Amid all the claims for sexual prowess being peddled by porn stars, rock stars and flat-bellied metrosexual bachelors, the real superheroes of the bedroom go largely unacknowledged.
And so today, a day when suburban mommies everywhere will be showered with construction paper hearts, overpriced chocolates and things from Victoria’s Secret that we will forget to wear ever again, here at the Suburban Kamikaze we have decided to extend some long overdue credit.
The publishing world may not have figured it out yet, but if the truth were told, the best-selling sex manuals on the shelf would be devoted to the Bedroom Secrets of the Suburban Dad. It’s true.
You rock, Mr. Kamikaze.
Sorry to bust your bubble Casanova, but these guys have earned the title.
You think it’s hard to pick up a woman in a bar? Puh-leeze. These guys have to convince a woman who has fallen asleep in her clothes reading Thomas the Tank Engine stories that what she really wants right now is some midnight romance under the giant pile of laundry covering the master bed.
You want to brag about technique? These guys keep the steam building knowing that at any minute, and probably more than once, they will be interrupted by a crying child, a ringing phone or their wives’ spontaneous recollection that they forgot to sign a permission slip for the field trip.
We are talking about seducing a woman who, no matter how diligently you work to set the mood, will be filtering your sweet whisperings and best maneuvers through the running commentary of her mental Blackberry: "Oh, that feels … Is that coughing? I will never make deadline if she’s sick. Wait, what is today? Is it the 10th? And, oh. Oh. Oh. Oh God, it’s the 12th. Mom’s birthday. I should send flowers. Better write myself a note. If I could just reach… a pen."
Or perhaps you will find yourself trying to seduce the woman you married in Miami Beach and then foolishly moved to Chicago where she refuses to get naked on any day where the temperature separation between her current life and her old life is greater than 70 degrees.
My point is, these guys have honed their skills under conditions you could not imagine.
You may have better underwear, but you are amateurs next to them.
Plus today, they all get new underwear.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
-SK
Photo: Is it hot in here or is it just me?
It's just you... that photo is like a roaring fire!
Great post!
Posted by: Denver Dad | February 23, 2007 at 08:39 AM
Love this.
Posted by: reluctant housewife | February 26, 2007 at 10:24 AM
You damn betcha.
But you left out one detail. Suburban dads are able to perform all these feats of sexual mastery with one ear tuned to the hallway outside the bedroom -- listening with an intensity equalled only by British prisoners of war alert for the jack-booted strides of an approaching guard who might discover their late night efforts to extend their escape tunnel -- for the faintest trace of the pitter-pat of toddler feet and the dreaded turn of the door handle.
Posted by: Robert K | March 08, 2007 at 02:21 PM
In my house it's more like that scene from Romeo and Juliet:
Me: "It's the kids."
Mr. K: "No, it was a nightingale, I swear."
Posted by: suburban kamikaze | March 08, 2007 at 02:45 PM
It's you making it hot in here!
Da Bulls, Da Bears, Da Babe!
OMG!
cheers,
Chill Bill
Posted by: Chill Bill | December 07, 2007 at 05:41 PM