Our Sexual Resolution was technically scheduled to start in 2012. But since NYE was on a Saturday this year, and Saturday 2011 bled so seamlessly into Sunday 2012 I'm including it anyway.
I was driving, so no drinks for me, but Leigh was pleasantly buzzed when we left the house party we attended around 1:30 am. When Leigh gets in a state like that, and we're driving at night, three times out of five she has a go-to idea: Road Head.
Now, if anyone is reading this, and they're male, they're smiling and nodding. Score! Me too. But, and I'm sure to catch some shit for this, I wasn't down for it. Specifically because it was 1:30 am, on NYE, and Road Head can result in irregular driving patterns. With the intensified police presence because of the holiday, I erred on the side of caution and declined her offer. Leigh was displeased (score again, right?).
I explained my reasoning and she understood as well as possible in her buzzed state. But I did have a request.
"How about Road Head after we've safely arrived at home, in the driveway?"
"Okay."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
Now, I have some experience making deals with the inebriated, so I recognize they aren't always legally binding. We sat for a bit in the driveway, engine off, finishing our conversation that started after Road Head was off the table. Leigh made no indication that sexual thoughts were left floating in her brain, and it was now after 2 am, so we exited the vehicle and made our way into the house.
Ordinary coming home events ensued. Coats on the hook, shoes into the closet, clothes in the hamper. But when I step into the bedroom, there's Leigh, kneeling on the bed, arms akimbo, wearing just a thong.
"Let's get this started." she said.
"What about my Road Head?" I replied. Before any women reply to this post, furious at my looking a gift horse in the mouth, please understand I said it with a smile. To my surprise, Leigh not only recalled our arrangement, but suggested we relocate to the car in the driveway. So we did. Myself, stark naked, and Leigh still in only a thong, entered the brisk January night, traversed the walkway, and climbed back into the car.
Now, readers paying attention will note we're located in a geographic region generally too cold for timber wolves and moose in January. But this particular night is was quite mild. Frostbite was not a concern.
Road Head was going great and interests started to escalate from there leading to an unfortunate realization: car sex doesn't work like it did when we were teenagers. I'm stone sober, but Leigh is still drunk, so coordinating a migration from the front seat of a Fusion to the back seat (without leaving the vehicle) was an effort. Then trying to arrange ourselves was another exercise in futility. Leigh's head smashed under the rear window. Leigh stomps on the sharp corner of an ice scraper. My head pinned against the ceiling. I can't move my legs.
Finally we manage to get into woman-on-top...kind of, but it's uncomfortable. (I'll be including notes in a consumer letter to Ford as soon as I finish this.) So I make an executive decision. We're going back to the bedroom.
"Get out carefully." I say, providing all the instruction I think is necessary. But it's not enough. Leigh gets one leg out, and then one arm, and then disaster. She lands on her face, on the paved driveway. She cries out in pain.
"My tooth is broken!" she shouts between sobs. I leap out, crouching (naked) beside her, between vehicles. If you've ever tried to get a drunk person up off the ground, try to imagine how much harder it would be if she refused to use her hands because she was cradling her broken face. This was my task. Luckily only one car went by before I was able to get her up and bring her inside (Happy New Year neighbor!).
Her tooth was NOT chipped or broken, but her lip was split (broken skin, nothing needing stitches), and very swollen. We cleaned up for a bit, I gave her some tylenol, and then I laid her in bed, still quite upset. When I came back with a cold pack from the freezer I found her lying in the same place, but with one leg sticking straight up in the air, exposing herself to the door of the room.
"Ahm stul secksy foor yoo." she blubbered. It was adorable. I helped her apply the cold pack and things slowed down from there. It was close to 3 am now, and my rush from the adventure of running around outside naked for car sex, has been replaced with exhaustion. It's that kind of tired that makes you pray for death. But sleep defies me.
Around 3:30 am Leigh decides she still needs to get off. She's coming down from the drunk, and still has a cold pack resting on half of her face, but she is undaunted. She starts without me, but then drafts me in to assist. I was instructed to grab a tool from the chest at the end of the bed and get to work.
I followed instructions dutifully and minutes later Leigh was drifting off to sleep...carefully positioned on the right side of her face.
We were off to a bumpy (swollen? split?) start. But we were still off.
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