Belfast Telegraph

Friday 19 September 2014

In danger of becoming a 'Wii widow'

Catherine Townsend - Sleeping Around

Although our sex life is still amazing, Paul has seemed distant lately. He has been answering his phone less, and has been increasingly vague about his weekend plans. I was starting to suspect something, so I decided to catch him in the act. So I marched over to his flat, let myself in and saw him cradling – his new Nintendo Wii.

I bought Paul the Wii for his birthday with the best of intentions, not realising that I was purchasing my greatest love rival. I started to realise something was afoot the next weekend when I crossed in front of the TV wearing a thong and vest top with no bra, usually his favourite combination.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” I said, lifting my top. “I can think of a lot more interesting things you could be playing with.” “You're blocking my view!” he yelled. “I’ve got to finish flying the mission!”

Frustrated, I stormed upstairs and took matters into my own hands. Being dissed for another female would have been preferable. I could handle being substituted by an Angelina Jolie lookalike. But a video game? That was just embarrassing.

Since he got his new toy, Paul has been treating our sex life like he would a Sky Plus box – he thinks he can press play when he wants. I’m almost always up for it, and he’s started to take that for granted. It doesn’t matter whether it’s fighter pilots or fetish sites, computer games can suck any partner into a two-dimensional world.

I suppose that I should have known Paul would get sucked in, too. It’s not the first time a boyfriend of mine has decided to plug in for “just one game”, only for them to amass two empty pizza boxes and several days of beard growth and for me to have to wrestle the controls from their sweating hands.

A male friend warns me that I’m in danger of becoming a “Wii widow”, and suggests that, “you should find something you can play together, like bowling”. Victoria has some harsher advice. “Play when he’s not home, and get really good at it,” she says. “Then you can beat him, which will crush his ego. I’ll bet he puts it in storage the next day!”

She could have a point. Instead of fantasising about multiple orgasms, lately I’ve found myself fan-tasising about a second set of controls so that I can whip his ass in virtual boxing. It’s only when I find myself at the counter ready to pay for the controls that it strikes me that there is another way we can have our needs fulfilled. We agree to a compromise.

I’ve instituted a reward system. For every orgasm he gives me, he gets to spend some time in the onscreen cockpit. So far, it’s working beautifully. Last night he carried me upstairs, stripped off all my clothes and went down on me for half an hour until I screamed so loudly that we both feared eviction. Then he went downstairs and doubled his high score. With all the multitasking, it seems that his manual dexterity is definitely improving.

Maybe there are some upsides to the Wii after all. But in the end, his box is no match for my box.

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