Sex. Sex. Sex.
See, the thing is it’s 8:00am and it’s rather cold in my office this morning. The idiot with the thermostat must be from the east coast is all I can figure because, in California, 65 degrees is considered cold… well, it is for an office! My alternative, then, is to warm myself up. And what’s better for that than sex. And since having an affair on my desk might attract a little attention, I figured I’d just write about it.
In fact, that’s what I was doing this morning, writing about it. The book I’m currently working on (Working title: Last Ditch. Just about halfway done with it.) is a psychological thriller, Film Noir version 2.0 with lots and lots of sex in it. Sexual acts, sexual tension – lots. And just about all of it is just, plain wrong. Adultery, incest, and just so much more. What can I tell you? You can only write deep, philosophical insight for so long before it all goes back to SEX!
When you’re writing about sex at work – and, by the way, I wrote about 1400 words today – you’d think the only thing on your mind would be sex… right? Wrong! The thing foremost on your mind is, “Please don’t anybody walk in! Please don’t anybody walk in!” Because the last thing you want to have happen is someone looking over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of:
He was holding her legs up but let them go so she could stand on the bed. She stood before him looking like all the innocence of youth, but he knew better and the tent in his trousers told her he didn’t mind. The skirt unbuttoned, she dropped it with a kick onto the floor. Then, she peeled off the leggings. Her body wasn’t well-defined and her ex-boyfriend was mostly right. She was obviously uncomfortable, standing there before him with her body on display, even in the darkened room. He smiled, kissed her belly, and moved down, trailing his kisses into her small bush, spreading her legs. All the while his eyes looked into hers.
That would be bad. What do you say? School paper? Letter to mom? No! There’s nothing you can say at that point!
Speaking of talking, there’s usually a bit of conversation that goes on during sex. Rarely however, is the emphasis: “What are we doing for dinner tomorrow.”
… well, at least, it shouldn’t be.
That’s when you find out you’re an old, married couple.
… at least, you do if you’re an old, married couple.
Vicky and I, after just a couple of years, are an old, married couple.
After reviewing a few items in our freezer and talking about our schedules for the evening – Vicky’s going out with Trish, I have to read my Pre-Socratic text – Vicky stopped us right there. We were in the middle of being as in flagrante delicto as you can be and we were discussing schedules and menus. “Whatever happened to ‘Yeah, fuck me’?” she asked.
Woody Allen once said that sex is the most fun you can have without laughing… Vicky and I sometimes add the laughing.