Monday, January 17, 2011

"The Evander Holyfield phase."

Rachel: Phoebe?

Phoebe: Yeah?

Rachel: Look at that guy by the window, wow!

Phoebe: He’s awfully short and I think he’s talking to himself. And to be completely honest, he’s not that good in bed.

Rachel: Oh, what is wrong with me lately? I mean it’s like every guy I see—I mean look here. (Points behind them) Look at that guy for example, I mean normally that’s not someone I would-would be attracted to, but right now, with the way I’m feeling, all I want to do is rip off his sweatpants and fanny pack.

Phoebe: Wait a second! This is about the fourth month of your pregnancy, right?

Rachel: Yeah.

Phoebe: This is completely normal, around the fourth month your hormones start going crazy.

Rachel: Really?! So this has happened to you?

Phoebe: Oh absolutely yeah! Oh and keep in mind, now, I was carrying triplets so in, y’know, medical terms I was-I was thrice as randy.

Rachel: Wow! This explains so much! Last weekend, I went from store to store sitting on Santa’s lap.

Phoebe: Yeah. Yeah, I remember trying to steal a cardboard cut out of Evander Holyfield from a Foot Locker.

Rachel: Ah.

Phoebe: Yeah.

Rachel: Well, y’know what? I go see my doctor tomorrow, I’ll ask her about this. Maybe she can give me a pill or something.

Phoebe: Yeah. Yeah, that’s what you need a good…pill.

The Evander Holyfield phase. For those of you who are “Friends” fans, you would know exactly what I’m talking about. For those of you who aren’t, read the transcript and get up to speed would you.

Enter the fourth month of pregnancy or as I like to refer to it as, the month I rediscover sex…or at least the desire for it.

For the first time in weeks, I feel as though the morning sickness that has plagued my life has finally lifted, and I am beginning to feel human again. And more than human, I feel like a woman…and a randy one at that.

The desire is starting to eat away at me in every aspect of my life. In the kitchen, I’m suddenly Nigella Lawson – oozing sexual energy as I cook my husband a meal, phallic ally licking the wooden spoon as I taste the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove top. My heaving bosom continues to dance at the heat of the fire which permeates through my skin, warming up the very cockles of my existence.

You think that’s hot, wait until I start with the garlic bread, then do a load of washing.

Then there’s work, where I’m fantasising about sordid encounters in the store room which seem to constantly result in post- it-notes being stuck to places best left to the imagination.
I’m not quite certain why post- it- notes make an appearance though.  They’re not a very sexual item.

Perhaps it’s the variety of colours they come in? 

Perhaps it’s the square shape?

Perhaps it’s the fact that you can stick it on something, rip it off, and proceed to stick it onto something else that does it for me? Oh hell, what’s not sexy about a post-it-note I beg of you?

Then there’s the parenting approach. When I’m supervising my children whilst they play in the sand at the beach, to naïve onlookers I paint the picture of Mary fucking Poppins.

To an untrained eye it seems as though I’m supporting every excited request of “Mummy look at me, look at me!”  

In reality what I’m really doing is checking out the guy to the left of them, sporting the abdominal muscles of a Greek God which are beckoning me to use as a washboard for my dirty underwear.

Don’t judge me.

My husband is aware of my many fantasies. I do inform him of every imaginary sexual encounter that I have experienced. Especially my night encounters.

Dream sex can frequently trump reality sex. My body is magnificent in all of my fantasies, which of course, adds the element of passion, stemming from the direct result of feeling desirable. Something of which, my reality is lacking at this point in time.

Chances are if I know you, you have starred in the B-grade porno that is my imagination. It could be anyone, from co-workers to friends, to ex boyfriends and celebrities.

Even the guy who sells me cheese isn’t safe from the clutches of my dirty intentions.

I do admit that sometimes it can become awkward though. If I have dreamt about a co-worker, then have to face him all day in the office, there have been incident’s. I’ve accidently said something to him like “Before you go downstairs, I’d like to grab you.”

He’ll laugh, and I’ll laugh, pretending it was an innocent slip off the tongue. He being none the wiser that he was ploughing me like a field full of ripe corn in my subconscious the night before.

Although don’t mistake me for someone who is not attracted to my husband. He too has a recurring role in my many fantasies. He’s hot stuff, especially when he’s spent the weekend moving furniture and painting, all the manly stuff that bleeds pheromones into the air as would a slice to the sexy jugular.

Unfortunately when you have a thousand children as we do, the opportunity to turn the fantasy into a reality isn’t always present. And so we carry on, like a pot on the stove that is at boiling point, constantly spilling over the edge creating sparks in the fire that enables the heat.    

Now let’s play the blame game. It’s all about the hormones. They are running rampant at this stage and pulsating through every vein in my body reminding me very much of the reason I got myself into this mess in the first place.

I like sex.

There I said it.

What a whore bag!

At the moment I have the libido of a 19 year old boy, and unfortunately from past experiences it will climax at this peak for the entire pregnancy. Although as the pregnancy progresses, the logistics of my ever growing body becomes harder to manoeuvre in the boudoir.

If there was a Karma Sutra for pregnant women, I’d buy it. I would love to know how other people get down to business when they are as big as fucking house. Toward the end it becomes damn near impossible to complete the act, and if you’re not a fan of the all fours approach then you are pretty much fucked….unfortunately, not literally.

I remember being near the end of all of my other pregnancies and the idea of sex simply becoming a ridiculous concept. My husband and I would be laughing so hard during the session that there would be tears streaming down our faces. We’d have to stop, re focus, and proceed.  In the end we had to cease looking at each other in order to avoid the incessant laughter.

We placed pillows in between our faces, in order to concentrate on the task at hand. In the end that’s exactly what it became, a task.

And no-body mentions the white elephant in the room. The white elephant in this case being the pregnant woman in her last trimester. Feeling fat, unattractive and swollen, you would think that would inhibit the desire.

Not the case.

So at this point I would love to perhaps hear from all you pregnant women or mothers out there about your own sexual experiences, and quite possibly put together a Karma Sutra for the physically challenged.

As, what I advised my husband about the old television set that he wanted to throw away, in theory goes for my vagina too.

It ain’t pretty, but it still works!

Notice how I restrained myself from any “ring” puns seeing as though Mr Holyfield is a boxer and all, and this particular blog is called “The Evander Holyfield phase”.

Anal sex is no joke when you have haemorrhoids the size of a small ferret hanging out of your arse. 

This is a community service announcement.


  1. Oh thank you, am at work having horrendous, soul destroying day and I'm loving this post!

    Am a total horn bag when I'm pregnant too! Go with it I say...makes up for the lack of it post-birth...:)

  2. Haha glad you enjoyed my political incorrectness. Some days we all need a good laugh to get us through!

  3. oh dear.. the last few sentences *brainwipe* hehehehe

    cheers for the follow

    - tork

  4. Are you have a boy by any chance. I have this theory that when ur utd with a boy your sexdrive goes into overdrive. I had three girls and sex was the last thing on my mind during pregnancy!!

  5. I still have three weeks left until I can find out the sex - It will be interesting to compare the difference this pregnancy (if it is a boy) to my other son. Although with the two girls, I was just as hormonally charged - haha so maybe it's just me!!

  6. Even though it was over seven years ago, I can vividly remember my Evander Holyfield phase. My husband got no rest!

  7. That's amazing! That just goes to show how epic this little "problem" is!

  8. You forgot to mention the muscle jelly stage. You know, when your muscles go all stretchy and all of a sudden you can manage positions you hadn't contemplated since you were a 17 yr old gymnastics champion?