The Advertising Exec Who Schedules Sex With Her Husband

In this week’s story, a woman forgets her anniversary but makes up for it with oral: 47, married, Brooklyn. 

DAY ONE

7:35 a.m. My 10-year-old daughter is having a fit in the kitchen about not wanting to go to school today. She’s loudly whining to my husband, who always wakes up before I do. He gets up with our kids and lets me sleep as late as I can since I’m the breadwinner, and he’s an artist who gave up trying to make a living as an artist many years ago. I need my brainpower more than he does on most days.

8:10 a.m. I lie in bed just long enough so that my three kids get off to school without me having to see them. I adore my children, but if I can avoid morning stress with them — and there is always morning stress getting them out the door — then I find I am more focused and energized for my day. I’m a vice-president at a global advertising agency.

10 a.m. I usually get to work around this time. I like to put my stuff down in my office, then run downstairs for my first coffee. Most of my days involve high-level client meetings, so I’m always dressed to kill and often in heels. I keep a pair of UGGs under my desk for running around the office, so I slip those on first and head downstairs, answering emails on my phone the entire way.

4 p.m. Several meetings and one sushi lunch at my desk later, I finally have a second to call my husband and see how the kids’ days were. He is in good spirits, as always. I love how well he manages the child care and the domestic labor. He does everything for me. I make enough money to support us, and this arrangement works while we’re in these heavy parenting years. Our kids are 8, 10, and 14. We make a dinner plan for tonight, say our “I love you”s, and hang up. I adore my husband; I really do.

7:30 p.m. I walk into our house and get hugs from everyone. I have takeout ramen for all, since my office is near a famously delicious ramen place, and I was taking a car service home from the city back to Brooklyn anyway.

9 p.m. We share the bedtime duties, and then my husband and I meet in our bedroom. It’s Monday. We always fuck on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s our routine. Some people think it sounds unromantic to schedule sex, but it works for us. We stopped having sex a few years ago when parenting was depleting us both. We would go months without it. My husband was losing his mind. He was angry and twitchy, and it was all because we had just stopped fucking. A friend suggested we plan out sex and we both flinched at the concept, but, about a year ago, we tried it, and it really worked!

10 p.m. After some cuddling and kissing, we have sex. It’s nice and takes about ten minutes, and we both have orgasms. Okay, fine, I fake mine. But I don’t always fake it. I enjoy the sex either way.

10:45 p.m. Do some work on my laptop while my husband finishes the dishes.

DAY TWO

8 a.m. Again, hiding from my children.

9 a.m. By the time my husband returns from drop-off, I’m in our vestibule waiting for the Uber. We cross paths for half a second and I give him a juicy kiss good-bye. Before we started scheduling the sex, I didn’t even have the desire to kiss him hello or good-bye. I was so touched out. Now I feel happy and warm when I see him. I mean, not every day, but most days.

12 p.m. I have a client lunch at a Greek restaurant in midtown today. I have fun ordering in Greek since I’m Greek American. The clients are impressed.

4 p.m. My husband said one of our kids came home with a stomachache. He’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up soon. In our family, the stomach bug spreads like wildfire. I hope it’s not that, because I have a major workweek starting tomorrow. I cannot afford to be sick. That is the hardest part about being the breadwinner — there is so much pressure. There is no scenario where I can stop working or even take a little break.

5 p.m. Yup, she’s puking. I pray we don’t all get it.

8 p.m. By the time I get home, two of my three kids have the flu. Timing couldn’t be worse. I have a gala that my company sponsors and two clients in town from Europe. I go straight to my bedroom without even checking on my sick kids. I’m too afraid of the germs. I FaceTime them from my bedroom and we talk and I tell them I love them one million times.

9 p.m. My husband handles the rest and ends up sleeping on the couch because one of my kids is up every hour running to the toilet.

DAY THREE

8 a.m. I get my only non-sick kid ready for school today. We tiptoe around the house getting ready since everyone else is still sleeping, either exhausted or ill.

8:30 a.m. After I walk them halfway to school (they’re old enough to walk alone most of the way), I quickly shower and get out of the house. I feel so bad that I can’t cuddle my kids, but I really can’t get sick right now!

12:30 p.m. I have a client lunch soon, and I’m feeling very drained. I feel guilty that I didn’t take better care of my kids last night, and my husband texted that one of my kids now has a fever and is super lethargic. But ultimately, I have to put on a happy face and be charming, witty, and intelligent at lunch.

3 p.m. The lunch was successful. I found out my client wants to sign us on for a major campaign we’ve been hoping for. This gives me the adrenaline boost I need.

6 p.m. I head home to get ready for the gala. Everyone is slightly on the mend. My husband never got sick, so we think it might have just been a kid flu. My mother, who lives in Queens, dropped off homemade soup for everyone, so they’re all slurping away when I come home to take a bath — can’t mess up my hair — and put on a gown.

7 p.m. I walk out of my bedroom looking very glamorous. My husband’s eyes light up. Tonight is Wednesday and we try to be really strict with our sex calendar, but he’s been through it with the kids and I’ll be home late, so I’m not sure we’ll get down to business later. I hope so. I’m so turned on by the way he took care of everyone so lovingly.

11 p.m. The gala was beautiful and successful, and I’m home now. My husband is awake in our bedroom reading. I come to the bed and kick off my shoes, and he rubs my feet. Then he unzips my dress and fucks me. It’s really hot, but I’m not going to lie, a small part of me was worried the entire time he was too germy to have sex with.

DAY FOUR

8 a.m. Thank you, universe! My family is healthy and back at school.

8:30 a.m. When my husband gets home from drop-off, he has a bouquet of flowers in his hands. “For me?” He says, “Of course!” This is how I realize it’s our anniversary. I completely forgot. We laugh at my absentmindedness, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s hurt. I have one million other work things on my mind, but it can’t feel good to be deprioritized like that. We have no anniversary plans, but I tell him I’ll come up with something for tonight, and that I’ll try to find us a babysitter too. It’s nice to take one thing off his plate.

10 a.m. I’m at my desk at work, texting random babysitters if they’re free. I can’t find anyone, and then I get distracted by a Zoom that has, like, 50 people on it. Luckily, I can keep my camera off and try to make a dinner reservation while pretending to pay attention.

1 p.m. No luck on the sitter, and I can’t decide on a restaurant, but I have to shelve both issues to take our European clients to lunch.

3 p.m. I had a glass of wine with my lunch and now I’m useless. All I want to do is nap at my desk. My assistant gets me a cappuccino from the place downstairs to revive me a little. I’m not drunk, but I’m low-energy.

4:30 p.m. I have a presentation today, about a huge campaign for our fussiest client. I take a beta blocker because I don’t really like public speaking.

5 p.m. I feel woozy and wonder if beta blockers and alcohol are not good to mix together, but I rally and drink some water and do my presentation. It goes pretty well. I’ve done better and I’ve done worse.

7:45 p.m. I take a car service home to Brooklyn. I’m worn out. I mentally prepare myself to shift gears into mom mode and do my best to seem present when I walk in the doors. They’re all eating chicken nuggets and tater tots and doing homework.

9 p.m. It’s nights like this that I’m happy there is no pressure to have sex with my husband. The minute the kids are asleep, I go into our bedroom and stare at the wall for an hour. Then I go to sleep.

DAY FIVE

7:50 a.m. Oh my God. I wake up and realize that I never booked us a dinner reservation, or a babysitter, last night for our anniversary. Nor did I follow up with my husband on any of it or say “Happy anniversary” when I got home. I walk out of our bedroom into the kitchen, where he’s busy getting the kids out the door, and I give him the biggest hug. “I forgot about our anniversary dinner!” I say, taking full accountability. He hugs me back tightly. He doesn’t care. He’s not upset at all. This makes me feel worse.

9 a.m. I take the subway to work and feel pretty shitty about myself. It’s such a hard balance, being a working mom, and some weeks I nail it, and some weeks, I bomb. I try to tell myself that my husband isn’t upset about it, so I shouldn’t be, either.

6 p.m. We’re going to cook as a family tonight, so I pick up some extra groceries on the way home. I also get a bottle of wine for my husband and I.

10 p.m. For our anniversary week, I put lingerie on for our Friday night sex and a matching black lace bra and black lace thong. Then I blow him like I really mean it and talk dirty to him. I tell him to fuck me any way he wants. He contorts my body into some crazy position that frankly is not that comfortable for me, but he likes it, and he fucks me really hard. Our sex lasts about an hour, which is really long for us. But I feel a lot less guilty afterwards.

DAY SIX 

8 a.m. It’s the weekend! My kids’ weekends are always filled with sports games and birthday parties and playdates and rehearsals and recitals, and I do as much of the transport and hanging out as possible. I do this so my husband can rest a little, but also because it’s the only time I really have to be involved with my kids. First up, singing class.

4 p.m. Now it’s a basketball game with my other kid.

7 p.m. The whole family goes out to dinner. I pay the bill. I pay for everything … that’s part of the deal. My money is my husband’s money. I have zero issues there.

10 p.m. Another nice thing my husband and I do on weekends is we lie in bed and read together without any phones or screens or emails. It’s very restorative. Without the pressure to fuck, we can actually bond a little more. He knows better than to even try. I’m very regimented in that way. We don’t fuck on weekends. He hasn’t tried in months.

DAY SEVEN

8 a.m. I wake up to another busy day of activities with the kids.

11:30 a.m. One of my kids has a birthday coming up, so I carve out time to do some shopping for her. While I’m at it, I pick up something special for my husband. It’s just some art supplies, but they are expensive ,and I know he’ll love them. I decide to give him a late anniversary present. We don’t usually exchange presents anymore — we save our money for experiences like eating out and the occasional travel — but I want to give him something.

3 p.m. One kid has dance practice. I spy on her rehearsing and my eyes fill up with tears when I realize how fast time is moving. I try to take in these moments since I have so few of them during the week.

5 p.m. When I finally get home, I run to my bedroom to grab wrapping paper for my husband’s art supplies. And then I write a quick, mushy-gushy card to him. I love him so much and I want him to know that.

6 p.m. We order pizza, and as a family, we go around the table talking about our highs and lows of the weekend. My high is always the same: spending time with my family. My kids roll their eyes, but still they give their answers and secretly like the game, I think. Then I give my husband his anniversary present. He’s embarrassed because he didn’t give me anything, but I say it’s the opposite … he’s given me everything.

8 p.m. The kids and I make my husband paint portraits of us. He’s so talented. My picture comes out looking like I’m a crazy old lady. Everyone gets a laugh out of it. I say to my husband, “Now draw me on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday.” My kids have no idea what I’m talking about, but he looks up at me with a look in his eye.

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