<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"Who would she do? Orange Blossoms is allowed to sleep with Clive Owen. I never even stopped to wonder whether that bothered me, because I&amp;amp;#8217;m allowed to spend 12 naked hours in a hotel room with Kate Winslet. (Yeah, right, but I had a pretty vivid fantasy about it as recently as two days ago.) Like lots of couples, married or not, we&amp;amp;#8217;ve always found the &amp;amp;#8220;free pass&amp;amp;#8221; game liberating. But the swingers talk stopped at celebrities; Blossoms was decidedly uninterested in hearing me wax poetic about the attractiveness of women I might actually have a shot in hell with. Then something weird happened. We got married and took a vacation to Barcelona, and one day on a walk I couldn&amp;amp;#8217;t help but comment out loud that the Catalan women were hot in a different way from women in other countries. (They have this pride that I can&amp;amp;#8217;t describe. They know how to flaunt it in ways American women don&amp;amp;#8217;t; and by it I mean their rear ends, which are, generally speaking, really awesome.) &amp;amp;#8220;I should&amp;amp;#8217;ve had a European girlfriend when I was 20,&amp;amp;#8221; I told Blossoms as a hot-looking college-age couple strolled past, their hands in each other&amp;amp;#8217;s rear pockets. Shockingly, she didn&amp;amp;#8217;t punch me in the arm for saying this. Instead, she joined me in my butt appreciation, and we spent the next hour critiquing the rear views of everyone who passed by. We became connoisseurs. And it was as if a wall of repression crumbled, and an avalanche of sexuality tumbled out. We got kind of dirty talking about these Catalan fannies. As Blossoms took me by the hand and quite literally pulled me back to our hotel room for a &amp;amp;#8220;siesta,&amp;amp;#8221; I wondered, Is this because of marriage, this new open dialogue? Apparently the answer was yes. Back in New York, Blossoms picked up where we&amp;amp;#8217;d left off in Barcelona. &amp;amp;#8220;Do you want to hear who I sometimes fantasize about?&amp;amp;#8221; she asked me faux casually one morning after we&amp;amp;#8217;d just had sex. &amp;amp;#8220;Um, wow, is it already eight o&amp;amp;#8217;clock?&amp;amp;#8221; I hedged, sitting up in bed. &amp;amp;#8220;Dying to know, maybe after my shower.&amp;amp;#8221; I had a feeling she wasn&amp;amp;#8217;t going to say Brad Pitt, but would name someone closer to home, and that made me feel a little excited and also a little like throwing up in my mouth. Now I understood why she&amp;amp;#8217;d always insisted on keeping the &amp;amp;#8220;free pass&amp;amp;#8221; game in the celebrities-only realm. I went to work, rushing out the door before she could bring up her fantasy guy again. But that night I couldn&amp;amp;#8217;t resist anymore, and I asked. Lo and behold, my wife of mere months tells me she&amp;amp;#8217;s been having fantasies about a guy I used to work with, who lives in Austin, Texas, now. He&amp;amp;#8217;s totally different from me: tattoos, calloused hands, drives a pickup. Blossoms informs me that if she and I weren&amp;amp;#8217;t married, she would want to have an affair with him. And as she&amp;amp;#8217;s whispering this into my ear, her hot breath against my neck, she lays a hand on my thigh. Hmmm, I think, maybe I&amp;amp;#8217;m OK with this after all. I mean, not OK enough to imagine her with this other guy; I&amp;amp;#8217;ve already blocked him out of my mind&amp;amp;#8212;I&amp;amp;#8217;m not that enlightened. But OK with the idea of my wife being a sexually hungry woman. Definitely OK with that."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/2008/02/jake-who-would-she-do>