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"I came home from vacation last week with a summer full of memories, over priced soda cups from Lego Land, a disk full of photos and Strep throat. The last trinket was my least favorite, and needless to say, I was exhausted by the time I arrived at my front door. Rex took over that evening. He put the kids to bed and unpacked the trunk. The next day he came home from work early where, once again, he did the dinner and bedtime regime like a champ. As I sat there on the couch, not being able to swallow my own spit without wincing in agony, the irony of the situation did not escape me: Why NOW? Why must I wait until my throat is raw and scratchy to have day of tranquility on the sofa? Or, as Rex and I like to refer to our couch in our best French accents (which sound more like mouthfuls of cotton mixed with a head cold), the &amp;quot;divan&amp;quot;. By the weekend my spirits were starting to lift. As I lay in bed Saturday night, my desire started to return. As Rex scratched my back, and his hands started wandering lower, other parts of his body started to rise. I knew what he wanted, and I was ready to make it happen. But not quite yet. The scratches... they just felt too good. They weren&amp;#039;t sexual, but they were so calming. So warm and nurturing and soothing. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ll take care of him in a second,&amp;quot; I kept telling myself, as my head moved lower and lower down his body. &amp;quot;Oh, God, that feels soooo good,&amp;quot; I muttered over and over as his large hands knowingly caressed my lower back. Slowly, steadily, my head moved further and further down his chest, then his abdomen, as he kept up with a back scratch I can only refer to as coma inducing relaxation. And then I did it. I fell asleep on his penis. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a2933/scratch-n-sex/?src=shelter_footer>