I had sex this weekend! Yahoo!
That’s right, dear readers. I did it, I really did it. It was over this past glorious, beautiful, breathtaking weekend that your humble and loyal sex columnist made sweet, sweet love to a wonderful, green-eyed girl on a queen size bed.
Clothes were removed, there were much delicate touching, hugging and kissing and such, and we offered each other many high fives while in prone positions. The sun hung low in the sky and started to play my favorite Clash song on a harp made of passionate fire while puppies and babies yipped and giggled in the grasses below her bedroom window.
But seriously kids, I may have embellished my story a bit, but I can not put enough stress on the fact that what went down between Melissa and I this weekend was seriously awesome love-making. Seriously, I made the love this weekend, and I’m neither afraid to say it nor to make it.
You see kids, back in the day, when early man first started to penetrate early woman, there was only one name for it: Quick, let’s try to make another cave man pop out of you so we can get some help fighting the dinosaurs. But eventually, the reasons for going at it increased, and with that, so did the name given to the deed.
Soon enough the ancient Romans were tossing each other’s Caesar salad while the Trojans didn’t even need me to write a crappy joke about their trashy name. The English were getting down with the Prince Albert and the Japanese were invoking the ancient rights of bukkake. Fast forward several sexy centuries and the hippies started to ball each other in the name of free love, the Wall Street moguls were out looking for a dom, and those crazy disco kids were just plain fucking the coke out of one another. Nowadays, the list of names for coitus is longer than the line outside Red Lobster now that Endless Shrimp has finally returned. But, in spite of that, through all of the boning and the railing and the gut-ripping and the magic-sticking, one form of ass-plastering has stayed pure and true: The love making.
No matter how kinky things got in the past or will inevitably get in the future (can you wait to fuck a robot? I mean really, can you? You’re a liar.), the act of making love stands as the big, firm, glorious rock amidst the choppy shoreline of hooking up and one night stands.
Distinguishing between love making and anything else is a snap. All it takes is two easy steps:
1) Treat yourself to a nice dinner at your favorite place. Bring your best friend, drink some rich wine and fondly reminisce over your good times together. Really explore the textures and aromas of your dinner: savor and suckle every morsel on your plate, slurp all the sauces and be sure to share a big desert.
2) Sit somewhere shitty on campus (like anywhere on campus) and eat an entire Domino’s pizza with your worst enemy. Wash it down with Pabst or Fanta. If you’re favorite restaurant happens to be Domino’s: Are you nuts? Endless Shrimp is back at Red Lobster. What are you just standing around for?
You see what I’m talking about here, kids? In both cases you’re simply putting food in your mouth, but when you really take the time to make it right, and with the right person, there is absolutely no comparison. Making love, being emotionally and physically devoted to making someone else experience pure bliss and euphoric pleasure, is what naked-time should be all about.
Make the decision. Plan ahead and get the weekend off with that special someone and whisk him or her away somewhere nice. Stop glancing at all of those beautiful people you walk by everyday and actually have the balls to stop and say hello to one of them. There is so much love out there to be made, you’ve just got to be the ones to make it.
Daily Nexus sex columnist Dave Franzese is always happy to treat the right woman to a shrimp.
