Sex & Love: Best way to globalize your sex life

The U.S. economy killed my sex life.

You see, my wife’s a Realtor, and the wintery housing market had her frigid. We hadn’t done it in ages. But she wasn’t depressed or indifferent. No, in fact, the anemic market was an inspiration. She’s a new woman.

What was her hang-up? Well, globalization. Let me explain: First, it began with innocent Mandarin courses at the JC. Then, BBC news each night. Later, she changed the clocks throughout the house, like we live in an airport terminal or something. Now, it’s uni shooters for breakfast and garam masala on everything.

Problem was, my wife wouldn’t sleep with me unless I found some foreign aphrodisiac for the bedroom. (She’s nuts, yes. But I love her, so unless I rousted up some Third World pheromone, I was fucked—but not.)

I asked my therapist what to do.

“No sex?”

“Zilch.”

“How long?”

“Months.”

“Perhaps she’s no longer attracted to you?”

“Was she ever?”

And so on. My therapist didn’t help. I needed a true professional, so I turned to Google.

My first discovery online was the Adult Treasure Expo 2007, which was held in Japan in late July. The Expo was the first of its kind and featured the latest in sex-toy technology: fists that gyrate like bobbleheads and jerk you off, virtual-reality masturbators with accompanying hard-core anime DVDs, the latest in fake-tits technology. You get the idea. There were even these onanism devices by a Japanese company called Tenga. One, the “Deep Throat Cup,” promise “a deep ‘sucking’ sensation,” “virtual vacuum” and “unparalleled tightness,” and an “arousing ‘slurping’ sound and vibration” for that “real deep throat experience,” all for $60. The wife wouldn’t approve, but in the spirit of her sea change, but I bought one anyway. Hey, it’d been months.

After a few days of online Bai Ling research, I realized my foray into the world of online concupiscence wasn’t helping my domestic situation. I’d read of a guy in Davis who creates and repairs life-sized sex dolls, but that seemed liked a last resort. I was missing big like Oakland Raider Sebastian Janikowski. I needed help. I needed a woman’s touch.

A friend recommended Midtown’s Grind & Groove, which is a sex shop, but one with a unique style and philosophy. Inside, the place is stylish, even chic. The store’s co-owner, Jenn Duggins, is all about healthy and safe sexuality for women—which the wife would approve of, as feminism is a major tenet of her new world-view fix. Of course, toys, gadgets and thingamabobs aren’t necessarily foreign, ‘cause we’ve all got the same parts. However, Jenn pointed out some Japanese-made Vibratex vibrators: silicon-based, high-end toys that included the “Rabbit Habbit,” the one Charlotte made famous on Sex in the City but Vibratex neglected to copyright, so imitations abound. It’s Japanese. My wife likes that show. Sold!

On the way out of the store, “Rabbit” in tote, a book caught my eye: Kama Sutra of Sexual Positions by Kenneth Ray Stubbs, Ph.D. I never took Sanskrit in college, but maybe this Indian text was the amative amulet I’d needed for to ward off the evil spirits of abstinence. I snatched it up, as well.

Back at home, I boned up on the Stubbs (pun intended) for later that evening when my wife would return from Farsi class. I lit Shoyeido incense, bought some unagi and washed the sheets. I stretched for a good half-hour and trimmed my toenails—and my junk. And, I’ll admit, I even stripped down and rehearsed some Kama Sutra moves solo: “Buttering,” where the woman assumes doggystyle and the man enters her from above, using his fingers and toes to support his weight; and the “Gazelle and the Stallion,” where the man stands, the woman lowers herself onto his dick and then leans back to allow her head to touch the floor (evidently this is the ultimate orgasm, as the penis zones-in on the G-spot while the woman gets a rush of blood to the head).

I was geared up. If all this wasn’t cosmopolitan enough, then I was never getting laid.

Speaking of which, did it happen? In a word, yes. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that while the stock market may not rebound anytime soon, the Feds evidently lowered my refractory period. I’m not complaining. And neither is my wife.