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one day of the week that we are not waking up in the pursuit of it. Let’s say you’re not a member of Alpha Phi Alpha, Kappa Alpha Psi, or you’re an almighty member of Omega Psi Phi, and someone who hasn’t pledged their undying support and love to frat on a line for at least six weeks—be that person putting on their colors and let them find out you haven’t pledged, that you didn’t cross over. Do you know what the hell would happen if those boys found out you’re not frat? Messing with their loyalty—their colors? Man, not nary a day. Be a Crip and go to a Blood’s house and see what happens. Try going into that country club and you’re not a member. Loyalty. Support. That’s what men are made of.
    And can’t one of them survive without sex. Oh, he’ll work with you if you have an off week—if he loves you, that is. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t bother to try to get your cookie—he’d just go on and get it from somewhere else. But if he’s into you, and you’re cutting back, rationing it out, you’re not doing what you did when you all first started dating, he’s going to line up someone who will. Please believe me when I tell you this: he will tell everybody, “This is my girl right here,” but mean-while, he will have another woman lined up and waiting to give him what he needs and wants—the cookie.
    Don’t get it wrong—we’re not animals. We know things change, the baby comes and the doctor says we have to wait six weeks, or your monthly is on the way, your hormones are acting up and you’re not in the mood. But the excuses can’t go on forever. You can play your man short if you want to. No matter how much a man loves his wife, his family, his house, his role as the man of the house, the one who’s bringing in all the money into family account, maybe even putting a little extra into yours, if you mess around and start shelling out the cookie in crumbs, it’s going to be a problem.
    Speaking of my own experience, I recently turned fifty and I’m telling you right now, don’t play me short in this area. At my age, I’ll work with you for a little longer, because I’m busy, I got a company to run, I got a schedule to keep, I’m on the road, on the stage, on the radio, writing books, acting, supporting my own charity and working with others. I’m on the run.
    And at my age, I can’t afford to mess up—mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Hell is no longer an option for me. I’m doing what I can to get to the Gate, and it could be any day now. If I start messing around, I might have a stroke and miss out on my homegoing. But the truth is, if I can’t go home and relieve my stress, there is a problem. If I’ve talked to the Lord and tried to get you motivated to give me some of the cookie and you’re still coming up with reasons why you just can’t be intimate with me, something is going to change.
    And I’m ready to bet things aren’t so different in your household. You might have been up all night for a week with a sick child, gotten up early to get the other onto the school bus before you hit the road for that rush-hour commute to work, gone to battle with your co-workers and boss for eight hours with nothing but a fifteen-minute break to swallow an inadequate, unsatisfying lunch, and then hit the rush-hour traffic back home to start your second job—the feeding and care of your kids. There’s dinner to be cooked, and homework to be checked, and laundry to be done, and the list goes on. By the time your man checks in with you, the last thing on your mind is giving a positive response to what a friend of mine called “the shoulder tap.”
    “You know what I’m talking about,” she said. “It’s when you finally drop into the bed exhausted, and you’re halfway through your favorite show you watch when you just want to zone out, and here he comes, tapping you on your shoulder, asking for sex. It’s just annoying.”
    What that same friend of mine didn’t