There’s something naughty under my bed

‘The Joy of Sex’ is proving very useful in my bedroom at the moment.

Aaaaaand … now that I have your attention … I’m going to disappoint you.

The reason ‘The Joy Of Sex’ is proving useful is because my “Lifestyle changes for reflux” info sheet suggested elevating the head of my bed.

You can guess where I’m going with this …

I hadn’t bothered with the advice until last week, when my duck, corn chips and margarita binge turned on me in the middle of the night.

I didn’t want to wake the kids or dogs, so I quietly started searching my room for suitable objects to prop up the bed.

I have a dirty clothes basket in one corner that was a gift from DD. It features the slogan “Don’t be sad laundry, I’m not getting done either” printed on the side of it.

Romantic.

It’s become the repository for random crap. And that’s where I – ironically – discovered ‘The Joy of Sex’.

If you’re under 40 and confused, ‘The Joy of Sex’ is an illustrated sex manual that was first published in the 70s. According to Wikipedia “The original intention was to use the same approach as cookbooks such as The Joy of Cooking, hence section titles include ‘starters’ and ‘main courses’.

“The book features sexual practices such as oral sex and various sex positions as well as bringing ‘further out’ practices such as sexual bondage and swinging to the attention of the general public … the illustrations have become somewhat dated, mainly because of changes in hairstyles” … also, the modern practice of removing all female body hair means the woman in the book appears very outre with her luxuriantly hirsute armpits and genitals.

‘The Joy of Sex’ caused quite the stir when it first came out because books about sex before then were quite bland and clinical.

I’d hidden it in my laundry bag when it surfaced in a box of old books after I moved house.

It’s a souvenir from my ultra-curious teenage years. I secretly ordered it as part of one of those Doubleday Book Club offers.

Remember Doubleday Book Club? They’d reel you in with an offer of six books for $1, then send you expensive hard covers by Wilbur Smith and Danielle Steele every month that you didn’t really want, but got stuck with because you’d forget to return-to-sender them.

Anyways, that’s how ‘The Joy of Sex’ came furtively into my possession. I excitedly ordered it as part of a six-for-one deal I saw in my grandmother’s New Idea. It arrived on my parent’s front doorstep one day, discreetly wrapped in brown cardboard.

It’s been decades since I’ve had a flick. But, now that it’s under my bed leg, I find myself curious. Is it really as eye-opening as I remember?

You always want what you can’t have – I’m worried I’ll hurt my back getting the book back out.

My bed is one of those heavy, white iron antiquey looking things. It was very difficult lifting in the middle of the night to slide ‘The Joy of Sex’ into position with my big toe.

And it’s not something you can ask the children to help you with. They’d be appalled and horrified. Gross, Mum!

So it’s kinda stuck there. Taunting me.

But the bed leg on the other side is propped up with the latest Margaret Atwood novel and I’m keen to finish it. So I need to sort something out.

Hmmmm …

This is 50.

Complicated.

Song of the day: George Michael “I want your sex”