I Tried To Spice Up My Sex Life By Becoming a Naked Sushi Platter

In an evening of naked sushi gone awry, my experience as a human sushi platter did not quite work as lingerie to seduce.

How hard could it be to recreate the Japanese tradition of nyotaimori at home? I naively thought. As an experienced and mature woman who has fully embraced her sexuality—and as a proud graduate from stripclub university—I assumed that recreating the tradition of naked sushi at home could have been the ultimate food-based, role-playing sexual fantasy. Food enthusiasts of the world, am I right?

But what exactly led me to seek this sort of sexual excitement through raw fish? Well, for starters I am a mother of three and I have no problem admitting that my sex life at home has become as boring as plain white rice.

But little did I know then that wearing a party platter of sushi as my lingerie is not the answer to your sexually frustrated prayers, nor that easy. In fact, all this sushi spiced up was my leftover lunch the next day.

It all started one night, as I glossed over the sushi delivery menu for dinner placed alongside the stacks of cookbooks by my bedside (with a few notable aphrodisiac recipe books included).

As a forty-something-year-old mother, my main sex toys nowadays are a jar of organic coconut oil, a snoring man beside me, and an extra lock on the bedroom door. It's a far cry from my twenties, when I kept a drawer full of lacy lingerie and assorted sex toys with extra batteries, and had a bevy of bisexual girlfriends (working at a stripclub had its perks, you know) to play with. Ah, life is so different now.

This spontaneous plan to cover my body with sushi was simply thrilling. I imagined his face near my open thighs, nibbling sushi slowly off my body. I could almost feel the heat of his mouth traveling along my skin, tasting, licking, and savoring each piece of sushi off of my warm flesh. So like a sexually frustrated teenager, I grabbed my cell and ordered up a party platter for two. After all, this could have very well been the sexiest thing I have ever done (other than say, arranging a surprise threesome, of course).

The kids were all at friends' houses for sleepovers, so, as Rod Stewart once said, "tonight's the night."

I was home by 7 PM, had read his text and sushi delivery was on its way. Operation Naked Sushi In Bedroom was in effect. Hurriedly, I prepped the dining table as a bed of sorts. The only other time the table gets any action is during weekends when pancakes are flying off the pan and onto my children's plates—just ask Anthony Bourdain about this.

Rarely adventurous, we prefer the bed at bedtime. But as I waited for the sushi to arrive, fantasies began slinging around my mind of how his mouth would feel upon each nipple covered in ikura, trailing down to taste some hamachi upon my belly button, and down even further until he could not resist me.

The delivery boy, err man, arrived first. I was fully made up: glossy lips, chopsticks in hair, wearing my pink silk kimono. The squat balding man carrying my large platter of sushi in a plastic bag wasn't the tall and handsome Asian of my dreams. He was swarthy, pockmark-cheeked, and sported a glint of metal dental work in his latticed grin. He extended the bag toward me like an eager trick-or-treater. Poof went my delivery boy fantasy, real quick. This was nothing like a porno scene, though his eyes glittered when I handed him cash, as my silky kimono slipped off my shoulder, exposing my left breast entirely. Whoops.

I immediately went to work on presentation once the door quickly shut. Never mind that I accidentally flashed the wrong type of delivery guy. Naked, I attempted to lie down on top of the hard dining table covered with a thin duvet and a few throw pillows for comfort, but still. The surface wasn't ideal. And I already wondered how we would do it on the tabletop without injury.

I placed a banana leaf across my breasts like a bandeau bathing suit top. I thought: Sexy, this was going to work! Twenty pieces of sushi, one me. He's going to love this.

In a pilates-like abdominal crunch position, I placed one luscious piece of tuna sashimi upon my nether parts. Next, a few pieces of sweet ebi on rice decorated my belly, then some hamachi, and finally some maguro. Ah, I hadn't thought of how to fully lie down while balancing these sushi pieces. Breathing without knocking them off was going to be a challenge. Just a wee bit more prone, I figured out how to decorate each breast with ikura, and once the last sliver of tuna was in between my décolleté, the front doorknob jangled.

Heart racing, this was the moment. I had to hold still.

He breezed in and didn't look at first. The dining room was near the front door entry; all it took was a walk inside to notice. Busy carrying bags from the grocery store, fumbling with his keys, cell in hand, he managed everything like a street juggler off of his gig.

"Hi, handsome," I cooed sweetly. "I have dinner ready." A Pinter pause echoed along my nakedness. Then I heard the rustle of paper grocery bags in the kitchen. I stifled a giggle to keep the sushi balanced upon my body. Until.

"Oh." He stopped right in his tracks. He must have stared at me for a solid minute before he made sense of what I was doing.

"Dinner, my darling, is on me." I said with all the grace of a witty film noir dame. But he just stood there and covered his mouth with one hand, sliding it downward to rub his chin. Then he shrugged. The sushi was getting warm. I realized I probably smelled like warm fish then, too.

He wasn't giving me that usual "I'm hungry for you" look. I then stammered a series of elongated words that stretched out my sentence into: "Uhhhhhh welllll, I thought yooou'd like to taaaste some sushi on my naked body aaand then, you knoooow." But he stood there. Staring strangely not what I thought he'd do.

"Um, I ate a burger before I came home, then I went to the market for groceries," he answered curtly. "I'm stuffed. Sorry."

"Oh." I said. It was the shortest "oh" I've ever uttered.

None of the sushi appealed to him in the least. I had him try one taste of ikura roe off my left breast but I had to really beg him. He wasn't aroused. I felt stupid. We saved the rest of the sushi in the fridge and the remaining pieces that were warmed on my skin were eaten, alone, at the dining table, by myself.

He went into the other room, nonplussed, and logged into Facebook. I went to shower off the smell of sushi from my skin before it went from bad to worse. Missionary position for life it is.