Helen H. Moore's Blog, page 993
October 1, 2015
“Every man reads one book in his life, and this one is mine”: E.B. White’s lifelong conversation with Thoreau’s “Walden”
“I’m going back to the range”: Conservatives react to Oregon shooting with calls for more guns, tough guy talk
Amy Schumer negotiated a seven figure raise on her book deal
“If I win, they’re going back”: Why Donald Trump’s threat to refugees is the key to his campaign
John Oliver has a blast on “The Late Show”
September 30, 2015
I hated not being white: The lies I told just to fit in haunt me still
“What do you think your name should be?” my dad asked me.
We were parked outside my new elementary school on Elm Street, I was excited: How many children get to choose a new name—and, by extension, a new identity?
I told my dad I wanted to be called “Ken,” a Japanese- American name, and, importantly, the name of a Street Fighter character. He suggested “Tom,” a name that would obscure any Asian ancestry.
Tom was close to the name my parents gave me: Tung, a Vietnamese name after the Tung tree meaning strength and fortitude. I had neither during my childhood; I was timid, so they called me Diệu, a girl’s name. Because of this, my identity existed in discrete units, fractioned out. At home I was Diệu, at school I was Tom, and on any official record I was Tung.
In my family, names were more than what people would call you. Parents would name their sons and daughters names that would signify traits they wanted to imbue in them. Names had powers. But when my parents and I immigrated to the U.S., names were just that: names. They were tools, not symbols. They were used to identify, not signify; utterly utilitarian.
In my family, my sister and I had the most Asian names. After my parents passed their naturalization test they changed their names to Steve and Kim. They gave the children they had after me far more white-American names: Tina, Justin and Brendon.
Why did I have to change my name?
I asked my dad this as an adult. He said he knew it would be easier for me and easier would be better. “It’s better to go with the crowd than to stand out,” he told me. And I believed him; he loved this country and the opportunities it gave him, even if at times it was awful. “Chink” and “gook” are words he didn’t understand, but I could, though I wouldn’t tell him what they meant.
In some ways, I knew my dad was right; it probably was easier for me to make friends as Tom than it would have been as Tung. It was easier to live where we did without the stigma attached to a more ethnic name. Yet, changing my name didn’t change how I looked: Asian. Epicanthal folds, pug-shaped nose, black hair, brown eyes. These are features a person can’t escape.
In elementary school I auditioned for the lead of the school musical and instead was cast as Confucius (I was the only Asian person to audition for musical theater). At Asian restaurants, friends turned to me as an expert on cuisine and culture. In public, I’m not considered a threat but a model minority. Here is the thread that connects these experiences: I am seen as a representative of a race. Through no choice of my own, I represent Asians and Asian culture in settings where Asians are in the minority.
I never asked for this role. It’s a role that was given to me based on my identity and the perception of others. And here was the seed of my own self-hatred. I didn’t want to play the representative of some ethnic minority. I didn’t want to act as a canvas, painted with people’s expectations. I needed distance from this imposed burden.
Throughout high school and into college I was afraid of being stereotyped. I avoided other Asian people because I didn’t want that label, or any label at all. I picked interests that would differentiate me from the stereotypical Asians and limit my contact with other Asian students. I did improvisational comedy, I wrote poetry, I made short films. Instead of treating my racial peers as sources of solidarity, I felt alienated from them.
And, on some level, it felt good, this distancing. I couldn’t help feeling a sharp pang of glee every time someone would exclaim, “I never knew you did that” or “Wow, that’s totally unexpected.” I wanted to exist tabula rasa in the way that many people get to exist without any marked preconception. When they see Tom, I wanted them to think of the unlimited possibilities that could be behind that name. Or even just to think of nothing at all.
I was surrounded by people, close friends, who would say things such as, “You’re not like the other Asians” or “You’re more white than Asian.” At the time, these things didn’t bother me as much as they do today. I didn’t love comments like this but they were an affirmation that my efforts to blend in were working.
Even so, as hard as I worked to exist outside a stereotypical framework, I could never truly escape it, even if I wanted to believe that I had.
One night, at a bar, while I was trying to make conversation with a woman, she rebuffed me with, “I don’t think of Asian men as men. Sorry.” Even faced with this sort of rejection, I still found myself returning, over and over, to white women.
I also had very few non-white friends. I wanted so much to not be judged, to be neutral or blank, that I was perpetuating the racism my name and behavior were meant to avoid. While I was cleaning my own slate, I was filthying the waters around me.
I believed that because white Americans had fewer preconceptions pushed on them, they were somehow freer to choose what they would do, and that this freedom made them more interesting. I thought that because Asians were subject to preconceptions, they would in turn be more predictable and boring. I was pushing my bias onto others, seeing myself as more enlightened than other Asians.
It was years before I realized that this was happening, that I was internalizing my racism, projecting it unconsciously. Getting there took long conversations with other people who had similar experiences. It took several talks with people in interracial relationships about dating and racial lines. It took discussions with my parents.
Where do I go from here? Now, when I see someone, I do check myself. I run through a mental flow chart to detect where my biases are. I want to identify them and I want to erase them. I don't want to live life to escape others' expectations. And the first step is to acknowledge where I have failed.
These days, when I think about my name, I feel the push and pull of Tung and Tom. I feel like I’m cheating on the past. I think of how I can compromise the tug of all my identities. Maybe people can call me T. Phan or T. V. Phan. Yet I also think of how such a compromise would affect others' perceptions of me, and my perception of myself. It would be all too easy to relinquish a culture to which I am only tenuously tied. And I’m afraid I can’t turn back.
“What do you think your name should be?” my dad asked me.
We were parked outside my new elementary school on Elm Street, I was excited: How many children get to choose a new name—and, by extension, a new identity?
I told my dad I wanted to be called “Ken,” a Japanese- American name, and, importantly, the name of a Street Fighter character. He suggested “Tom,” a name that would obscure any Asian ancestry.
Tom was close to the name my parents gave me: Tung, a Vietnamese name after the Tung tree meaning strength and fortitude. I had neither during my childhood; I was timid, so they called me Diệu, a girl’s name. Because of this, my identity existed in discrete units, fractioned out. At home I was Diệu, at school I was Tom, and on any official record I was Tung.
In my family, names were more than what people would call you. Parents would name their sons and daughters names that would signify traits they wanted to imbue in them. Names had powers. But when my parents and I immigrated to the U.S., names were just that: names. They were tools, not symbols. They were used to identify, not signify; utterly utilitarian.
In my family, my sister and I had the most Asian names. After my parents passed their naturalization test they changed their names to Steve and Kim. They gave the children they had after me far more white-American names: Tina, Justin and Brendon.
Why did I have to change my name?
I asked my dad this as an adult. He said he knew it would be easier for me and easier would be better. “It’s better to go with the crowd than to stand out,” he told me. And I believed him; he loved this country and the opportunities it gave him, even if at times it was awful. “Chink” and “gook” are words he didn’t understand, but I could, though I wouldn’t tell him what they meant.
In some ways, I knew my dad was right; it probably was easier for me to make friends as Tom than it would have been as Tung. It was easier to live where we did without the stigma attached to a more ethnic name. Yet, changing my name didn’t change how I looked: Asian. Epicanthal folds, pug-shaped nose, black hair, brown eyes. These are features a person can’t escape.
In elementary school I auditioned for the lead of the school musical and instead was cast as Confucius (I was the only Asian person to audition for musical theater). At Asian restaurants, friends turned to me as an expert on cuisine and culture. In public, I’m not considered a threat but a model minority. Here is the thread that connects these experiences: I am seen as a representative of a race. Through no choice of my own, I represent Asians and Asian culture in settings where Asians are in the minority.
I never asked for this role. It’s a role that was given to me based on my identity and the perception of others. And here was the seed of my own self-hatred. I didn’t want to play the representative of some ethnic minority. I didn’t want to act as a canvas, painted with people’s expectations. I needed distance from this imposed burden.
Throughout high school and into college I was afraid of being stereotyped. I avoided other Asian people because I didn’t want that label, or any label at all. I picked interests that would differentiate me from the stereotypical Asians and limit my contact with other Asian students. I did improvisational comedy, I wrote poetry, I made short films. Instead of treating my racial peers as sources of solidarity, I felt alienated from them.
And, on some level, it felt good, this distancing. I couldn’t help feeling a sharp pang of glee every time someone would exclaim, “I never knew you did that” or “Wow, that’s totally unexpected.” I wanted to exist tabula rasa in the way that many people get to exist without any marked preconception. When they see Tom, I wanted them to think of the unlimited possibilities that could be behind that name. Or even just to think of nothing at all.
I was surrounded by people, close friends, who would say things such as, “You’re not like the other Asians” or “You’re more white than Asian.” At the time, these things didn’t bother me as much as they do today. I didn’t love comments like this but they were an affirmation that my efforts to blend in were working.
Even so, as hard as I worked to exist outside a stereotypical framework, I could never truly escape it, even if I wanted to believe that I had.
One night, at a bar, while I was trying to make conversation with a woman, she rebuffed me with, “I don’t think of Asian men as men. Sorry.” Even faced with this sort of rejection, I still found myself returning, over and over, to white women.
I also had very few non-white friends. I wanted so much to not be judged, to be neutral or blank, that I was perpetuating the racism my name and behavior were meant to avoid. While I was cleaning my own slate, I was filthying the waters around me.
I believed that because white Americans had fewer preconceptions pushed on them, they were somehow freer to choose what they would do, and that this freedom made them more interesting. I thought that because Asians were subject to preconceptions, they would in turn be more predictable and boring. I was pushing my bias onto others, seeing myself as more enlightened than other Asians.
It was years before I realized that this was happening, that I was internalizing my racism, projecting it unconsciously. Getting there took long conversations with other people who had similar experiences. It took several talks with people in interracial relationships about dating and racial lines. It took discussions with my parents.
Where do I go from here? Now, when I see someone, I do check myself. I run through a mental flow chart to detect where my biases are. I want to identify them and I want to erase them. I don't want to live life to escape others' expectations. And the first step is to acknowledge where I have failed.
These days, when I think about my name, I feel the push and pull of Tung and Tom. I feel like I’m cheating on the past. I think of how I can compromise the tug of all my identities. Maybe people can call me T. Phan or T. V. Phan. Yet I also think of how such a compromise would affect others' perceptions of me, and my perception of myself. It would be all too easy to relinquish a culture to which I am only tenuously tied. And I’m afraid I can’t turn back.
“What do you think your name should be?” my dad asked me.
We were parked outside my new elementary school on Elm Street, I was excited: How many children get to choose a new name—and, by extension, a new identity?
I told my dad I wanted to be called “Ken,” a Japanese- American name, and, importantly, the name of a Street Fighter character. He suggested “Tom,” a name that would obscure any Asian ancestry.
Tom was close to the name my parents gave me: Tung, a Vietnamese name after the Tung tree meaning strength and fortitude. I had neither during my childhood; I was timid, so they called me Diệu, a girl’s name. Because of this, my identity existed in discrete units, fractioned out. At home I was Diệu, at school I was Tom, and on any official record I was Tung.
In my family, names were more than what people would call you. Parents would name their sons and daughters names that would signify traits they wanted to imbue in them. Names had powers. But when my parents and I immigrated to the U.S., names were just that: names. They were tools, not symbols. They were used to identify, not signify; utterly utilitarian.
In my family, my sister and I had the most Asian names. After my parents passed their naturalization test they changed their names to Steve and Kim. They gave the children they had after me far more white-American names: Tina, Justin and Brendon.
Why did I have to change my name?
I asked my dad this as an adult. He said he knew it would be easier for me and easier would be better. “It’s better to go with the crowd than to stand out,” he told me. And I believed him; he loved this country and the opportunities it gave him, even if at times it was awful. “Chink” and “gook” are words he didn’t understand, but I could, though I wouldn’t tell him what they meant.
In some ways, I knew my dad was right; it probably was easier for me to make friends as Tom than it would have been as Tung. It was easier to live where we did without the stigma attached to a more ethnic name. Yet, changing my name didn’t change how I looked: Asian. Epicanthal folds, pug-shaped nose, black hair, brown eyes. These are features a person can’t escape.
In elementary school I auditioned for the lead of the school musical and instead was cast as Confucius (I was the only Asian person to audition for musical theater). At Asian restaurants, friends turned to me as an expert on cuisine and culture. In public, I’m not considered a threat but a model minority. Here is the thread that connects these experiences: I am seen as a representative of a race. Through no choice of my own, I represent Asians and Asian culture in settings where Asians are in the minority.
I never asked for this role. It’s a role that was given to me based on my identity and the perception of others. And here was the seed of my own self-hatred. I didn’t want to play the representative of some ethnic minority. I didn’t want to act as a canvas, painted with people’s expectations. I needed distance from this imposed burden.
Throughout high school and into college I was afraid of being stereotyped. I avoided other Asian people because I didn’t want that label, or any label at all. I picked interests that would differentiate me from the stereotypical Asians and limit my contact with other Asian students. I did improvisational comedy, I wrote poetry, I made short films. Instead of treating my racial peers as sources of solidarity, I felt alienated from them.
And, on some level, it felt good, this distancing. I couldn’t help feeling a sharp pang of glee every time someone would exclaim, “I never knew you did that” or “Wow, that’s totally unexpected.” I wanted to exist tabula rasa in the way that many people get to exist without any marked preconception. When they see Tom, I wanted them to think of the unlimited possibilities that could be behind that name. Or even just to think of nothing at all.
I was surrounded by people, close friends, who would say things such as, “You’re not like the other Asians” or “You’re more white than Asian.” At the time, these things didn’t bother me as much as they do today. I didn’t love comments like this but they were an affirmation that my efforts to blend in were working.
Even so, as hard as I worked to exist outside a stereotypical framework, I could never truly escape it, even if I wanted to believe that I had.
One night, at a bar, while I was trying to make conversation with a woman, she rebuffed me with, “I don’t think of Asian men as men. Sorry.” Even faced with this sort of rejection, I still found myself returning, over and over, to white women.
I also had very few non-white friends. I wanted so much to not be judged, to be neutral or blank, that I was perpetuating the racism my name and behavior were meant to avoid. While I was cleaning my own slate, I was filthying the waters around me.
I believed that because white Americans had fewer preconceptions pushed on them, they were somehow freer to choose what they would do, and that this freedom made them more interesting. I thought that because Asians were subject to preconceptions, they would in turn be more predictable and boring. I was pushing my bias onto others, seeing myself as more enlightened than other Asians.
It was years before I realized that this was happening, that I was internalizing my racism, projecting it unconsciously. Getting there took long conversations with other people who had similar experiences. It took several talks with people in interracial relationships about dating and racial lines. It took discussions with my parents.
Where do I go from here? Now, when I see someone, I do check myself. I run through a mental flow chart to detect where my biases are. I want to identify them and I want to erase them. I don't want to live life to escape others' expectations. And the first step is to acknowledge where I have failed.
These days, when I think about my name, I feel the push and pull of Tung and Tom. I feel like I’m cheating on the past. I think of how I can compromise the tug of all my identities. Maybe people can call me T. Phan or T. V. Phan. Yet I also think of how such a compromise would affect others' perceptions of me, and my perception of myself. It would be all too easy to relinquish a culture to which I am only tenuously tied. And I’m afraid I can’t turn back.
“What do you think your name should be?” my dad asked me.
We were parked outside my new elementary school on Elm Street, I was excited: How many children get to choose a new name—and, by extension, a new identity?
I told my dad I wanted to be called “Ken,” a Japanese- American name, and, importantly, the name of a Street Fighter character. He suggested “Tom,” a name that would obscure any Asian ancestry.
Tom was close to the name my parents gave me: Tung, a Vietnamese name after the Tung tree meaning strength and fortitude. I had neither during my childhood; I was timid, so they called me Diệu, a girl’s name. Because of this, my identity existed in discrete units, fractioned out. At home I was Diệu, at school I was Tom, and on any official record I was Tung.
In my family, names were more than what people would call you. Parents would name their sons and daughters names that would signify traits they wanted to imbue in them. Names had powers. But when my parents and I immigrated to the U.S., names were just that: names. They were tools, not symbols. They were used to identify, not signify; utterly utilitarian.
In my family, my sister and I had the most Asian names. After my parents passed their naturalization test they changed their names to Steve and Kim. They gave the children they had after me far more white-American names: Tina, Justin and Brendon.
Why did I have to change my name?
I asked my dad this as an adult. He said he knew it would be easier for me and easier would be better. “It’s better to go with the crowd than to stand out,” he told me. And I believed him; he loved this country and the opportunities it gave him, even if at times it was awful. “Chink” and “gook” are words he didn’t understand, but I could, though I wouldn’t tell him what they meant.
In some ways, I knew my dad was right; it probably was easier for me to make friends as Tom than it would have been as Tung. It was easier to live where we did without the stigma attached to a more ethnic name. Yet, changing my name didn’t change how I looked: Asian. Epicanthal folds, pug-shaped nose, black hair, brown eyes. These are features a person can’t escape.
In elementary school I auditioned for the lead of the school musical and instead was cast as Confucius (I was the only Asian person to audition for musical theater). At Asian restaurants, friends turned to me as an expert on cuisine and culture. In public, I’m not considered a threat but a model minority. Here is the thread that connects these experiences: I am seen as a representative of a race. Through no choice of my own, I represent Asians and Asian culture in settings where Asians are in the minority.
I never asked for this role. It’s a role that was given to me based on my identity and the perception of others. And here was the seed of my own self-hatred. I didn’t want to play the representative of some ethnic minority. I didn’t want to act as a canvas, painted with people’s expectations. I needed distance from this imposed burden.
Throughout high school and into college I was afraid of being stereotyped. I avoided other Asian people because I didn’t want that label, or any label at all. I picked interests that would differentiate me from the stereotypical Asians and limit my contact with other Asian students. I did improvisational comedy, I wrote poetry, I made short films. Instead of treating my racial peers as sources of solidarity, I felt alienated from them.
And, on some level, it felt good, this distancing. I couldn’t help feeling a sharp pang of glee every time someone would exclaim, “I never knew you did that” or “Wow, that’s totally unexpected.” I wanted to exist tabula rasa in the way that many people get to exist without any marked preconception. When they see Tom, I wanted them to think of the unlimited possibilities that could be behind that name. Or even just to think of nothing at all.
I was surrounded by people, close friends, who would say things such as, “You’re not like the other Asians” or “You’re more white than Asian.” At the time, these things didn’t bother me as much as they do today. I didn’t love comments like this but they were an affirmation that my efforts to blend in were working.
Even so, as hard as I worked to exist outside a stereotypical framework, I could never truly escape it, even if I wanted to believe that I had.
One night, at a bar, while I was trying to make conversation with a woman, she rebuffed me with, “I don’t think of Asian men as men. Sorry.” Even faced with this sort of rejection, I still found myself returning, over and over, to white women.
I also had very few non-white friends. I wanted so much to not be judged, to be neutral or blank, that I was perpetuating the racism my name and behavior were meant to avoid. While I was cleaning my own slate, I was filthying the waters around me.
I believed that because white Americans had fewer preconceptions pushed on them, they were somehow freer to choose what they would do, and that this freedom made them more interesting. I thought that because Asians were subject to preconceptions, they would in turn be more predictable and boring. I was pushing my bias onto others, seeing myself as more enlightened than other Asians.
It was years before I realized that this was happening, that I was internalizing my racism, projecting it unconsciously. Getting there took long conversations with other people who had similar experiences. It took several talks with people in interracial relationships about dating and racial lines. It took discussions with my parents.
Where do I go from here? Now, when I see someone, I do check myself. I run through a mental flow chart to detect where my biases are. I want to identify them and I want to erase them. I don't want to live life to escape others' expectations. And the first step is to acknowledge where I have failed.
These days, when I think about my name, I feel the push and pull of Tung and Tom. I feel like I’m cheating on the past. I think of how I can compromise the tug of all my identities. Maybe people can call me T. Phan or T. V. Phan. Yet I also think of how such a compromise would affect others' perceptions of me, and my perception of myself. It would be all too easy to relinquish a culture to which I am only tenuously tied. And I’m afraid I can’t turn back.
From “kosher sex” to love maps, 5 tips for keeping your sex life hot
“There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it,” said Oscar Wilde. Passion is a tricky, elusive thing. Once captured, it flounders. But why does it wither when domesticated? Why do sexy intense beginnings so often lead to boring, sexless or otherwise meh middles and endings? Why aren't we having sex with our dear, highly-available partners, like, all the time? “Our senses crave novelty. Any change alerts them, and they send a signal into the brain. If there's no change, no novelty, they doze and register little or nothing. A constant state—even of excitement—in time becomes tedious, fades in the background because our senses have evolved to report only changes,” writes Diane Ackerman in "A Natural History of the Senses."* Or, says my friend Matthew, who thinks deeply on such things: “Once you're with someone, they become your family. And you don't want to have sex with people in your family.” Which is true enough, especially that last bit. But you can rekindle passion, at least according to the top Big Thinkers in the field, who offer differing—sometimes wildly so—theories on how to do it. By reframing things a bit, you can soon be happily fucking your beloved family member once again. Though you'll probably want to phrase that differently in your head. 1. Marnia Robinson Cred: Corporate lawyer-turned-writer and speaker on sex, relationships and porn. Co-hosts Your Brain on Porn website with husband Gary Wilson. The Big Idea: Karezza sex (slow sex without attempting orgasm) can help hack your neurochemicals. The Fix: The neurochemicals that make us so giddy with the first flush of love only last two years, tops. After that, the buzz wears off and couples get habituated (the nicer, more sciencey term for bored). Instead of trying to jack things up with new positions or sexy clown costumes that can further numb response to pleasure, slow things down with karezza sex, a form of affectionate, sensual sex that generally doesn't result in orgasm. This sex, according to Robinson, strengthens lovers' bonds and results in more frequent and satisfying sex. “It's like learning to diet by eating smarter, rather than struggling to eat less,” writes Robinson. “As my husband says, 'My limbic brain stays enchanted because I don't attempt to fertilize you.'” (Her husband, it will not surprise you to learn, is a science professor.) Test drive: Practice a “bonding behavior” like gazing into each other's eyes for several minutes or lying with your head on your partner's chest and listening to their heartbeat or synchronized breathing. Further reading: "Cupid's Poisoned Arrow: From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships." 2. Shmuley Boteach Cred: American Orthodox rabbi, author and TV host. The Big Idea: Women are deep and endless sources of sexuality. Exploring that eroticism leads to richer, more profound sexual/spiritual connection. The Fix: A woman's sexuality is “much deeper and longer lasting than a man's. In the face of such intensity, most husbands fear they can't measure up,” writes Boteach in "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." But for the husband who's brave enough to jump in there and explore, there are sublime pleasures to be uncovered. “There is a part of us, a passionate part that is raw, instinctive, animal, visceral, and not attuned to social norms. It's incredibly erotic to witness this side of a person become revealed. A man who can arouse a woman to this level of abandonment witnesses something incredible,” writes Boteach, in perhaps the hottest collection of sentences you'll ever read by a rabbi. This deep sensuality flows into the rest of life, giving everything an “erotic pulse.” To get to that place, Boteach recommends “Kosher Tantric” sex, including delayed orgasm to prolong sex, making it into “a worship of the divine spark in each other.” He's also against going to the bathroom in front of each other—ruins the mystery. Test drive: Try the Jewish custom of abstaining from sex for two weeks when the woman starts her period. “Every month, there must be two weeks devoted to physical love, and two weeks devoted to intellectual communication and emotional intimacy," Boteach writes in "Kosher Sex: A Recipe for Passion and Intimacy." It may sound a bit old school and rigid, but the forbiddenness fostered by abstinence can build lust, plus the on/off plan happens to correspond nicely with most women's monthly swings of desire. Further reading: "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." 3. Esther Perel Cred: Writer, speaker, couples and family therapist. The Big Idea: We need safety and security in a relationship, yet we also need adventure and excitement. The problem is that satisfying either of these needs sort of negates the other. The trick is riding the wave between security and excitement, figuring out ways to introduce novelty, risk and mystery into the familiar and comfortable. The Fix: The erotic thrives on power plays, thwarted desire, threats of rivals and other non-safe and lovey ideas. Tap into these rich sources of desire by questioning your ideas about what's “acceptable” to you. For a lot of people, the greatest sources of excitement and pleasure have to do with childhood hurts. Being willing to poke around in these dark areas of your erotic brain is a potent natural fuel for pleasure. Test drive: Embrace the “shadow of the third.” In every relationship, there are other players, whether actual infidelities, flirtations or agreed-upon partners. Accepting this and working with it—whether by actually introducing others into your marital sex, negotiating monogamy or just feeling the arousal of a threat (perceived or real) of a romantic rival—beats complacency back and helps you see your mate as the desirable creature that they are. For further reading: "Mating in Captivity: Reconciling the Erotic + the Domestic" 4. John Gottman, Ph.D. and Julie Gottman, Ph.D. Cred: Husband and wife psychologists who run the Gottman Institute and the Relationship Research Institute. The Big Idea: Married people do best when they behave like good friends and handle conflicts in gentle positive ways. The Fix: The Gottmans are known for their Love Labs, in which they observed couples and found that future divorcees tended to handle conflict via what the Gottmans call “The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse”: stonewalling, contempt, defensiveness and withdrawal. So don't do those. Good behaviors, which lack a catchy 4 Horseman-like name: Respond positively to your partner's “bids” (bids are requests for emotional connections via a question, quick hug and such). Create a love map—a mental list of your partner's preferences, dreams and sexual proclivities. Create rituals for initiating and refusing sex to minimize miscommunication and feelings of rejection. The resulting atmosphere of kindness and communication is conducive to “personal sex” that's focused on intimacy instead of intercourse. Test Drive: “Plan time for activities like hot baths, back rubs, touching, holding and simply making each other feel good physically and emotionally. If sex happens, that's fine. But if it doesn't, you'll still have met your expectation of enjoying time together,” advise the Gottmans. Further reading: "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" 5. David Schnarch, Ph.D. Cred: Psychologist, sex therapist and director of the Marriage and Family Health Institute. The Big Idea: Passion (as well as a healthy relationship) depends on “differentiation,” that is, each partner cultivating a strong sense of self, despite his or her partner's (very normal) efforts to thwart that growth. The Fix: When partners work on becoming differentiated, it creates tension and gridlock. This, coupled with what Schnarch delightfully calls “normal marital sadism,” can lead to marital breakdown, but it's actually an opportunity. Gridlock and tension create a dynamic environment for growth and help passion thrive. Anxiety is also good. Instead of working on anxiety reduction, couples should work on ways to tolerate anxiety via self-soothing. “Anxiety is often part of the best sex we ever have. It's part of growing sexually. Anxiety makes us pay attention to what's going on,” writes Schnarch. During sex, couples should focus on the connection, working on truly feeling their partner as they touch them. Also good is “hugging til relaxed,” which is pretty much what it sounds like. Test drive: Try for “eyes-open orgasm.” Looking deep into each other's eyes adds intimacy and meaning to sex. The more you do it, the longer you can do it and the deeper the connection. For further reading: "Passionate Marriage: Keeping Love and Intimacy Alive in Committed Relationships." * This, however, does not explain why there are so many strip clubs called Deja Vu. Jill Hamilton writes In Bed With Married Women (www.inbedwithmarriedwomen.com. Follow her on Twitter @Jill_Hamilton.
“There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it,” said Oscar Wilde. Passion is a tricky, elusive thing. Once captured, it flounders. But why does it wither when domesticated? Why do sexy intense beginnings so often lead to boring, sexless or otherwise meh middles and endings? Why aren't we having sex with our dear, highly-available partners, like, all the time? “Our senses crave novelty. Any change alerts them, and they send a signal into the brain. If there's no change, no novelty, they doze and register little or nothing. A constant state—even of excitement—in time becomes tedious, fades in the background because our senses have evolved to report only changes,” writes Diane Ackerman in "A Natural History of the Senses."* Or, says my friend Matthew, who thinks deeply on such things: “Once you're with someone, they become your family. And you don't want to have sex with people in your family.” Which is true enough, especially that last bit. But you can rekindle passion, at least according to the top Big Thinkers in the field, who offer differing—sometimes wildly so—theories on how to do it. By reframing things a bit, you can soon be happily fucking your beloved family member once again. Though you'll probably want to phrase that differently in your head. 1. Marnia Robinson Cred: Corporate lawyer-turned-writer and speaker on sex, relationships and porn. Co-hosts Your Brain on Porn website with husband Gary Wilson. The Big Idea: Karezza sex (slow sex without attempting orgasm) can help hack your neurochemicals. The Fix: The neurochemicals that make us so giddy with the first flush of love only last two years, tops. After that, the buzz wears off and couples get habituated (the nicer, more sciencey term for bored). Instead of trying to jack things up with new positions or sexy clown costumes that can further numb response to pleasure, slow things down with karezza sex, a form of affectionate, sensual sex that generally doesn't result in orgasm. This sex, according to Robinson, strengthens lovers' bonds and results in more frequent and satisfying sex. “It's like learning to diet by eating smarter, rather than struggling to eat less,” writes Robinson. “As my husband says, 'My limbic brain stays enchanted because I don't attempt to fertilize you.'” (Her husband, it will not surprise you to learn, is a science professor.) Test drive: Practice a “bonding behavior” like gazing into each other's eyes for several minutes or lying with your head on your partner's chest and listening to their heartbeat or synchronized breathing. Further reading: "Cupid's Poisoned Arrow: From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships." 2. Shmuley Boteach Cred: American Orthodox rabbi, author and TV host. The Big Idea: Women are deep and endless sources of sexuality. Exploring that eroticism leads to richer, more profound sexual/spiritual connection. The Fix: A woman's sexuality is “much deeper and longer lasting than a man's. In the face of such intensity, most husbands fear they can't measure up,” writes Boteach in "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." But for the husband who's brave enough to jump in there and explore, there are sublime pleasures to be uncovered. “There is a part of us, a passionate part that is raw, instinctive, animal, visceral, and not attuned to social norms. It's incredibly erotic to witness this side of a person become revealed. A man who can arouse a woman to this level of abandonment witnesses something incredible,” writes Boteach, in perhaps the hottest collection of sentences you'll ever read by a rabbi. This deep sensuality flows into the rest of life, giving everything an “erotic pulse.” To get to that place, Boteach recommends “Kosher Tantric” sex, including delayed orgasm to prolong sex, making it into “a worship of the divine spark in each other.” He's also against going to the bathroom in front of each other—ruins the mystery. Test drive: Try the Jewish custom of abstaining from sex for two weeks when the woman starts her period. “Every month, there must be two weeks devoted to physical love, and two weeks devoted to intellectual communication and emotional intimacy," Boteach writes in "Kosher Sex: A Recipe for Passion and Intimacy." It may sound a bit old school and rigid, but the forbiddenness fostered by abstinence can build lust, plus the on/off plan happens to correspond nicely with most women's monthly swings of desire. Further reading: "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." 3. Esther Perel Cred: Writer, speaker, couples and family therapist. The Big Idea: We need safety and security in a relationship, yet we also need adventure and excitement. The problem is that satisfying either of these needs sort of negates the other. The trick is riding the wave between security and excitement, figuring out ways to introduce novelty, risk and mystery into the familiar and comfortable. The Fix: The erotic thrives on power plays, thwarted desire, threats of rivals and other non-safe and lovey ideas. Tap into these rich sources of desire by questioning your ideas about what's “acceptable” to you. For a lot of people, the greatest sources of excitement and pleasure have to do with childhood hurts. Being willing to poke around in these dark areas of your erotic brain is a potent natural fuel for pleasure. Test drive: Embrace the “shadow of the third.” In every relationship, there are other players, whether actual infidelities, flirtations or agreed-upon partners. Accepting this and working with it—whether by actually introducing others into your marital sex, negotiating monogamy or just feeling the arousal of a threat (perceived or real) of a romantic rival—beats complacency back and helps you see your mate as the desirable creature that they are. For further reading: "Mating in Captivity: Reconciling the Erotic + the Domestic" 4. John Gottman, Ph.D. and Julie Gottman, Ph.D. Cred: Husband and wife psychologists who run the Gottman Institute and the Relationship Research Institute. The Big Idea: Married people do best when they behave like good friends and handle conflicts in gentle positive ways. The Fix: The Gottmans are known for their Love Labs, in which they observed couples and found that future divorcees tended to handle conflict via what the Gottmans call “The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse”: stonewalling, contempt, defensiveness and withdrawal. So don't do those. Good behaviors, which lack a catchy 4 Horseman-like name: Respond positively to your partner's “bids” (bids are requests for emotional connections via a question, quick hug and such). Create a love map—a mental list of your partner's preferences, dreams and sexual proclivities. Create rituals for initiating and refusing sex to minimize miscommunication and feelings of rejection. The resulting atmosphere of kindness and communication is conducive to “personal sex” that's focused on intimacy instead of intercourse. Test Drive: “Plan time for activities like hot baths, back rubs, touching, holding and simply making each other feel good physically and emotionally. If sex happens, that's fine. But if it doesn't, you'll still have met your expectation of enjoying time together,” advise the Gottmans. Further reading: "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" 5. David Schnarch, Ph.D. Cred: Psychologist, sex therapist and director of the Marriage and Family Health Institute. The Big Idea: Passion (as well as a healthy relationship) depends on “differentiation,” that is, each partner cultivating a strong sense of self, despite his or her partner's (very normal) efforts to thwart that growth. The Fix: When partners work on becoming differentiated, it creates tension and gridlock. This, coupled with what Schnarch delightfully calls “normal marital sadism,” can lead to marital breakdown, but it's actually an opportunity. Gridlock and tension create a dynamic environment for growth and help passion thrive. Anxiety is also good. Instead of working on anxiety reduction, couples should work on ways to tolerate anxiety via self-soothing. “Anxiety is often part of the best sex we ever have. It's part of growing sexually. Anxiety makes us pay attention to what's going on,” writes Schnarch. During sex, couples should focus on the connection, working on truly feeling their partner as they touch them. Also good is “hugging til relaxed,” which is pretty much what it sounds like. Test drive: Try for “eyes-open orgasm.” Looking deep into each other's eyes adds intimacy and meaning to sex. The more you do it, the longer you can do it and the deeper the connection. For further reading: "Passionate Marriage: Keeping Love and Intimacy Alive in Committed Relationships." * This, however, does not explain why there are so many strip clubs called Deja Vu. Jill Hamilton writes In Bed With Married Women (www.inbedwithmarriedwomen.com. Follow her on Twitter @Jill_Hamilton.
“There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it,” said Oscar Wilde. Passion is a tricky, elusive thing. Once captured, it flounders. But why does it wither when domesticated? Why do sexy intense beginnings so often lead to boring, sexless or otherwise meh middles and endings? Why aren't we having sex with our dear, highly-available partners, like, all the time? “Our senses crave novelty. Any change alerts them, and they send a signal into the brain. If there's no change, no novelty, they doze and register little or nothing. A constant state—even of excitement—in time becomes tedious, fades in the background because our senses have evolved to report only changes,” writes Diane Ackerman in "A Natural History of the Senses."* Or, says my friend Matthew, who thinks deeply on such things: “Once you're with someone, they become your family. And you don't want to have sex with people in your family.” Which is true enough, especially that last bit. But you can rekindle passion, at least according to the top Big Thinkers in the field, who offer differing—sometimes wildly so—theories on how to do it. By reframing things a bit, you can soon be happily fucking your beloved family member once again. Though you'll probably want to phrase that differently in your head. 1. Marnia Robinson Cred: Corporate lawyer-turned-writer and speaker on sex, relationships and porn. Co-hosts Your Brain on Porn website with husband Gary Wilson. The Big Idea: Karezza sex (slow sex without attempting orgasm) can help hack your neurochemicals. The Fix: The neurochemicals that make us so giddy with the first flush of love only last two years, tops. After that, the buzz wears off and couples get habituated (the nicer, more sciencey term for bored). Instead of trying to jack things up with new positions or sexy clown costumes that can further numb response to pleasure, slow things down with karezza sex, a form of affectionate, sensual sex that generally doesn't result in orgasm. This sex, according to Robinson, strengthens lovers' bonds and results in more frequent and satisfying sex. “It's like learning to diet by eating smarter, rather than struggling to eat less,” writes Robinson. “As my husband says, 'My limbic brain stays enchanted because I don't attempt to fertilize you.'” (Her husband, it will not surprise you to learn, is a science professor.) Test drive: Practice a “bonding behavior” like gazing into each other's eyes for several minutes or lying with your head on your partner's chest and listening to their heartbeat or synchronized breathing. Further reading: "Cupid's Poisoned Arrow: From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships." 2. Shmuley Boteach Cred: American Orthodox rabbi, author and TV host. The Big Idea: Women are deep and endless sources of sexuality. Exploring that eroticism leads to richer, more profound sexual/spiritual connection. The Fix: A woman's sexuality is “much deeper and longer lasting than a man's. In the face of such intensity, most husbands fear they can't measure up,” writes Boteach in "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." But for the husband who's brave enough to jump in there and explore, there are sublime pleasures to be uncovered. “There is a part of us, a passionate part that is raw, instinctive, animal, visceral, and not attuned to social norms. It's incredibly erotic to witness this side of a person become revealed. A man who can arouse a woman to this level of abandonment witnesses something incredible,” writes Boteach, in perhaps the hottest collection of sentences you'll ever read by a rabbi. This deep sensuality flows into the rest of life, giving everything an “erotic pulse.” To get to that place, Boteach recommends “Kosher Tantric” sex, including delayed orgasm to prolong sex, making it into “a worship of the divine spark in each other.” He's also against going to the bathroom in front of each other—ruins the mystery. Test drive: Try the Jewish custom of abstaining from sex for two weeks when the woman starts her period. “Every month, there must be two weeks devoted to physical love, and two weeks devoted to intellectual communication and emotional intimacy," Boteach writes in "Kosher Sex: A Recipe for Passion and Intimacy." It may sound a bit old school and rigid, but the forbiddenness fostered by abstinence can build lust, plus the on/off plan happens to correspond nicely with most women's monthly swings of desire. Further reading: "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." 3. Esther Perel Cred: Writer, speaker, couples and family therapist. The Big Idea: We need safety and security in a relationship, yet we also need adventure and excitement. The problem is that satisfying either of these needs sort of negates the other. The trick is riding the wave between security and excitement, figuring out ways to introduce novelty, risk and mystery into the familiar and comfortable. The Fix: The erotic thrives on power plays, thwarted desire, threats of rivals and other non-safe and lovey ideas. Tap into these rich sources of desire by questioning your ideas about what's “acceptable” to you. For a lot of people, the greatest sources of excitement and pleasure have to do with childhood hurts. Being willing to poke around in these dark areas of your erotic brain is a potent natural fuel for pleasure. Test drive: Embrace the “shadow of the third.” In every relationship, there are other players, whether actual infidelities, flirtations or agreed-upon partners. Accepting this and working with it—whether by actually introducing others into your marital sex, negotiating monogamy or just feeling the arousal of a threat (perceived or real) of a romantic rival—beats complacency back and helps you see your mate as the desirable creature that they are. For further reading: "Mating in Captivity: Reconciling the Erotic + the Domestic" 4. John Gottman, Ph.D. and Julie Gottman, Ph.D. Cred: Husband and wife psychologists who run the Gottman Institute and the Relationship Research Institute. The Big Idea: Married people do best when they behave like good friends and handle conflicts in gentle positive ways. The Fix: The Gottmans are known for their Love Labs, in which they observed couples and found that future divorcees tended to handle conflict via what the Gottmans call “The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse”: stonewalling, contempt, defensiveness and withdrawal. So don't do those. Good behaviors, which lack a catchy 4 Horseman-like name: Respond positively to your partner's “bids” (bids are requests for emotional connections via a question, quick hug and such). Create a love map—a mental list of your partner's preferences, dreams and sexual proclivities. Create rituals for initiating and refusing sex to minimize miscommunication and feelings of rejection. The resulting atmosphere of kindness and communication is conducive to “personal sex” that's focused on intimacy instead of intercourse. Test Drive: “Plan time for activities like hot baths, back rubs, touching, holding and simply making each other feel good physically and emotionally. If sex happens, that's fine. But if it doesn't, you'll still have met your expectation of enjoying time together,” advise the Gottmans. Further reading: "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" 5. David Schnarch, Ph.D. Cred: Psychologist, sex therapist and director of the Marriage and Family Health Institute. The Big Idea: Passion (as well as a healthy relationship) depends on “differentiation,” that is, each partner cultivating a strong sense of self, despite his or her partner's (very normal) efforts to thwart that growth. The Fix: When partners work on becoming differentiated, it creates tension and gridlock. This, coupled with what Schnarch delightfully calls “normal marital sadism,” can lead to marital breakdown, but it's actually an opportunity. Gridlock and tension create a dynamic environment for growth and help passion thrive. Anxiety is also good. Instead of working on anxiety reduction, couples should work on ways to tolerate anxiety via self-soothing. “Anxiety is often part of the best sex we ever have. It's part of growing sexually. Anxiety makes us pay attention to what's going on,” writes Schnarch. During sex, couples should focus on the connection, working on truly feeling their partner as they touch them. Also good is “hugging til relaxed,” which is pretty much what it sounds like. Test drive: Try for “eyes-open orgasm.” Looking deep into each other's eyes adds intimacy and meaning to sex. The more you do it, the longer you can do it and the deeper the connection. For further reading: "Passionate Marriage: Keeping Love and Intimacy Alive in Committed Relationships." * This, however, does not explain why there are so many strip clubs called Deja Vu. Jill Hamilton writes In Bed With Married Women (www.inbedwithmarriedwomen.com. Follow her on Twitter @Jill_Hamilton.
“There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it,” said Oscar Wilde. Passion is a tricky, elusive thing. Once captured, it flounders. But why does it wither when domesticated? Why do sexy intense beginnings so often lead to boring, sexless or otherwise meh middles and endings? Why aren't we having sex with our dear, highly-available partners, like, all the time? “Our senses crave novelty. Any change alerts them, and they send a signal into the brain. If there's no change, no novelty, they doze and register little or nothing. A constant state—even of excitement—in time becomes tedious, fades in the background because our senses have evolved to report only changes,” writes Diane Ackerman in "A Natural History of the Senses."* Or, says my friend Matthew, who thinks deeply on such things: “Once you're with someone, they become your family. And you don't want to have sex with people in your family.” Which is true enough, especially that last bit. But you can rekindle passion, at least according to the top Big Thinkers in the field, who offer differing—sometimes wildly so—theories on how to do it. By reframing things a bit, you can soon be happily fucking your beloved family member once again. Though you'll probably want to phrase that differently in your head. 1. Marnia Robinson Cred: Corporate lawyer-turned-writer and speaker on sex, relationships and porn. Co-hosts Your Brain on Porn website with husband Gary Wilson. The Big Idea: Karezza sex (slow sex without attempting orgasm) can help hack your neurochemicals. The Fix: The neurochemicals that make us so giddy with the first flush of love only last two years, tops. After that, the buzz wears off and couples get habituated (the nicer, more sciencey term for bored). Instead of trying to jack things up with new positions or sexy clown costumes that can further numb response to pleasure, slow things down with karezza sex, a form of affectionate, sensual sex that generally doesn't result in orgasm. This sex, according to Robinson, strengthens lovers' bonds and results in more frequent and satisfying sex. “It's like learning to diet by eating smarter, rather than struggling to eat less,” writes Robinson. “As my husband says, 'My limbic brain stays enchanted because I don't attempt to fertilize you.'” (Her husband, it will not surprise you to learn, is a science professor.) Test drive: Practice a “bonding behavior” like gazing into each other's eyes for several minutes or lying with your head on your partner's chest and listening to their heartbeat or synchronized breathing. Further reading: "Cupid's Poisoned Arrow: From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships." 2. Shmuley Boteach Cred: American Orthodox rabbi, author and TV host. The Big Idea: Women are deep and endless sources of sexuality. Exploring that eroticism leads to richer, more profound sexual/spiritual connection. The Fix: A woman's sexuality is “much deeper and longer lasting than a man's. In the face of such intensity, most husbands fear they can't measure up,” writes Boteach in "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." But for the husband who's brave enough to jump in there and explore, there are sublime pleasures to be uncovered. “There is a part of us, a passionate part that is raw, instinctive, animal, visceral, and not attuned to social norms. It's incredibly erotic to witness this side of a person become revealed. A man who can arouse a woman to this level of abandonment witnesses something incredible,” writes Boteach, in perhaps the hottest collection of sentences you'll ever read by a rabbi. This deep sensuality flows into the rest of life, giving everything an “erotic pulse.” To get to that place, Boteach recommends “Kosher Tantric” sex, including delayed orgasm to prolong sex, making it into “a worship of the divine spark in each other.” He's also against going to the bathroom in front of each other—ruins the mystery. Test drive: Try the Jewish custom of abstaining from sex for two weeks when the woman starts her period. “Every month, there must be two weeks devoted to physical love, and two weeks devoted to intellectual communication and emotional intimacy," Boteach writes in "Kosher Sex: A Recipe for Passion and Intimacy." It may sound a bit old school and rigid, but the forbiddenness fostered by abstinence can build lust, plus the on/off plan happens to correspond nicely with most women's monthly swings of desire. Further reading: "The Kosher Sutra: 8 Sacred Secrets for Reigniting Desire and Restoring Passion for Life." 3. Esther Perel Cred: Writer, speaker, couples and family therapist. The Big Idea: We need safety and security in a relationship, yet we also need adventure and excitement. The problem is that satisfying either of these needs sort of negates the other. The trick is riding the wave between security and excitement, figuring out ways to introduce novelty, risk and mystery into the familiar and comfortable. The Fix: The erotic thrives on power plays, thwarted desire, threats of rivals and other non-safe and lovey ideas. Tap into these rich sources of desire by questioning your ideas about what's “acceptable” to you. For a lot of people, the greatest sources of excitement and pleasure have to do with childhood hurts. Being willing to poke around in these dark areas of your erotic brain is a potent natural fuel for pleasure. Test drive: Embrace the “shadow of the third.” In every relationship, there are other players, whether actual infidelities, flirtations or agreed-upon partners. Accepting this and working with it—whether by actually introducing others into your marital sex, negotiating monogamy or just feeling the arousal of a threat (perceived or real) of a romantic rival—beats complacency back and helps you see your mate as the desirable creature that they are. For further reading: "Mating in Captivity: Reconciling the Erotic + the Domestic" 4. John Gottman, Ph.D. and Julie Gottman, Ph.D. Cred: Husband and wife psychologists who run the Gottman Institute and the Relationship Research Institute. The Big Idea: Married people do best when they behave like good friends and handle conflicts in gentle positive ways. The Fix: The Gottmans are known for their Love Labs, in which they observed couples and found that future divorcees tended to handle conflict via what the Gottmans call “The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse”: stonewalling, contempt, defensiveness and withdrawal. So don't do those. Good behaviors, which lack a catchy 4 Horseman-like name: Respond positively to your partner's “bids” (bids are requests for emotional connections via a question, quick hug and such). Create a love map—a mental list of your partner's preferences, dreams and sexual proclivities. Create rituals for initiating and refusing sex to minimize miscommunication and feelings of rejection. The resulting atmosphere of kindness and communication is conducive to “personal sex” that's focused on intimacy instead of intercourse. Test Drive: “Plan time for activities like hot baths, back rubs, touching, holding and simply making each other feel good physically and emotionally. If sex happens, that's fine. But if it doesn't, you'll still have met your expectation of enjoying time together,” advise the Gottmans. Further reading: "The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work" 5. David Schnarch, Ph.D. Cred: Psychologist, sex therapist and director of the Marriage and Family Health Institute. The Big Idea: Passion (as well as a healthy relationship) depends on “differentiation,” that is, each partner cultivating a strong sense of self, despite his or her partner's (very normal) efforts to thwart that growth. The Fix: When partners work on becoming differentiated, it creates tension and gridlock. This, coupled with what Schnarch delightfully calls “normal marital sadism,” can lead to marital breakdown, but it's actually an opportunity. Gridlock and tension create a dynamic environment for growth and help passion thrive. Anxiety is also good. Instead of working on anxiety reduction, couples should work on ways to tolerate anxiety via self-soothing. “Anxiety is often part of the best sex we ever have. It's part of growing sexually. Anxiety makes us pay attention to what's going on,” writes Schnarch. During sex, couples should focus on the connection, working on truly feeling their partner as they touch them. Also good is “hugging til relaxed,” which is pretty much what it sounds like. Test drive: Try for “eyes-open orgasm.” Looking deep into each other's eyes adds intimacy and meaning to sex. The more you do it, the longer you can do it and the deeper the connection. For further reading: "Passionate Marriage: Keeping Love and Intimacy Alive in Committed Relationships." * This, however, does not explain why there are so many strip clubs called Deja Vu. Jill Hamilton writes In Bed With Married Women (www.inbedwithmarriedwomen.com. Follow her on Twitter @Jill_Hamilton.
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