE. Even after a long walk around the block and a hot bath, I was more fired up than a Democrat at Obama&amp;#039;s inauguration. I needed a little nudge toward dreamland. Naked, I saddled over to my handsome husband at the sink and slowly arched my back. While brushing his teeth with one hand, he instinctively scratched my back with the other. After setting the toothbrush down, he wrapped his arms around me. Just while I was starting to mellow out, I could tell he was getting riled up. (Well, my leg could.) I turned around, &amp;quot;For Godsake, Rex, am I simply a personal sex machine?&amp;quot; He looked at me big eyed, with mock offense, &amp;quot;Touche&amp;#039; back to you, mam! What am, just your personal Scratch-o-matic?&amp;quot; I had to laugh. After all, when was the last time I jumped him without any thought to my personal agenda? That changed last night. HIs reaction was electrifying. Like energy in a wire, within moments my body was equally charged up. Who&amp;#039;d have thought that exchanging a bit of tit for tat with tit(s) for t(h)at would be so powerful? If only Rex would surprise me with a room at the Ritz followed by a backscratch. Forget electricity. We&amp;#039;d have a power outage. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a2887/my-personal-scratch-o-matic/>