Confused? This parental dirty talk was simply a wife offering to go the nightly story time saga alone.
High heels and high chairs
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To set the clean scene, remember the little book of Porn for Women released a year ago conveniently in time for Christmas? I’m not talking about 50 Shades of Grey, or any grey in the Dulux paint range. It was a little coffee table book full of photos of men in completely fictional romantic scenarios. Like a tall dark and handsome man doing the ironing. Or a studley near-naked Valentine vacuuming. Or any other monotonous household task that we hate doing with a passion done by a genetically blessed male. Parental dirty talk is a whole different twist!
Tip for men: this really is our porn. If you either:
A: Gave us the book for a little perv
B: Performed any of the tasks in the book on a regular basis…
…then all your Christmases would come at once. Ahem.
Expanding on the idea of that cute little book of wishful thinking a friend of mine, a male, surprised me the other day when in casual conversation he mentioned what really turned him on. As an exhausted parent of a busy three-year-old plus a newborn chucked in the mix, his turn-on trigger wasn’t the stereotypical lingerie or lack-there-of idea that the naughty magazines would have you believe.
His parental dirty talk was simply his wife offering to go the nightly story time saga alone. This small gesture was enough to make him groan in ecstasy and the opportunity for the chance to just sit out the rest of his day, maybe even in silence, gave him the type of romantic feelings he hadn’t felt since his newborn was just a twinkle.
These little acts of service that parents inadvertently gift each other can rescue romance lost in the black hole of life post children. Indeed if my husband wants to talk dirty to me all he has to say is “I’ll cook dinner” and all of a sudden I am a hot simmering mess of emotions I can hardly even describe.
And if he follows that with, and then I’ll bath Millie tonight I want to laugh, cry, kiss him and dance naked in the rain with happiness. Okay the last one is going a bit far, but you get my drift.
If I want the repay the romance I don’t have to vajazzle anything to dazzle him (I would not google this phenomenon. STOP. What are you doing? Slap your hands away from that keyboard! You cannot un-see a vajazzle!) I simply whisper in his ear at 6am on a Saturday morning when my child is hollering from her cot to be attended too, “You sleep in honey, I’ll get up this time”. I practically have to tear my morning breathed, bed-head, nana-nightied body away from his amorous embrace.
Discussing the phenomena of parental dirty talk on my radio show the phones lit up with other parents calling in with their turn on triggers:
I’ll make school lunches had one woman practically ripping her clothes off with glee;
Don’t worry, I’ll help with homework had a gentleman wanting to re-new his vows.
Although I would hate to suggest that as soon as children arrive in one door, loving moments leave through another. It’s just the monotony of the tasks can render parents romantically mute. But just the mere thought of a teeny tiny break from certain parental activities can re-ignite the special feelings adults had for each other pre-parenting. And yes, I see the irony in that.