Schwarzenegger Sex

Sorry, I Was Thinking About Arnold Schwarzenegger

Sorry not sorry

This week, my wife and I sat down to watch Arnold — a three-part documentary about the life of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Part One — Athlete — focuses on Arnold’s pursuit of the Mr. Olympia title. It is sixty-two minutes of oily, half-naked bodybuilders flexing and grunting while wearing incredibly revealing short shorts.

We loved it.

Afterwards — as is our wont on summer Saturday evenings not otherwise consumed by weddings, baby showers, or ritual animal sacrifices in the woods to Moloch the owl God — we made sweet sweet sexual relations. Not to brag, but it was pretty great. One of those rare bouts of knocking boots where all the stresses and checklists dissolve and you’re left with nothing but working genitals and animal lust.

At first I attributed our sexual acumen to Gwyneth Paltrow’s $149, waterproof, non-returnable Vesper Vibrating Necklace. Before I started praising Iron Man’s girlfriend, my wife made a startling confession.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. “But I might have been thinking about Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“You were?”

“Just a little,” she confessed, blushing like a schoolgirl who just revealed her crush in a game of Truth-or-Take-Your-Clothes-Off-And-Run-Around-the-Backyard.

“For which part?”

“Just the part when we first rolled onto the bed together,” she reassured me.

. . .

. . .

. . .

“And then maybe the part when we first took off our clothes . . . oh and the part when your sock got stuck and you bent in half and groaned like an eighty-year old man trying to get it off.”

“That’s it though, right?” I asked.

“Also the part where your penis was inside me.”

“What about when I yelled ‘Check this out!’ and I licked my hand and then tenderly held your kneecap with my saliva slick palm without breaking eye contact until I got a cramp and had to bite the pillow?”

“That was all you,” she said, patting my head to indicate that I was still a good boy.

“Thank God.” I was reassured, but I also had a confession to make. “I hate to say this, but I was thinking about somebody else too.”

“Who is she?!” my wife screamed, shaking her fist in my face as her free hand reached for the nearest beating implement. A little over the top for someone who just admitted to the very same transgression, but she’s my wife and I love her.

“Arnold Schwarzenegger,” I said, rather sheepishly.

“You were?” my wife said.

“Just a little,” I confessed, blushing like a schoolgirl who traded bodies with a thirty-five-year-old man and just found out that he might receive a sexual charge when thinking about seven-time Mr. Olympia champion Arnold Schwarzenegger.

“Wait a minute,” my wife said. “Were you picturing me as Arnold?”

“No! Not at all!” I said. “I would never do that to you. I was Arnold!”

“For which part?”

“Just the part when I took off my shirt and caught a look at myself in the mirror,” I reassured her.

. . .

. . .

. . .

“And then maybe the part when I told you to close your eyes so I could bang out seventeen push ups . . . oh and the part when I stood up on the bed and flexed my biceps and gave you directions to the beach.”

“What about when you said: ‘If it bleeds, we can kill it.’?” My wife asked.

“That was all me and you,” I said.

“Thank God,” she said.

We can’t wait to watch part two.

Enjoyed yourself? Then read this, Stupid:

Regardless of whether or not you enjoyed yourself or are offended that I called you Stupid just a second ago, you should read easily one of the funniest things ever written about clouds by CJ Sterling: