Superman Saved My Sex Life

131665-hf.jpgOne of my first dates with Sam was a Halloween party. I had been doing the packaging for Lois and Clark for a while, and as I watched the entire four seasons of the show, pretty much continuously over a few of weeks, I not only fell in love with Superman all over again, but began to see the forgotten Superman in myself.

Months before, I’d gotten out of an almost six-year relationship that had been essentially defunct for two years – no matter how genuinely we tried to fake it, we’d lost the trust and the lust – a sliver of Kryptonite that eroded the foundation of our relationship and my personal strength and character, daily. I became a whiny, lethargic, sniveling version of myself, not even Kent-worthy, while Superman withered away inside. (Joe, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me either.)

So Joe and I ended it, and I found myself alone in an empty house with a very honest mirror. I’d let myself go, not just physically, but in most every sense. I’d forgotten who I was. I’d lost sight of most every aspect of myself that didn’t have to do with salvaging my relationship, and I’d forgotten that sex isn’t to be expected, based solely upon who you are or think you are, or were when you met, or even that you’re loved, it’s to be lured and earned every single time. I recently read an article on Tango that said to get sex, you have to entice it. Even in top shape, there’s nothing sexy about a lack of hunt, a dearth of intrigue, a flat expectation that you’re gonna get some whether you’ve incited that lust or not. That’s the 50’s. This is the millennium.

So in October of 2005, weeks before Halloween and before meeting Sam, and guided by photos of the ‘new’ Superman, I assembled a costume from yards of red cape fabric, blue Underarmour, red boots, and ingenuity that could not be resisted. (Thanks to Mom for heroically pulling it together at the last minute.) There I was, another brown-eyed Superman, just like Dean Cain, and I felt it in my soul.

There is nothing like being Superman, even for a night. Seeing myself in the same mirror that shook me into the role in the first place was an amazing experience… almost as great as the look on Sam’s face when I hovered outside the front door as he opened it. He was the hottest fireman I’ve ever seen.

There’s also nothing like taking a big, gorgeous fireman to bed while you’re dressed as Superman.

So, I’ve been doing some reprogramming on myself lately. I’m going to do less asking for or cuing of sex, and more being sexy, like I was doing when Sam and I were dating. I might not always score, but he might not either. He’s gotta make it happen too. I plan on keeping the blue tights on, and only wearing a suit and tie when it’s going to be torn off. But that’s another story.


4 Responses to “Superman Saved My Sex Life”

  1. 1 MrsWaltz
    Friday, February 15, 2008 at 10:47 am

    ….so many “faster than a speeding bullet” jokes….so little time….

  2. 2 Conny
    Friday, February 15, 2008 at 4:09 pm

    Ah! A stitch in time…

  3. 3 Jonathan
    Sunday, February 17, 2008 at 8:06 am

    It’s all about projecting the image, isn’t it? Next halloween, I have to dress up as a superhero, rather than Strawberry Shortcake.

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