Speak Eagle

The Jet Ski Ride of Marriage

A few weeks ago, a friend invited us out to spend the day on the lake.  Brian and the boys were in blissful boy-land, taking hair-pin turns on a jet ski, hanging onto a flinging tube behind a boat for dear life, you know, those peaceful kinds of things us women dream of doing on the lake.

The thought crossed my mind, “I want to ride on the jet ski, too.”  I should have slammed that thought like the Whack-a-Mole game, but I didn’t.  And when the boys came back to the dock, I suggested it.  The boy on the back hopped off.  Brian smiled, “Hop on, honey!”

I hopped on, and held onto the back of his life jacket for dear life.  After 2 minutes of breakneck speeds combined with 180 degree turns, I said, “Okay!  I’m good!  You can take me back to the dock now!”

Back at the lake house for lunch, I rubbed the kink in my neck and asked Brian a deep question, based on the marriage books I had read about the needs of a man.

“So, tell me honestly.  Would it have increase your enjoyment of our recreational intimacy if I would have ridden a little longer on the jet ski with you?”

Where most men might just keep watching football and answer with a thought-provoking burp, Brian is used to these types of soul-searching questions from me.  He laughed, “What kind of question is that?”

“I just wondered!”

Then he paused.  “Yeah, I think it would have.”

I want intimacy with my husband.  Recreational or other.  But was I willing to risk bodily harm to experience it?  Thankfully, I had a few hours to warm up to the idea.

That afternoon, I saw my chance and took it.  I beckoned Brian and the jet ski over to the boat, and stepped on, throwing it completely off balance, sending both Brian and I into the water.  That was a good start.

Brian was laughing.  I was cold.  And I was determined to drive.  It feels safer somehow to be in control (I learned that on an ATV ride on our honeymoon), and I thought I would show him how I could stop his heart with my breakneck speeds and hairpin turns.  I tried.  He laughed and kissed my neck.

“Okay, you can drive now,” I smiled.  He asked if I wanted to put my hands on his, or hold onto the handles instead.  I held onto the handles, gripping them white-knuckled.  We flew through the water, jumping waves, turning crazy, speeding past our boys on the boat, waving and grinning.

And then suddenly we turned a corner and we were alone.  On a glassy stretch of water, tree-lined and sparkling.  A crane flew overhead.  I moved my hands over onto his and leaned back into him.

Such is marriage.  Full of breakneck speeds, unexpected hairpin turns, and an occasional stretch of glassy peace.  But I don’t want to just relish in the peace.  I want to relish in the whole adventure, trusting my husband to drive and my God to guide.

And if I get a kink in my neck, so be it.  Here’s to kinky recreational intimacy.

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